thematically fickle

This morning, I took Ruby up to The Art of Espresso (hereafter to be referred to as either AOE or The Cart) to see her father, to get her knees dirty crawling around on the cement, shred a few impatiens with her gums (I hope they’re not poisonous) and to be generally oohed and ahhed over by Sam’s clientele, as if she doesn’t get enough of that at home. Of course, this is all secondary to the real reason we were there: I needed my daily caffeine dialysis.

I was in a fine spring mood, minding my own business and enjoying the precociousness of my little girl, when some guy with a laptop open to the headline du jour, began happily informing me about the breaking sex scandal involving the already shamed Randal “The Duke” Cunningham, Porter Goss and (gasp!) hookers. Well. I. Never. Apparently this is just the tit…er, I mean TIP of the iceberg and other Who’s Who in DC are likely to be fingered, if you will. Suddenly, I felt myself flush. I felt positively girlish. I wanted to hug and kiss and jump up and down with this nice, informative stranger. The emotions that surged upon hearing this news were reminiscent of those I felt when I heard that one Jeff Gannon (or is it Jim Guckert?), a gay male escort with, how shall I say it?…limited journalistic experience, was somehow (nobody knows how), given highly coveted press corp credentials to cover the White House. And cover the White House he DID! Turns out that Gannon/Guckert had the privilege of spending the night at taxpayer sponsored 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. On many occasions. With, rumor has it, Karl Rove…? The mind reels.

Now, nothing will likely come of all this except, predictably, the major news networks (who have IGNORED THIS STORY FOR SEVERAL MONTHS) will ramp up their coverage of the Duke rape scandal (I’m referring to the University, here, not the former congressman) or shove down our collective throats a re-analysis of the analysis of the Natalie Holloway disappearnce. But I don’t care. I feel too damn HAPPY basking in the blinding glare of hypocrisy. All I can think about is SEX, SEX, SEX and more passionless, right wing, buttoned up, lights off, condescending, foreplay-absent, father-knows-best, missionary style, only-between-a-man-and-a-woman-within-the-sanctitiy-of-marriage-or-else-you’ll-burn-in-hell, two-minute kind of SEX. You know, the kind that is SURELY had by those who have brought “integrity back to the White House”.

Somewhere, Bill Clinton must be smiling.