Once Zeev I was interviewed by a journalist in Bombay. The result was disappointing. I was very happy that he spelled my name correctly, however.
Later, that same month, I was interviewed by a reporter in a place called Kotah (an erstwhile Princely State on the fringes of Rajasthan, for those of you geographically inclined). The journalist, a blinking small man with a furtive manner and a dull pencil who wrote up hiks words in a spotted notebook, reported that I had come to town to steal the trophies of the Maharajas tigers off his walls (they were all moldy and the local taxidermist had taken a cdrtain license it should be noted...they were all, these Maharajas tigers, all 370 of them.. in miles and miles of otherwise empty palace coridors... yes...can yo believe this....they were crosseyed!).
I was elated, though, that the journalist not only got the purpose of my visit to Kotah wrong, but he also spelled my name incorrectly. I had what Richard Nixon used to think of as an important asset of statecraft...deniability.
I noticed a certain frost in the Maharajas attitudes to me after that...the thought unnerved him perhaps that I was about to run off with his trophies. I had in fact come to town to "capture" his trophies on film in a movie. Ah. You see the connection the senile, chuckleheaded journalist almost made?
The moral: Always be happy that you make it into print because ther are no other joys whatsover in dealing with journalists. Remember even ee cummings was misquoted.
Zeev. You wear glasses?? My god and you look a gay dog at that.
Stitch..be happy the journalist said you lived somewhere... even Singapore. He might have had you camping in the public park and running your business via modem from a bench inteh botalical garden. These journalists. Devilish clever, what?
Best to you,
Clark |
