We leave issues of the New Yorker lying about the house, poised to be read when the mood strikes us. Oscar and Della quite like sitting on them. My theory is that they absorb knowledge through their…never mind, no need to go there…
What’s the point of that first paragraph? Since that was not an existential question, here we go: I picked up the June 1st issue the other evening, and turned to Thomas Mallon’s review of a book called Buckley and Mailer: The Difficult Friendship That Shaped the Sixties. The sub-title goes OTT into the stratosphere since they were more like frenemies whose relationship was sporadic at best. They certainly got along better with one another than either did with Gore Vidal but that’s a story for another day or never.
That was a helluva long setup (I seem to be turning into Rachel Maddow) so here’s the payoff. The review got me thinking about one of Norman Mailer’s most egomaniacal book titles, Advertisements For Myself. Mailer figured that if you can’t plug yourself who can? I agree, which brings me to the Jindal camp’s attempt to bring some life to their boring candidate. Some knucklehead came up with the idea of a Twitter Q & A session under the hashtaggy rubric #AskBobby. It was like feeding time at the zoo and, as far as I know, no questions have been answered as of this writing.
More unanswered questions after the break.
Back to Norman and me. I jumped into this discussion with both feet and since nobody else has posted my #AskBobby tweets, I decided to advertise myself. I suspect Don Draper would approve as well. Here’s a sampler of sorts:
Speaking of frenemies, I’ll give Michael Homan the last word, tweet or whatever the hell you want to call it:
How the hell did Homan get more likes and retweets than I did? In fictional advertising terms, he’s my Ted Chaough. Like Teddy, Homan has been known to rock a sweater vest or a frock. I guess I fibbed about that whole last word thing again…