I suspect the chief letter-generator's heady critique of Allan Bloom has given the post office a brief respite, so here's my 22-cents worth.
Bloom's best-selling diatribe successfully recycles some old misconceptions at a very opportune time.
After all, chastity is chic in the '80s, even if nobody really practices it. Bloom's obsessive fear of sensuality, and in particular, onanism, has obviously manifested itself as the most insipid type of mental masturbation.
Nothing Bloom says compares in esoteric quality to Hilburn's spirited defense of rock music as art. In his words, "the heart of the music is the same passionate and inspiring search for understanding and insight that characterizes every art form."
What else? The balance of passion and discipline, the search for knowledge and wisdom, the ultimate respect and joy of living, and . . . love.