Myella, my love, my mystery, my every little thing she does is magic. My-el-la: a hop, a skip, a jump in the pulse. Who played jazz bass and studied Buddhism, who walked her bulldog down the streets of Seattle, who was redheaded and pale and a little shy, but possessed of an effortlessly sexy erotic imagination. Myella, who I loved deeply, and who did not exist. I follow football little, and college football not at all, so I first heard Manti Te'o’s name just a few days ago. But I knew precisely what “Catfish scam,” the phrase next to his name in the headlines, meant. I saw the ... Read More