Every Sunday I read the Washington Post with trepidation. I usually have only one eye open and make sure to keep at least one nostril closed. Yesterday there were not one, not two, but three features which made me open both eyes, both nostrils, and, well, just one mouth, but it no doubt formed a smile.
First, in the Post‘s Arts & Style section, a front-page article about Frank Sinatra whose premise was, in a sense, Who needs an excuse to write a big celebratory article about Frank Sinatra?
I like your style, Arts & Style.
Second, and you know I love this one: wildly differing opinions of how the date went from the participants in the “Date Lab.” I don’t know why, I just love it when the dates don’t work out. Proves they’re not rigged.
And speaking of things being not rigged and not going well. Oh, that I loved reading P.J. O’Rourke’s scathing review of Kevin Schultz’s new book, Buckley and Mailer: The Difficult Friendship That Shaped the Sixties. Whereas most book “reviews” are mere commercials for the book they hawk, this one is anything but. Strictly from the title and premise this is one I probably would have read, though clearly not now. (Funny how one instantly believes a bad review but might question a good one.) O’Rourke’s review is just beautiful prose and makes you love to read a bad review. His piece is the one worth reading, and I may spend my time this summer just sipping a sweet beverage and rereading it again and again.
But remind me never to have that guy review my book!
