In 2003, Barbra Streisand — an artist I have long admired — made a ridiculous mistake, one that has echoed through the years. Annoyed that her cliff-top mansion in Malibu had been photographed from the air, and that the resulting photo had been posted online, she decided her privacy had been invaded. So in a fit of pique that we mere mortals can never hope to comprehend, she sued the photographer for $50 million. Never mind that the photo was one of many in an arcane technical collection that was documenting the erosion of the Malibu cliffs. Never mind that if you look at that photo today you wonder how the mansion hasn’t collapsed into the Pacific by now. And never mind that the lawsuit was quickly thrown out of court by a judge who then dinged Streisand for $177,000 in attorney’s fees. Forget all that. What matters about this incident is that before she filed the lawsuit, the photo had been viewed exactly six times online. Once the l...
My mother idolized Leon Botstein. She followed both his careers — as president of her beloved Bard College, and as the world-class conductor of the American Symphony. He has always been an impressive figure. I met him myself on two occasions. Once was at a Bard fund-raiser in Florida, where he was as attentive to my pre-teen sons as he was to my mother, whose annual donations were probably in the high two figures. The other time was at a talk he gave at the Romanian consulate in New York, on the subject of a rather obscure Romanian composer. He’s that kind of guy. So when Botstein’s name surfaced in the Epstein files, it got my attention. My first thought was that I was glad my mother didn’t live to see it. But then I thought about what her likely reaction might have been. Knowing Mom, I’m quite sure she would have defended him. She would have needed convincing beyond the collection of emails in the files, emails that are, in themselves, far from incrimi...