From an e-mail exchange with my publicist and indispensible dear friend Wesley, after I asked him not to take his Crossfire approach with me when we get together for dinner this month. Wesley – a politics and news junkie – has a tendency to use our dinners to quiz me on my opinions on everything ranging from post-Katrina New Orleans to the mid-term elections. Most recently, this went poorly when I started yelling at him about his uninformed opinions about New Orleans, and then begged off the rest of the questions, as I no longer pay attention to any news unless it’s about NOLA. It was not the most relaxed of meals.
He is now enthusiastically digesting Disaster, hence my fear that I would once again find myself at the debate podium rather than the dinner table.
He writes: “I just want to point out that in your Crossfire analogy I believe this makes me Robert Novak or Tucker Carlson, and I am not exactly sure how I feel about that… (though, if I am James Carville, that might be okay. But I think in this example especially, you are Carville).”
I reply: “I do love yelling and carrying on, seemingly irrationally, but really I’m headed somewhere. Carville it is! Sorry Bob.”
W: “I know you’re headed somewhere – it’s my job to help. :)”
Thank you Wesley, for keeping me thinking, informed and on point (most of time). I’d love to start reading The NY Times again, but that would mean the thief in my building would have to stop stealing it from the lobby.