By way of a placeholder, this is an apology for the recent even more dearthy than usual dearth of plates. I may, just may, have bitten off a bit more than I can chew. Between the business, the family (including Albert, our one month old addition) a variety of freelancing things (that actually pay) and my writing (which, sadly, does not), not to mention an online course I rather foolishly signed up to (but which is certainly very interesting) poor old CB has been on the backburner a bit of late. Rather cautiously, I feel I may have turned a corner as regards keeping all the plates I currently have in the air spinning, and I hope to be back here fairly shortly. Do bear with me.
I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer. That deserves prison. No , I'm referring to the hinterla...
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