This Old Lady from Dubuque

Flipping through the latest issue of the "New Yorker" reminds me of how many things I don't care about in my old age:

--Marilynne Robinson p. 5: the author of wonderful "Gilead" now explores the tension between science and religion--and the "concept of mind" It will be b.s.

--Hugh Hefner, p. 27. I mean seriously, dead or alive??

--Dodge City (although by Calvin Trillin, might be interesting anyway), p. 30

--Woody Allen, p. 37. See Hugh Hefner, above. The only difference is I USED to care about Woody Allen.

--Pop Music (probably "should") p. 39 ("'You have to wear your bass guitar a lot higher than you normally would,' he said....")

--Adopting a child in Haiti (know I "should"--do in abstract), p. 44 "the rescue narratives give way to kidnap narratives..." blah blah blah

--Cartoon music, p. 55 (although the subject wants to protect Israel, one thing I do care about)

--Poetry that's worse than I could write p. 74 ("Toadstools")

--"Silence" (been there done that) p.76

--The fashionable American woman p. 79 "A decade passes and the scene shifts back indoors..."

--"The American dream goes south in three plays" p. 84 "Out of the emotive bric-a-brac, the audience constructs a backstory..." Yada yada.

The old lady from Dubuque just doesn't care about such things.
I know, I know, what do I care about? That's a short subject for another day.