There was a wonderful personal essay in the NYT this week about "Sex and the City"; the piece is better than the actual show. The writer asks, How can I be a straight man in his early thirties with a fierce attachment to this particular tale? (It's all about the initial idea. When you have an idea like this, the story writes itself.) The writer, Roonan, admits that the pain of a college breakup led him to SATC; he felt better as he watched Carrie's suffering. I know precisely what this means. I still think about Carrie tripping on a runway. I sometimes think about her when I say too much; I recall the moment when she can't help but point out that Berger's use of the term "scrunchie" is wrong. Right now, I'm obsessing about whether a shirt I purchased is sized correctly; this takes me right back to Charlotte's outfit/self-image issues, as she prepares for her first day of work. Roonan goes on--in a brave way--to point out that SATC is a ra...