I understand that, while I was otherwise engaged this morning, Twitter Man ranted at the United Nations. No comment. Res ipsa loquitur.
Today Aardvark departs from contemplation of the rancid dystopia for which Donald Trump and his followers so intensely yearn. A second post will follow, on a likewise Trump-unrelated matter.
I celebrate the 308th birthday of Samuel Johnson.
As a former editor myself—one who frequently had to puzzle over what to do with good and original manuscripts—I take delight in Johnson’s famous rejection letter: