I am now the proud owner of my very own R*O*T matchbook. Sent from England, arrived yesterday.

I intend to carry the matchbook in a show of solidarity against the anti-North by Northwest exhibit at “woke house” — i.e., the Academy museum. If you’re a late ‘50s Manhattan advertising man, announcing that “rot” is your personal trademark conveys a certain ironic cool. Only someone who’s supremely confident and at peace with himself could admit to having a putrid, decaying, shriveled-up essence.