Opinion

So the news is out.

Part of my daily routine is logging in to a popular social media app, not to “doom scroll”, rather to watch a particular series of daily posts from a few select creators.

The world’s longest parking lot is Fifth Avenue in New York at midday and a week ago I found myself stuck in it, in a cab driven by a devout Sikh with headscarf and big beard, whose religion evidently taught him to Yield, so we moved at a glacial rate from 86th to 43rd Street where I had an important lunch appointment.

My daughter injured me and found it so amusing she spent ten whole minutes in her room snort-laughing about it.It was a week ago, as we were preparing to head out of the house to attend a musical performance downtown.

Winter is here, people, and let’s face it — somebody has to live up here in the north, we can’t all sit around Mirage-a-Lounge, Florida, and play golf every day, somebody has to raise the soybeans and defend the border against the insatiable Canadians, and so here we are, putting on our puffy coats that make us look fat and stocking caps that destroy our hairstyle and heading out into the frigid blast and going to work and getting important stuff done, and not passing nuclear secrets around to our pals at the club or doubling the size of our penthouse on loan applications.