Being Frank

It is difficult to know where you’ve been if at any point you’re not sure where you are.

 Being Frank 

Monday.

Frank knocks on my door.

     “Yes?”

      He opens it, stands in the doorway. “You are a liberal,” he says, only a hint of question in his voice.

     “Why?” I say.

     “Sure,” he says. “Sure.” He waits a minute. “You know what the problem is?” he asks.

     “With what?”

Frank

     “CNN,” he says, “the Washington Post, New York Times, the jesters of your tribe.” He waits again. “By jesters I mean the self-righteous cheerleaders.

     “I watch CNN,” he says. “Yesterday, they were saying that the president doesn’t have a sense of humor about himself.’ They didn’t add, ‘any more than Wolf does.’

     “This morning Cuomo is saying, ‘We keep hearing . . . ’ as if he had thousands of sources, he isn’t just listening to six friends and his own idolatrous gut.”

“Idolatrous?” I say.

     “Yes,” he says. “You know what the word means?”

     “I thought I did.”

He waits again. He shakes his head. “Are you going to lunch?” he says.

     Though of course, I am, I say, “Maybe,” and shrug.

     “I’ll stop by on my way,” he says.

03.15 & 07.18