I have been so busy pontificating recently on political issues, that I neglected to mention, as I had hoped, that I caught the supposed “event picture” of the holidays, King Kong, over the weekend. Once I formulated the glib insight that the picture seemed to have grown fatter while its director became thinner, I was left with the question of why I felt distinctly underwhelmed by 200 million dollars’ worth of CGI-enhanced entertainment. Then it hit me–I’m a 34-year-old man! Why the hell should I expect to swoon over something geared for the Xbox-jangled synapses of a 13-year-old boy?(Actually, 13 might be a slightly old demographic for this picture. On the afternoon I caught it, parents seemed to treat the cinema auditorium as a sort of cr�che, oblivious of the fact that their five-year-old children were likely to wake roaring in the early hours of next morning from dreams of being swallowed by carnivorous worms.)