True Story*: Several (OK, six) years ago when I was still living in New York, I went out a couple of times with a fellow who knew another Molly. Yeah, that one. The Ringwald. This was a source of awe and wonder, of course, but I tried not to bring it up; that would be, like, dorky of me. Still, there came an evening when this fellow called me from a party at That Molly’s house. There is no post-teenage shock like seeing RINGWALD, MOLLY on your caller ID. Did I take a picture? You bet your DVD of The Breakfast Club I did. Continue reading →