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" he demands, offering a dramatic rendition for an amused waiter of the possible story that would result: " ' And Limbaugh claims to be just an average guy and then orders -an-ounce beluga and forces it on a reporter.' "The reporter promises that there will be full disclosure that she never needs to be forced to eat caviar. "One of the reasons of my success is that I'm totally concerned with me. "When I have someone coming into town for the weekend, I get stressed out on Tuesday thinking about it," he says. "If I have a young woman in town who wants to do it, I mean, I'm flexible," he says, scrunching up his baby face in distaste.
Most of me is devoted to my work, and you've placed that off limits. I have a vacation coming up the first week in April and I haven't the slightest idea what I'm going to do. "They're going to want to go walking around town, and I don't walk. "I'm into making people happy, even though I'll make myself miserable."He lives in a two-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side that he says he has never bothered to fix up.
"I have all my clothes sent to me from Rochester Big and Tall," he says.
"They come to my place and bring some stuff and I pick out what I like and send the rest back."He has taken friends to Broadway shows like "Phantom of the Opera" and "The Will Rogers Follies." He even had a one-night turn in "Follies" a few weeks ago as Wiley Post.
Limbaugh is told the ground rules: he cannot talk about politics."Well, what, what, what, well, now, wait a second, what do you want to discuss instead? Taking a sip of his adult beverage -- Rushian argot for, in this case, red wine -- he protests: "What I do in my off time has nothing to do with what I am. I know I'm not Paul Newman."But some rapport finally develops when the menu arrives and the spokesman for the Fruited Plain, as he refers to America, asks the starving reporterette, "You like caviar? Limbaugh's culinary tastes are more Alexis Carrington than Archie Bunker. And mashed potatoes." There is also a bottle of 1990 Corton-Charlemagne. Limbaugh, who puts his current weight at "265, 270," says he is on a low-fat diet but is no longer crashing. He wants to talk about the Pursuit of Excellence, the topic of his next book. After all, everyone already knows what he thinks about welfare, government gridlock, abortion and animal rights. "I don't have an ideal day," he replies, glumly. One thing I like about New York is that they bring it to you. You don't have to go find it, shop for it, look for it, if you don't want to.
His two other favorite restaurants in town are the pretty-in-pink Sign of the Dove and that commie-lib hangout Elaine's."Are you going to write about what we eat here? "If it takes me another year to lose what I want to lose, fine," he says. (Bad, bad, anti and twaddle.)"I am pretty much one-dimensional," he says. Well, if a good friend came into town one Saturday, what would you do? I love that."He concedes that, on occasion, he has actually been forced to walk on Fifth Avenue.
The four-hour dinner gets off to a sputtering start when Mr. "In this light, you're a dead ringer for Sally Field. for all those lib guys down in Washington to hug each other and get misty and confessional, but at "21," amid the meat and potatoes, there are conservative standards. Limbaugh does not want to talk about what he does in his free time.
Limbaugh is being interviewed by The New York Times, has just ribbed his bachelor pal by remarking loudly in passing: "Well, Rush, that's got to be either a hooker or a reporter."It is not surprising that Mr.
Limbaugh inspires such dazzling outbursts of political incorrectness. L.; that's it."While the 42-year-old has become supremely confident in the studio dishing up verities of the right -- a regurgitation of his radio musings called "The Way Things Ought to Be" has been at or near the top of the New York Times best-seller list for 28 weeks -- his off-the-air personality is far less brazenly assured.
IT is not possible to tell, in the dim light of the "21" Club, if Rush Limbaugh is blushing.
But he certainly looks sheepish, a rare state for the radio and television talk-show host who has become a millionaire and conservative hero by zestfully clubbing "feminazis," "environmental wackos," Anita Hill, Jesse Jackson, Hillary Clinton, Teddy Kennedy, Mario Cuomo, homeless advocates, dolphins, spotted owls, trees, "commie libs" and "the arts and croissant crowd."A friend of his, a bond trader at Lazard Freres who is also dining at the restaurant and who knows that Mr.
What else would one expect from the Most Dangerous Man in the World, as he likes to call himself, the omnimedia rapscallion celebrated by Vanity Fair as the gender war's "General Schwarzkopf for the boys' side"? He also asks if the reporter would care to switch seats, from the red leather banquette to the straight chair opposite, observing: "I note that by virtue of where you're sitting, there appears to be a power imbalance. He suspects that he is being set up by the Liberal Media Conspiracy."You saw ' Absence of Malice?