Monday, November 22, 2004
We have staggered out of our weekend-long wine vinaigrette marinade intact, albeit with probably a million or so fewer brain cells than last Thursday I wrote and a decidedly more pickled feeling.. Saturday came in-town neighbors we've known going on sixteen years -- six bottles down for the four of us. Sunday came a hungover day of preparation for the big hitters: the CEO boss and his beautiful wife. Also the millionaire retired 52-year-old and his highly successful art gallery owner/ long-time girlfriend. And an evening of endlessly streaming wine.
Normally I never shut up. But on this big-hitter night my vocabulary stayed stuck to my still groggy tongue like a summer's-worth of flies to tack paper. Which was just fine because Mz. Art Gallery Owner and Mr. CEO are loquacious ones. With abandon that only comes with a deep sense of shared common ground, they swapped stories of wealth to make one's head spin. Did Mr. CEO want to go in $400K for a part-time share in a villa in Italy? They spoke of New England real estate ventures. Upgrades to the summer home in Chatham. Upgrades to the already upgraded luxury apartment in Brookline. The trips. The boats. The wine. The art. The $X-thousand dollar painting she had for him in her car that he musn't forget.
Then came the Bush-bashing. The voting conspiracies. The war. The Let's-Join-Canada. The economic implications of Greenspan's comments and whether to pull out one's money from the market. The that's- why-we're-thinking-of-moving-to-Italy-and-building-a-house-there. Well isn't that nice I thought.... To be able to afford to be a bleeding heart liberal.
My constituent "Joe the Pig" has no such luxury. Just out of jail, no one will hire him. He needs housing. He needs medical attention. Not that these friends didn't vote for a presidential candidate they thought was most likely to help the "Joe the Pigs" of the world. And yes I can make a few calls to our contacts on his behalf. But at the end of the day, I have a glass of wine chilling in my brand new fridge of my just re-done kitchen. And I can turn him off like any news story I don't want to follow when I'm not in the mood. Six months out of the year in Connemara wouldn't be bad either. Sigh...
Normally I never shut up. But on this big-hitter night my vocabulary stayed stuck to my still groggy tongue like a summer's-worth of flies to tack paper. Which was just fine because Mz. Art Gallery Owner and Mr. CEO are loquacious ones. With abandon that only comes with a deep sense of shared common ground, they swapped stories of wealth to make one's head spin. Did Mr. CEO want to go in $400K for a part-time share in a villa in Italy? They spoke of New England real estate ventures. Upgrades to the summer home in Chatham. Upgrades to the already upgraded luxury apartment in Brookline. The trips. The boats. The wine. The art. The $X-thousand dollar painting she had for him in her car that he musn't forget.
Then came the Bush-bashing. The voting conspiracies. The war. The Let's-Join-Canada. The economic implications of Greenspan's comments and whether to pull out one's money from the market. The that's- why-we're-thinking-of-moving-to-Italy-and-building-a-house-there. Well isn't that nice I thought.... To be able to afford to be a bleeding heart liberal.
My constituent "Joe the Pig" has no such luxury. Just out of jail, no one will hire him. He needs housing. He needs medical attention. Not that these friends didn't vote for a presidential candidate they thought was most likely to help the "Joe the Pigs" of the world. And yes I can make a few calls to our contacts on his behalf. But at the end of the day, I have a glass of wine chilling in my brand new fridge of my just re-done kitchen. And I can turn him off like any news story I don't want to follow when I'm not in the mood. Six months out of the year in Connemara wouldn't be bad either. Sigh...
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