18 March 2006

Public Spectacle

I wore the green sweater. It took a little searching to find it, since it was right where I left it a year ago. I slipped it on, and it was a little tighter than I remember. But that seems to be the way of things, clothes shrinking mysteriously in the closet when you don't wear them regularly. St. Patrick's Day is the only time I dig out the sweater.

The sweater is a compromise. I can't stand the green plastic hats and the “Kiss me, I'm Irish!” buttons. The screaming Kelly green of it is as much statement as I can stand without becoming a public spectacle.

The commute downtown was a decent one, quick and expeditious. That normally means the Congress is out of town and inflicting itself on the Home Districts. The President was hosting the President of Ireland, and I was hosting the office newsletter on my computer. It was really the only thing separating me from a dark foamy beverage.

I pecked at it through the morning, answering the phone and absently inflating our accomplishments with bold face type for emphasis. I was not surprised to hear around lunchtime that the Senate had done some damage before they adjourned early to go find their own dark foamy drinks.

Late on Thursday, the Senators had reluctantly increased the deficit ceiling by a trillion dollars or so. I don't know what the real total is now, several trillion certainly, and I think it is pushing an amount equivalent to the entire gross national product. A commentator said the amount was around $30,000 for every man, woman and child in the country.

If I gritted my teeth I could probably manage it, though I don't know about the kids. There is a war on, after all, and I imagine we could just print a lot of hundred dollar bills if it came to that. I think that is what Lord Maynard Keynes, the noted economist, said long ago.

But the last time we tried that with Mr. Johnson and Mr. Nixon the consequences were not very pleasant. What amazed me about the Senate was that after the lugubrious sound-bytes about fiscal responsibility, they went right back to work spending right up to the new credit limit.

Several popular programs needed some additional funds, and they got them. Apparently there are some nervous Senators. Conrad Burns of Montana is one of them, and so is Mike DeWine of Ohio. They both have scandals to deal with and are vulnerable. They are also Republicans, and when you count the others that are in trouble, like Rick Santorum of Pennsylvania, Jim Talent of Missouri and Lincoln Chafee of Rhode Island, we are talking about a Democratic Senate after the elections in the Fall.

So all of them voted for an additional $7 billion for medical research, education and worker safety.

Which is not to say that I am not in favor of all those things, and the war for that matter, but I wrote down the number, and then I wrote down “$30,000” and looked at it for a while. The tax cuts didn't help the equation, even though they claim that I am one of the fat cats that should pay more.

I just did my taxes, and I think half of what I make going to the Feds, and Social Security and Medicare and my friends in Richmond is probably about as much as I can handle at the moment, with a kid still in college. They don't let me run a deficit, or at least not for long.

I don't know if my vote will count for much in the Fall. Arlington is a Democratic bastion already, and neither of the two Virginia Senators are up for election. I don't think so, anyway. I know that John Warner, Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee is safe. And I forget who the other one is. I think he is the son of the old Redskins coach, but I could be wrong.

I haven't heard much about him lately, so he must be safe, too.

I didn't put any of that in the newsletter.  I got most of the regular features filled in with optimistic forecasts and new business opportunities. The Senate had ensured that there would be money to fund some of them.

Then the Boss announced that it was time to head across the street and celebrate the day with a couple Murphy's Stouts at the new steakhouse. I was not quite ready, so I left the newsletter on the screen of my computer when I grabbed my jacket.

The place was packed, and there were a lot of busy executives playing hooky. The first round of the NCAA men's basketball tournament was playing silently on the big-screen television mounted on the blonde wood.

I don't know why they did not have Guinness on tap, and did not have a chance to ask the owner- he is Irish after all, so he must have his reasons. He is part of the Celtic Tiger renaissance on the little island where we came from so long ago, and I am proud of his accomplishments.

A fellow at the next table was dressed as a Leprechaun, with green velvet knee-britches, a tight little green jacket and an odd cloth cap. The owner didn't seem to mind, and maybe the Little People, even bogus ones, are considered good luck.

There was a lot of merriment going on, and it was hard to talk over the din. Our waiter was William, who was not Irish, but rather from Cameroon. We shouted to him in French, and both beers, when they eventually arrived, were tasty and left foam on my moustache.

Food rolled by our stand-up table on carts, piled high on white china platters of excellent quality. The Leprechaun was starting to get on my nerves, and with the newsletter still to finish, I took advantage of the din to slip out of the bar, and back onto the street.

Walking back past the park, I passed the homeless who had staked out the benches. They were swaddled in blankets and old packing pads. They seemed to be clawing at the last direct sunlight that fell on the little open space across New York Avenue from the Bus Station. When the solar disk goes behind the new twelve-story tower it gets cold fast.

It is an interesting public spectacle, with the poor wrapped in their bundles, and the Irish, and the Irish wannabes, inside the new buildings encroaching on the public space. I decided that public drinking festivals are probably best left to the amateurs on these special days. Or at least accomplished on foot.

By the time I put the newsletter to bed, it was crisp as I drove the little red Mercedes out of the underground garage and around the corner to head back across the river.

It is nice to get out of Washington a little early on a Friday. I was glad the Senators got a chance to do the same thing, and get home to talk about the shiny new benefits they had secured for their constituents.

Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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