You probably won't believe me when I tell you that I regard rollerblading - or wine tasting for that matter, as an equally high-risk if not higher-risk activity - as a leg up to joining the ranks of the intelligentsia, but let me tell you what we came to talk about afterwards.
The conversation had drifted to my theory that one admires what one is not capable of oneself, to which someone responded that once upon a time people used to say that what one's three year old grandson could do couldn't possible be of much value, but that this sort of comment seemed to have vanished today, so how about it. I postulated that from time to time it was very true, but only rarely did one come across an artist who was honest enough to admit it. However, this didn't get us to where we wanted to be, for there is always the possibility of some people liking something that others would regard as obsolete. Which brings us to another realm: that of it being wrong to judge by one's own findings the perception of people whose sensitivities operate on a different, lower, level. In other words: even if the gypsy boy with the tearful face is reproduced ad nauseam by gloating con artists, the buyer's sensitivities are still worthy of our respect. And by sharp contract to rollerblading, one doesn't even have to be sober for this.
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