Rove-in Around D.C.

D.C. is a place where those with the keys to power can brush up with those destined to stay on the margins. Chance encounters between the governmental elites and the majority of non-entities forced to cling to singular hopes and pipedreams intersect, sometimes with glorious results, most of the time with narry a ripple in the cosmic fabric binding the world together. So it was this past weekend when my wife and I enjoyed a quiet Italian dinner in NW D.C. I have no illusions regarding my place in this democracy. I vote as often as I can when I can in a city that has very few voting rights. But I do have a variety of eating establishments to choose from, and this night we ventured to a little family venue that serves very good spaghetti.

As we left the restaurant in the middle of a rainstorm, the remnants of Ernesto creeping up the Atlantic Coast, I noticed a man in a raincoat approaching us. The spark of recognition ignited in my brain as he drew closer and my mind raced through the millions of cells searching for a name to match the face. The brain opened the celebrity file, and in doing so the rest of body stopped and stared. The man came closer and looked at me and cracked a subtle smile, as if knowing that I knew him from somewhere, perhaps on TV or in a movie. He had that knowing look of one used to being recognized. And it hit me.

My wife was not transfixed as I was, for she was thinking of other things, of places to be and things to accomplish, her mind not cluttered with the mundane task of celebrity sighting. Yet I was pleading with her, telepathically, to look over, to see this giant of American culture, this person that both she and I have admonished in mixed company and questioned his integrity as a human. Yet she would not, could not.

Thinking back there are things I wish I could of said at that moment. Thousands of times I have rehearsed with me and my friends arguments to make regarding the political movements of this country. Those arguments involve disagreeing with the strategies and public persona of this one who now was walking past me into the restaurant. It donned on me that yes, he needs to eat and enjoy the food just like us. He has friends somewhere to enjoy a glass of wine with, to talk about sports and weather and other fun items. So I let him pass me by to enjoy his dinner without the distraction of political engagement. This person that I have built up in my mind as the root cause for all America's ills (an exaggeration to be sure but one reflective of our political culture in general, perhaps pointing to its sorry state for all involved), simply wants to be. My chance encounter with the corridors of power will not even appear on any radar screen as having any effect on the shifting tides of culture, political or otherwise. Yet I did noticed that Karl Rove in person has appeared to have lost some weight. While engaging in a variety of wars, intellectual, physical, sociological, etc., Rove, aka Bush's Brain, aka numerous expletives, and aka numerous affirmations, has time to exercise. Now if only I could do the same.