I hate it when writers and humorists whose work you love disappoint you on a personal level. Like finding out that James Thurber and HL Mencken were Not Nice Fellows. Makes it a tad harder to enjoy their work.
Now. We all love James Lileks. His Institute of Official Cheer is sheer brilliance. I gave all my friends his book last year for New Year’s. But his Daily Bleat columns are beginning to disillusion me. First, I saw this last week, about the gay Episcopal bishop:
“‘I want to have sex with other people’ is not a valid reason for depriving two little girls of a daddy who lives with them . . . There’s a word for people who leave their children because they don’t want to have sex with Mommy anymore: selfish . . . the fact that he left mom for a man insulates him from criticism. It’s as if he had to do it. To stay in the marriage would have been (crack of thunder, horses neighing) living a lie, and nowadays we’re told that’s the worst thing anyone can do.”
OK. The fact that Lileks doesn’t understand the difference between “having an affair” and, yes, “no longer living a lie” is disappointing. I personally don’t understand why a gay man would get married to a woman in the first place. But owning up to one’s mistake and getting out of a situation that’s making everyone miserable? A smart and honorable thing to do.
So, I put it aside and continued to enjoy his Bleats, till I came across this today, on one of his photo tours of Fargo:
“But the old City Hall is still the same, a low clean modern building with the Ten Commandments standing out front. They’ll be gone soon, I’m sure, and that will be a powerful message to all those Fargoans who’ve been tossing atheists on the bonfire every Sunday morning.”
Aw fer chrissakes. OK, he is being “funny.” I’m sure he is not actually anti-atheist, though the whole “separation of church and state” thing seems beyond him, and he doesn’t understand how threatening such things can be to non-Christians.
I’m sure he is a Very Nice Man. I still think he is funny, and still enjoy his Institute. But I no longer want to have a drink with him after work at the Algonquin.
That’s the closest I can come to Pitting him.