So I was interviewed by the Paris Review, and this is what I said
That august publication sent Ambule Mellonhead, the head of melons at the magazine, to my home.
My lawyer, Gloria Torquemada, was present, in case she had to disentangle any legal problems arising from my statements; and my wolves were stationed on the front porch, to handle possible distractions.
To conceal my identity, I was upstairs in the bedroom, sitting up in bed with cushions behind me. Mellonhead was in the kitchen, having a snack. He called me on his cell. I answered on my land line.
PR (Paris Review): Is it true you were slated to pitch for the New York Yankees?
JR: No. I wanted to. But at 16, I realized my fastball was a change-up.
PR: Did that discovery change your life?
JR: I went to see a psychoanalyst. After a few sessions, I realized he thought he was Genet, the playwright.
PR: What made him believe that?
JR: I asked him. He said he wanted to kill his father and sleep with his mother.
PR: So you began writing at 16. Poetry? Fiction?
JR: Travel stories. I went to Africa to hunt big game. My uncle wanted me to be Earnest Hemingway.
PR: How did that work out?
JR: I wore a bush jacket and drank Congolese whiskey. The rest I don’t recall. I may have shot a snake or harpooned an eel.
PR: There was a long period—from age 16 to 44—during which you published nothing.
JR: That whole time I was polishing one article on Mozzarella.
PR: The cheese?
JR: The New York mobster, Francis Mozzarella. He was moving CIA money to Italy, which was on the post-war road to Communism. The Mafia was enlisted to squash that movement.
PR: Politics has always demanded your attention.
JR: I hope I have demanded its attention.
PR: I feel we’re getting off on the wrong foot here, Mr. Rappoport.
JR: So do I. You know, I have the facility to be awake and dream at the same time.
PR: You’re dreaming now?
PR: Perhaps we should pursue that path.
JR: Right now, I’m dreaming you have a disordered mind.
PR: How so?