Last night we watched the original 1931 Frankenstein on the big screen, and with the election never far from top of mind these days, at a certain point I started picturing That Fucking Guy as the Monster. It works: He’s tall and lurchy, and even when he was young, he had the face for it. Nowadays, with the uncanny hair and the weird skin color and the general ugliness of all he represents and projects, he definitely fits the role.

So if he’s the Monster, who’s his creator? Fred Trump? Roy Cohn? Steve Bannon? Or maybe it’s all of us; maybe by paying attention to him we create him. So I’m going to stop now.

Speaking of Frankenstein, I’d like to take a moment to mourn the passing of Teri Garr, who lit up Young Frankenstein along with so many other movies. I think every man of my generation — along with the one before and possibly the one after — had a little thing for Teri. Many sexy actresses are funny some of the time; many funny ones are sexy some of the time; but she managed to be both equally and simultaneously. Here she is with Gene Wilder. What a handsome couple.

I realize that in talking about the election I’ve been mostly saying bad stuff about the mean guy, not so much good stuff about the nice lady. There are reasons for this: It was a bit of an arranged marriage, and though it seems to be working out — and I will be overjoyed to welcome Kamala as my president for 4 or 8 years — there is something of an enthusiasm gap.

But I watched her speech at the Ellipse the other night and I thought she slayed. She made the case for herself and against TFG eloquently and fluidly. She spoke in complete sentences. She kept to a narrative through-line with absolutely no mention of pet eating, fictional cannibals, or golfers’ wangs. And she kept it tight, barely going over a half-hour, which is how you communicate with the Short Attention Span Nation.

Today I am feeling good about things. I believe that we will pull together to banish the Demon of Mar-a-Lago back to the tinsel-plated limbo where he belongs. Kamala will cackle, ketchup will be thrown, and we will live relatively happily ever after. Have a good Diwali, everybody.