I seem to have caught a cold. No doubt I picked it up last weekend in an airplane cabin, which doesn’t make me any happier about it. How could I possibly have gotten sick just when I have to spend the whole day writing about Tom Stoppard for Commentary, followed by a trip to the theater district to see Alfred Molina in Howard Katz? Damn, damn, damn.
Ah, well, the hell with it. In the immortal words of James Burnham, if there’s no alternative, there’s no problem. Back to work.