Woody Allen has a new movie, and new, or at least revived, accusations of incestuous pedophilia. I’m not interested in the first, and like most people repulsed by the very thought of the latter. You can read, or might already have read, about all this in a story on our website headlined “In Woody Allen, media & moviegoers again confront ambiguity.”
George McGovern and Walter Mondale are shoveling the coal, Michael Dukakis is at the controls, and Bernie Sanders sits atop the campaign car waving to a growing cluster of adoring, loyal, starry-eyed followers who sincerely believe he has an ice cube's chance in a boiler of becoming president of the United States.
I'm stepping back. I'm edging away. I'm cutting back to moderate consumption levels. Facebook is like wine. A few glasses can be delightful; too much of it leaves me with a sick headache, and unable to focus.
At some point every holiday season, in spite of the miraculous gift of the Internet -- and as Christmas shopping goes, I believe the Internet is only slightly short of divine intervention -- I venture out of the "virtual" marketplace and into the real one. Even, if absolutely necessary (be a balm upon my soul, Jesus), to the mall.