Once, when I was young, it was early March and a woman I was soon to fall in love with sent me a recording of Ella Fitzgerald’s “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” as performed with the Frank De Vol Orchestra. An aching three-minute melancholy swoon, it was the simplest but most romantic overture I had ever received.

Years later our relationship would end quite unceremoniously on New Year’s Day. That was a long time ago but this is a permanently trying time of year for me, meant for drowning one’s sorrows in chocolate milk and carbs and Barbara Stanwyck films. Happy New Year to everyone reading this. Please stay away from germy m’fers. I’ll be back on Sunday with another review.