A very dear friend asked me the other day, how I felt that some people I respect had feet of clay. Specifically, she was referring to Sir Arthur C. Clarke, who in a comment in an interview revealed he lived in Sri Lanka because of his short eyes. Now, I’ve been a longtime fan of Sir Arthur, and his work is frankly impressive on many levels. To me, anyway. My friend cited a musician she was fond of, and who engaged in despicable behavior, which soured the music for her, forever.

To some extent, I can understand this; it’s maudlin and creepy to think of someone buying John Wayne Gacy’s clown portraits.
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