I had never been to the Paris Theatre before. This is the classic art deco/art moderne theatre off 5th Avenue near Central Park and the Plaza Hotel where Marlene Dietrich cut the ribbon at the opening in front of the French ambassador.  It looks like the kind of place you would duck into to get out of the rain if you were in a B & W movie and weighed down with bags from nearby Bergdorf’s and having a wild affair with someone who liked subtitles over thread count. And here I was in this film palace with “Paris” woven repeatedly into its special-order carpeting introducing a special screening of The Iron Lady starring Meryl Streep. The house was packed with industry types. Meryl would be there for a Q & A afterwards. RightherewhereI’mstanding! Whatta night. The Paris Theatre, me and Meryl Streep. Mic in hand and backlit, I stood in front of allthosepeople and thanked them for coming, thanked The Weinstein Company, listed the actors in the film and told everyone to turn off their cell phones under threat of death. I got a laugh from something I said about coal miners (I like to be topical and thematic when I introduce films) and then I sat down to applause, the kind that Meryl would hear tenfold after the credits rolled. The film started and I had my first of many allaboutme thoughts: I forgot to tell them to stay for the Q & A with Meryl. Then: I forgot to tell them NO PHOTOGRAPHY. Into: Oh my God, I didn’t mention the professor from Columbia who would moderate the screening. Finally dismounting with: I am a FOOL and should never have been born. Meanwhile Margaret Thatcher had moved on from being a shopkeeper’s daughter and got elected to local...