The DP and I had dinner with his sister and brother-in-law over the weekend, and our conversation included a riff on how famous – or famous for Washington, DC – people can move around the city in relative anonymity. Mention was made of seeing LeBron James at Sequoia enjoying a drink at the bar, unmolested by anyone.
I didn’t think anything of this, and went on my usual weekend business of shopping, including a stop at the Temple of Yuppie Pulchritude, also known as Whole Foods. While perusing the organic, cruelty-free meat, I overheard this comment:
“Thank you for all you’ve done for the Republican Party! We’ll see how well we do against the Democrats in the next election cycle.”
I turned and saw a syncophantic woman giving Karl Rove a metaphoric blow job.
Now, my initial reaction was fury, followed by nausea. I knew that if I did what my rage was driving me toward – decking Karl Rove, in the middle of the Tenleytown Whole Foods – I would likely end up in jail, and on my way to Guantanamo Bay for a long term vacation with waterboarding, and not windsurfing, as my recreation. I would also end up on the front page of the Washington Post, possibly above the fold, which is a level of celebrity and infamy I have never sought or desired. I thought about asking Rove how his math was doing now, but realized that it would have violated the rules of public anonymity described above.
So I chose plan B: I pulled out my mobile phone (why did I forget to take a picture?) and called the DP.
“Hello,” he said.
“I’m standing next to the Anti-Christ at the meat counter at Whole Foods,” I responded. Rove shot me a cold look from the pig eyes stuck in his potato face, looking like a living, breathing Mr. Potato Head
“Cheney shops? At Whole Foods? I though he only ate kittens and babies?”
“No, not Cheney. Rove”
“Yeah. I feel dirty now.”
“Love you. ‘Bye.”
“Love you too. ‘Bye.”
And that was it. Rove had wandered off. I saw him in the checkout line, and was glad I wasn’t immediately in front of or behind him.
What I want to know is how, in the spectrum of famous and famous for Washington people, do I get to see both Karl Rove (hideous) and James Carville (extra hideous in a shorty bathrobe with his pipe cleaner legs)? Not George Clooney. Not Angeline Jolie. Hell, not even Barack Obama. No, I get Rove and Carville. Hell, I tell you. A circle of hell.