I've nearly finished a 90-minute "American Experience" episode devoted to Gore Vidal. (PBS documentary series. Not half as boring as it sounds. I tend to avoid them for weeks, then become enraptured once I dive in.)
I am incredibly conflicted about that man--especially now, watching, though it may have more to do with this low-grade fever I'm running than all the negativity spewing from his mouth. Nothing I enjoy more in this world than an agent provocetuer, so I imagine I would be chuckling a lot more in a different state. I am chuckling some.
But that's not why I've dragged myself to the PC through these mild chills and mild body aches to address you. (And I have to count my blessings: this is the mildest flu I've experienced in ages.) Here's why:
Quite a few journalists keep popping up through this thing, and I can't help thinking of them as the tiniest people of all, the least consequential. I don't want to spend my life doing that. I have this odd quesiness that I'm getting suck into that life, though I like to think I'm doing something different. Sometimes I am, sometimes not. When am I going to get a damn book finished?