Yes, I do indeed sometimes feel like I do not belong in society. I say this not out of self-pity - on the contrary - I say this out of a sense of avuncular protectiveness. You see, I have visited society, and I know something about it. For example, I know that society contains Grace Kelly, salad forks, chauffeurs, Fred Astaire, thank you notes, the social register, cotillions, servants quarters, little blue boxes from Tiffany & Co., Noel Coward, Bobby Short, Sotheby's, napkin rings, Duncan Phyfe, and Strads. I know all this and have at times either believed or been able to pretend I believed that entrance into this world equaled superiority. I know now that it does not, and I no longer have the will or energy to pretend that it does. Today, society would be better served excluding me lest it run the risk of me laughing so hard that I began to weep copiously. I wouldn't be able to help myself, and there would surely be much discomfort among the well shod. I should be, as Van Gogh said of his painful visits home to Holland for family visits, "like a rough dog in their midst, upsetting the children and turning over the tables."