Filner can’t get squat from Tom Delay
In advance of my first-ever trip to the nation’s capital—where I am now, attempting to survive kabillion-degree heat and 2,000-percent humidity—I asked Congressmember Bob Filner if I could hang out with him for awhile at the Capitol building, and Filner didn’t disappoint. The progressive Democrat from south San Diego County invited me to lunch in the members’ dining room and set me up with private tours of the Capitol (Tuesday) and the White House (Wednesday, along with some crew from Chula Vista). He also seated me up in the gallery above the Congress floor (much smaller than it looks on TV) and narrated what was going on down below (twice he bolted downstairs to vote while I waited).
During lunch, Filner noticed that former House Majority Leader Tom Delay, one of the arch-villains of modern American politics, was sitting at an adjacent table, surrounded by a handful of guests. I wondered aloud what Delay was doing in the congressional eatery. With whom was he lunching and what was on the agenda, I wanted to know.
“I’ll go find out,” Filner announced before scampering over to the beady-eyed Republican’s table.
I could hear Filner introduce himself to Delay by name, suggesting that Delay might not recall the face. Delay grinned a wide, phony-looking grin that suggested something like, “Oh yeah, Filner: I despised you then, and I despise you even more now. Get away from me, you peon. You’re ruining my duck confit.”
Moments later, Filner returned information-free. “He wouldn’t tell me,” he said, explaining that members usually introduce their guests to table-visiting colleagues.
Obviously, Delay’s still up to no good.
Update: OK, so the White House tour didn’t turn out to be private or anything remotely special. Filner, as required in this post-9-11 world, met me at the east entrance and walked me and the other crew inside, then he bailed, leaving us to a self-guided public tour of several mildly interesting parlors and state rooms filled with presidential portraits and antiques. Meh.
Meh? Where’s your sense of… of… of…. ? I mean could you not feel the ghostly presence of presidents past? Did you not imagine the men who had passed through the same halls you were now (probably with sneakers on) snickering in? Shame. Lmao.