When people die around the same time, I always kind of wonder whether they're getting acquainted as they wait in line -- Lillian Ross and Hugh Hefner, for example, or my dad and Jeanne Moreau.
Even if the death is purely professional, could there be an odder odd couple in limbo's anteroom than Louis C.K. and Roy Moore, who were both accused of past predations on Thursday? One made a living talking dirty, while the other built monuments to the Ten Commandments. Oh, but they have this in common: Comedians are pretending they knew nothing about the women who said Louis suddenly invited himself to get naked.
Just as pals of the man who began the day as the next junior senator insisted, "There is nothing to see here." In State Auditor Jim Ziegler's telling, a grown man pursuing an eighth grader is as pure as it gets: "Mary was a teenager and Joseph was an adult carpenter. They became parents of Jesus." That's not how that story goes, Jim. And if this ends in eternal glory, I'll be surprised.
I'm already seeing some distress that this flash flood of dammed-up pain does a disservice to "real" victims, and of course it feels like a witch hunt when the witch was a friend. There's a whole spectrum of behavior, too. Rape is not the same as harassment is not the same as someone who invaded your space that time. But those settling scores won't be hard to tell from those we need to hear. Where there's one offense, there is always more, so the latter group will have company.
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