I have taken a certain solace in writing about things that have nothing whatsoever to do with politics, but when you hang around a place that is all politics all the time, it is hard to avoid tripping over it.

You have heard the talking points already this week. I was talking about it with John-with last night. He was staying only for a single glass of wine. He wanted to get down to Screwtop, where there is a more target-rich environment.

“They are doing another roll out,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You know, the one that the President’s political people have devised, touting the great benefits of the Affordable Care Act .”

“Didn’t it didn’t it have another name a few minutes ago?” I asked.

John-with gave a wolfish grin. “Yes, it did. It was going to fix a system so flawed that only 80% of them were satisfied with their existing coverage.”

“Twenty percent is a big deal,” I said, watching the cocktail nook fill up with the senior management of the Fish and Wildlife Service. I noted that the Fish Head himself was first to arrive, and he shot the shit with Old Jim while waiting for his people to arrive.

“The Russians are coming,” he said. “A big bilateral delegation to compare notes on how we enforce the regulations in wild places against heavily armed people.”

“Could be interesting, if these Russians are like my Russians,” I said.

John-with wasn’t letting it go. “The website- you know, the one whose back end is not built yet- is working just fine.”

“Sure it is. They need to get beyond this and get back to promoting all the swell stuff that is in it.”

John-with scowled. ”Yeah, the law is fine. The tinkering with the bill itself by the Executive Branch- hey, those are just tweaks, really. Not a problem. And those darn Republicans not signing up to help fix some minor problems.” He laughed and reached for his overcoat.

“It is working for the vast majority of Americans,” I said. “I heard that on the radio.”

“It is all fine,” said John-with. “Like the cop tell you: Move along, nothing to see here. File this little glitch with the other phony scandals. It is Bush’s fault. Toodle-loo, Gentlemen.” Then he headed for the door.

Jim looked over and growled: “What got his knickers in a bunch?”

“Same deal as always. Relentless expansion of government, redistribution of wealth and crushing of individual rights. You know, the usual.”

“This would be the same government that pays his salary, and the one that supported you when you were in the Navy? And pays your retirement.”

“That’’s the one,” I said. “But of course someone else gets my pension. It is called spreading the wealth around.”

“Don’t let the Russians hear you spouting off like that. They are all capitalists now.”

“Of a sort,” I said pensively, taking a deep draught of Happy Hour White. “Look out. That could be the delegation from Moscow coming up from the Metro.”

Jim looked over at the door as some large and vaguely European people stepped through the door on the bar side of the restaurant.

The Fish and Wildlife folks normally take up the whole cocktail nook, but things were completely out of control now. They had clearly been told to make a good show of this, and between their number and the dozen or so Russians, the apex of the Amen Corner was packed in.

An attractive woman with dark hair cut in bangs across a face with prominent cheekbones and teeth as perfect as Chiclets was doing parallel translation for the Fish Head, who was welcoming his counterparts from the Russian Federation.

Jasper and Tex were scrambling to keep up with the demand for craft-brewed draft. One of the Russians actually touched Jim. In fact, he was getting manhandled at his usual stool.

He scowled. “I believe I am going to get out of here before we get the bum’s rush.”

“I second that,” I said, trying to get Tex’s attention and with it, the check. “Too crowded.”

“I have never been run out of here before,” he declared. “Screw this.”

“Roger,” I said, and slid my credit card across the bar toward Tex’s beefy fist. “Run it on this, if you would. I swear I will pay you next month.”

“There is a lot of that going around,” he said with a grin.

“No shit,” said Jim, and he grabbed the cane with the bulldog head, and I grabbed my backpack. It was easier to get around the crowd by retreating back to the restaurant side of the house and go out that entrance.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, savoring the cool air.

“No accounting for taste,” he said, and disappeared around the corner.

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303