A Brief Encounter

Krugman's press pass worked well. Better than expected. So well, that I ended up seeing absolutely none of the evening's proceedings. It went something like this:

"Paul, why are you wearing that hat?" The voice was sultry, a slight gravelly purr owed to cigarettes and gin.

I had no idea what what Paul Krugman sounded like. In retrospect, his voice was probably similar to mine, nasal and direct, owed to Hebrew School and mastering the art of complaining. Instead, I chose to answer in something deeper, Marlboro-manish.

"Felt like I'd take a look at this whole idea of Change firsthand." I said. Potentially the stupidest line I'd ever uttered and not even buried in the furthest outreaches of a Princeton trained economist's lexicon. I turned to see a woman whose dark red hair swooped down on either side of her sharp face. She had pencil thin eyebrows, a sharp nose, and thin red lips. There was no mistaking, this was the one and only Maureen Dowd.

I swooned, if only briefly, and then laid on a thick smile. She was hot.

"I like it, Paul. I like it a lot." She whispered a lot and her breath rifled across the ends of my peyot.

"And you look luscious." Who the hell was I? Certainly not Paul Krugman.

"Let's leave." She said. Fate had played its hand and who was I to argue. I ran my hand down her skirt leg and smiled. Suddenly, a distant pang of professionalism shocked me back to eager surroundings. The thousands of devoted, the spirit of change, the---

"You know how these first nights go Paul. Ted Kennedy is going to make a bunch of people cry and Michelle is going to come off better than everyone expected. You can read about it online. Let's leave."

And with that were we gone. The night was glorious, tawdry, and exhausting. I think Dowd must have screwed eight years of angst out of me. I had never been in the presence of of so much prowess and power. I slept for hours.

This morning (afternoon?) I awoke to a note and fresh pot of coffee:

"I know you're not Krugman and I don't care. I'll see you on the floor tonight, Chassid. There's a special press pass for you next to your suit. Krugman spent the whole morning meeting bitching about missing last night. If he only knew... Maureen."

Oy. Now this is change I can believe in!