Harvest moon, blue moon, wolf moon, blood moon or blood on the moon, moon over Miami or over Parador—or even the man in the moon. An abundance of lunacy, one might say. Should one expect a low tide or a high tide from mooning someone? No, I suppose not, not even of the 70% water making up the mooned subject. I suppose one could be excused from wondering about the gravitational after-effects of the increased mass of the American ass given the increasing obesity of the general population. But let us pass from the crass to class. Observing the full moon on a clear night, Omar Khayyam-like—with a bit of bread, a jug of wine and a precious partner could be paradise.