All of the online chatter regarding the
George Clooney profile in the current New Yorker is really threatening to drain the sense of wonder and discovery from my planned bathroom perusal of the piece. But maybe it’s for the best if I’m forced to plow through it electronically now instead of waiting for my magazine to arrive in the mail; at an intimidating 10 pages, my consumption of the story might have spanned multiple sittings over several days, leaving me tragically trailing the conversation inspired by this latest,
new-release-inspired exploration of the Clooney Mystique.
