I won’t tell you about Gail Collins’ column in the New York Times today. I will just strongly suggest that you read it. And then forget about the rest of the paper because everything else there is repetitive versions of things too often said in pretty much the same old ways signifying…well, you know what it’s signifying.
The photo of Ms. Collins that runs with her column makes her look like she should be wearing a derby and standing next to the pot of gold she’s guarding. Indeed, there is gold here, Happily, however, she isn’t guarding it. It’s the incredible humor in her columns. Made more incredible because it isn’t tinged with the subtle and not-so-subtle undercurrent of venom on display in so much other contemporary “humor.”
I think Gail Collins is the Will Rogers of our era. Thank heavens this country can still produce at least one commodity of real value.
More from this writer at wallstreetpoet.com