Integrity is a relative concept, best left to the penetrating minds of Jean-Paul Sartre or Hannah Arendt.  The reality is, when winter winds howl and the only affordable dwelling shapes up as a cardboard carton on Second Avenue, principles and lofty ideals have a tendency to vanish in a whirlpool down the bathroom plumbing, and so, postponing plans for a Nobel, I gritted my teeth and leased my muse to Moe Bottomfeeder.

For the following six months, I must confess, a myriad of those pleads for divine intervention …. Among my gold-leaf texts were “Dearest Lord—I am thirty and already balding. Restoreth mine hair and anoint my sparse areas with frankincense and myrrth.”

From “Mere Anarchy,” by Woody Allen

I think that after such a stressful election in this country, a little witty humor comes handy. After all, if Bob Dylan can get the Nobel Prize of literature why not Woody Allen. He writes well, would attend the ceremony, and make us laugh … and think: “when winter winds howl and the only affordable dwelling shapes up as a cardboard carton on Second Avenue, principles and lofty ideals have a tendency to vanish in a whirlpool down the bathroom plumbing.” Of course, many of us would like to believe that this statement is wrong, but is that so?