Buy ‘George, Being George,’ By George

I love how everyone salivates over George Plimpton. A little too affected for me. But talented, yes. My only problem with the late writer and editor of Paris Review is that I can't shake the one time he wagged his proverbial finger at me for choosing a bad analogy during a conversation. It was as if he were verbally editing me in real time. Fuck you, I thought. You're a tamped-down, lock-jawed fraud! I should have said it. But I didn't. Last time I saw him was at Elaine's. I was with Hunter Thompson, John and Judy Clancy, and Marc Libarle. And then there was George. Everyone has George stories. All I remember is Hunter shooting me funny faces every time George spoke. Like teasing a teacher, Hunter raised his eyebrows, swayed his head and gently mocked George behind his back as he waxed poetic. I thought it was classic. But speak not ill of the dead, right?

Anyway, George was cool enough. So, I’ve been flipping through the new bio George, Being George; I think Janet Maslin of the Times put it best: “It is very, very George in its heralding of the marvelously George qualities.” But read the review yourself. And if you’re hot on participatory journalism, oxfords, sweaters, and Schwinns, this one’s for you.