Late 60’s slain inspirer-in-chief, Bobby Kennedy, once said “one-fifth of the people are against everything all the time.” Watching the politico witch-hunt commercials of Election 2006, it seems like four-fifths might be more accurate. At a time when news from the Baghdad front is grim and the best that can be said from one of my brave friends stationed over there is that “it is constant ebb and flow here of success and setback. Baghdad has more intensity than Mosul in 2004. There are more people trying to kill you here, but Mosul had deadlier IEDs and more snipers” we are all looking for something to believe in, a ray of hope that the tattered Middle East times and climbing casualty counts are a changin’. Instead, we get TV images of crack-infested inner Baltimore and mentions of the long-past Tailhook scandal with the not-so-secret implied query, “Do you want men with this baggage to be YOUR public servants?”

In the two years TLRG has been serving enquiring minds on-line, I’ve been careful not to discuss my politics much with you. No regailing of my college summers spent at the Republican National Committee, no tales of my politico pavement pounding. Truth be told, I live and work in the swamp of the DC Beltway, a career for which I’ve received much ribbing from my family who rank “those lawyers in Washington” just above toxic sludge. I’d have to disagree. I’ve worked on both sides of the partisan aisle for more than a decade and can tell you that there are some remarkable legislators out there who spend the time that they could be collecting enormous fees on the speaking circuit or being private consultants decked out in the best Brooks Brothers money can buy to instead work on issues of real consequence to the citizens of our country. And they won’t stop until their vision of improvement is achieved. Is it naïve of me to want these stories told? To instead turn on the boob-toob and hear about how the local candidate I elect can make a positive impact on my environment, school or specialty hospital? No more images of slain soldiers, immigrants hustling over the borders or our unspeakable inner cities. We know how we got here but who is going to get us out and how? These are the issues of our times. This is why I go to the polls. I wish Bobby Kennedy were still alive to deliver great oratory and unite us as a nation but unfortunately all we’ll have is the new Emilio Estevez biopic with quasi-moving cameos from every A-List starlet shopping at Kitson.

Bobby when alive emphasized that “few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total; of all those acts will be written the history of this generation.” What will you do?

Signed,
TLRG

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I feel a real kinship to Dick Cheney; after all we both have cardiologists on speed-dial and he lives just three blocks away from my mold-infested subterranean dungeon of an unbelievably expensive mini-manse. While I can’t confess to seeing him at Max’s Glover Park Creamery, licking a mint chip cone with jimmies as Al Gore was apt to do during his VP reign, my peepers have spied Dick’s morning motorcade more than once making a beeline to 1600 Pennsylvania.

What must he be thinking of events unfolding here? After nine lives of public service that began just after the Summer of Love and continued on through the Milli-Vinilli era and the fall of the wall, our Veep must have quite a schooled perspective on life and death by the political sword. He’s seen many a lamb be sacrificed. Who’s next on the butcher block? This city is not unlike the swamp on which it was built, burying and drowning those not strong enough or lucky enough to avoid the muck. Can he and Scooter don their rubber chaps and trudge their way out?

Like Hugh Hefner, I give the old guy credit for his longevity and continued relevance in the face of the societal change. It’s hard to find and maintain footing in Washington: a town ruled by CBO ten-year budget forecasts and the arcane Roberts Rules of Order, where the size of your rolodex and the campaign you worked on in 1986 is so much more important than the contents of your cerebrum or your ability to play well with others. How do you foster any sense of normalcy here? Marine One routinely flies above on the route to work. Gas mask location appraisals in case of a bioterror attack are routine. And, steel barricades for a World Bank protest, not the standard issue orange traffic cones, block desired shopping routes on lazy, hazy Sunday afternoons.

A relative of mine one told me I was “so inside the Beltway, I didn’t even know it.” They were right. DC is both insulary and a funhouse mirror distorting your image and everyone elses. Be careful and be forwarned. It is not for the faint of heart. All job descriptions should start with: brass balls required for survival. Don’t get me wrong, although I sound like a spurned lover, I relish every dry appetizer and Scotch-soaked minute I spend here chatting up the latest youngling guru or tracking down facts and figures as midnight looms large. There is no more heart-pounding game to play than that of the politico. And not a better profession for an adreline junkie. I would have it no other way. And I’m guessing neither would Dick. Fare thee well.

Signed,
TLRG

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