The Wire Final Season
I thought you already wrote that book: Wasn't Prisonersthe story of Omar Goldberg, a gay, black stickup artist obsessed with Israel's security? (Can you imagine Omar in Israel? That would be a great short film.) Speaking of Love and Consequences, excuse me while I pat myself on the back: The minute I read the Kakutani review in the New York Times last week, I sent an e-mail to my Slatecolleagues with the subject line "I bet this book is not true."
Back to The Wire: If you had bothered to read my dialogue entries, you would have noticed that I wrote a long, agonized paragraph two weeks ago about the Moreland snitching paradox. But I guess you were too busy hobnobbing in the steam room with Richard Holbrooke, or bathing in organic yak milk with Harry Reid, or whatever it is you do over at the Atlantic.
You're right about Namond, of course, though I can't help feeling that's a pretty thin reed to cling to. After five seasons of the show, we're allowed one escapee (or maybe two, counting Bubbles). A couple of readers reminded me that Marlo has also spent much of this season having trouble leaving Baltimore. He had that wonderful fish-out-of-water moment at his Caribbean bank, and he has repeatedly made plans to go to Atlantic City, N.J., with Chris but never manages to take the trip.
I actually miss Namond's mom, Delonda, who was one of the great maternal monsters in screen history. She made Joan Crawford look like the mother of the year. I have a friend who worked with Sandi McCree, who plays Delonda, and says she's a lovely woman in real life. I guess that's why they call it "acting."
David Plotz is the Editor of Slate. He's the author of The Genius Factory: The Curious History of the Nobel Prize Sperm Bank and Good Book. He appears on Slate's Political Gabfest.