That reminded me of a Woody Allen line, about how “the thing with feathers” turned out not to be Hope, but was actually his, Woody Allen’s, nephew. I didn’t have positive feelings about Woody Allen, whose movies so often included scenes of men my parents’ age having remedial conversations about “free will,” or dating catatonic-seeming teenagers. Yet I now found it humorous that his nephew, like both the avian and non-avian dinosaurs, had feathers. Was it the wine that helped a person appreciate things uncritically?
