I know that this is what I am. I am not ashamed. I feel no guilt, no regret.
I know I galavant. My mom says I galavant. My dad says I galavant. If I'm not at home I can surely be found "out galavanting about".
Whence evil?
My dad never galavanted. My mom never galavanted. My grandparents certainly had better things to do than to be out galavanting about. My brother is a galavanter but then again he'd jump off a bridge if I asked him to. I know this for a fact. I asked him once. He's okay now.
Can I return these Ginsu knives? This Didi 7? Note to myself: Never buy anything except in stores.
Question: Can a galavanter ever amount to anything?
Answer: Yes. A row of pins.
Besides that?
No ideas but in things.
To define is to limit.
Come up and see me sometime.
To fully appreciate the word "galavant", we must first agree
on its spelling. The most common spelling for the word is
"gallivant". I don't like this spelling. At all. That 'i'
between the 'gall' and the 'vant' I find especially loathsome. I
eschew that spelling, declare it anathema. Galavanting is not
about "gall", it's about...If you just said 'gals' you're wrong.
And if you said 'vants' you are also wrong. And very silly.
Galavanting is about freedom if it is about anything. The lure of the road, the thrill of the chase. It's about mobility, elbow- room, about the exigency of time, and that song by Steppenwolf. It's about Roger Miller and about that Andrew Marvel poem 'To His Coy Mistress'.
'But at my back I always hear
Time's Winged chariot hurrying near.'
It's about time.To go.
You know where I'll be.