Written Pyramids

In case you were feeling bad for Woodward, last night I dreamed about him.

I MUST start reading things that have nothing to do with Watergate. In this dream Woodward had agreed to play himself in a play based on All The President's Men, though people thought it would be hilariously funny if he was playing Bernstein instead (don't ask. It's a dream. For the record, Bernstein seemed to be played by some kind of animal).

Anyhow, the play fell through and Woodward and I chatted for hours. He said that the movie softened his image (but in my dream version of the All The President's Men movie, Woodward had a red wagon he was very fond of. Again don't ask).

We talked about the movie vs. real life, editors at The Post, and then I asked him the same Janet Cooke question, forgetting that Woodward was Cooke's editor at the time. He showed no sign of being impressed that I read Bradlee's book (considering it was an NYTimes bestseller, there is really no reason to be impressed) but the question made him immeasurably sad, and he said some things I can't remember about irreparable mistakes. I asked him some more things and then he had to leave, and I walked down the street bragging to anyone who would listen that Woodward let me talk to him for three hours. (I hid my embarrassments that I had not read a single book he wrote since All The President's Men and did not tell him that I thought the Deep Throat book came across as a money-maker and little more).

I desperately need dreams that are less dorky.