SHEEP IN WOLFF’S CLOTHING

Among other insights after an hour’s lunch with me, New York Magazine writer Michael Wolff concludes that a) I have no sense of humor; b) that I’m bad on television; c) that I’m someone who “who believes in, and only in, the passions of his own beliefs.” Okay, can someone tell me what that last thing means? Does he mean that I don’t actually believe what I say I do, but I’m merely a believer in passion? Or that I’m a real believer that one should be passionate about what one believes? Or what? Damned if I know. Also: Small word of advice to anyone giving a media interview. When they ask you who in the past you think of as a model for your work, someone you aspire to, whose example encourages and invigorates you, don’t answer. I did – mentioning Orwell, Camus, Mill, Constant, as my idols in the past. So how does the writer set the piece up? “I am gamely casting about for someone to compare Andrew Sullivan to. “Orwell,” he offers … “Not that I would compare myself to Orwell,”” How to make yourself look like an asshole? Trust a journalist. Similarly, Wolff asserts that “[Sullivan] believes that he is the most significant gay public intellectual in America today.” What’s his evidence for this assertion? Nada. Did he ask me? Nope. Would I have said yes if he had? Nope. Mind-reading as journalism. So how come he couldn’t mind-read my sense of humor?