A loyal MR reader mailed me a copy of his movie, Burning Annie. A depressed college guy fails in love and lust because he obsesses over the pessimistic Woody Allen movie Annie Hall. (You can put it in your Netflix queue, and it plays in NYC 2/7, here are reviews). He refuses to tell bed-ready, nubile young women that he loves them, or even likes them, because he is unwilling to make himself vulnerable and open to rejection. I wonder how much truth-telling stems from this motive.