Capital Letters: Michael and Me

Michael W. Lynch from the February 1999 issue

Date: Wed, December 2, 1998 3:24:59 PM
From: [e-mail]
Subj: Season's Greetings

The Christmas, excuse me, holiday season commenced yesterday, marked by the arrival of the Philip Morris gift box, a Philadelphia Cream Cheese box the size of a small suitcase, stuffed with such Kraft Food favorites as "Cheezin 'n Squeezin pasteurized process cheese sauce," "Shake 'n Bake Perfect Potatoes Crispy Cheddar," and "Toblerone Mini."

I'm not ungrateful for the gift. I will no doubt use many of the products, and the family my wife Diana and I adopt for Christmas will probably make some use of the Cheeze Wiz. Still, one must fight off disappointment upon opening such a large box "From the Philip Morris Family of Companies"--a family that includes Miller Brewing and Philip Morris USA, the maker of Marlboros and distributor of Macanudos--and finding only Kraft's processed products, all of which have a shelf life that make them eligible for the Y2K stockpile. Why treat the good stuff, the very stuff of holiday cheer, like a redheaded stepchild?

December 1 also kicked off the holiday party parade. D.C. over the holidays is like a small town in which everyone wants to throw a party. The problem isn't getting people to show up--Where else would one eat dinner in December?--but finding enough days for all the parties. The U.S. Chamber of Commerce was first out of the chute.

The reception, sponsored by the Chamber's "Office of Congressional Affairs," was held in the Chamber's flag room, an ample ballroom with a bunch of Latin written on the dark wood of the Italian Renaissance ceiling. Julie DeFalco, a former Competitive Enterprise Institute analyst who defected to the Chamber to write speeches for its president, Thomas Donohue, informed me that the theme was "exploration."

"I'm the one who put you on the list," she told me, after I commented that I quite liked the organization of food choices by continent. I had already sampled two fajitas and a couple slivers of quesadilla at the Latin American table. I had traveled to Asia, where I piled a plate high with dumplings, pad thai, and the evening's most popular dish: duck, plum sauce, and a reed of green onion wrapped in a small Chinese tortilla. I always maintain that the best thing about multiculturalism is the food. (Celebrate Diverse Foods--the slogan of D.C. conservative inclusion.) "Maybe you can do one of your letters about it?" she suggested.

There were a lot of dark suits in the room, and I managed to get some work done. I ran into a staffer for the Senate leadership, who will remain anonymous so I can share his insights. "What's the thinking on Social Security?" I inquired as we waited for our turn at the bar, knowing he was helping to formulate the political game plan. We're not going to do anything until Clinton comes up with a plan, he replied. Otherwise, he'll "punch the piss out of us." There you have it. The 106th Congress is preparing for battle with Clinton like a battered wife prepares for her husband's return from the bar.

I also ran into a professional staffer on the House Education Committee. He talked about being part of the machine that he used to rail against in his former life as a nongovernment employee. He deals a lot with bureaucrats in his new position. His report, which I absorbed while working on a large glass filled with Absolut Vodka and a splash of tonic, is that life-long bureaucrats are stupid, in addition to being petty and lazy, although there are certainly exceptions.

He's learning a lot. The nice thing about being a professional staffer, according to this fellow, is how easy you can carve out a bit of turf that you can dominate legislatively. Even the congressmen and congresswomen can only abuse you so much, since they depend on your expertise. It's an easy way to make a career, he said, although he's not planning on it.

Diana and I made one more pass through Asia--each picking up another duck roll--and headed out the door. We were home, buzzed and full, by 8:15. Nothing like December.

Date: Fri, December 4, 1998 3:43:40 PM
From: [e-mail]
Subj: More Holiday News

The American Legislative Exchange Council cordially invited me to attend its holiday reception last night. Actually, upon hearing of it from my Institute for Justice suite mates, I called and invited myself, telling Eric Caron, ALEC's press guy, that I was doing a series on holiday parties in Washington. ALEC is hosting an annual meeting this week, and since it caters to Washington outsiders and wannabe insiders, a.k.a. state legislators, I thought it would be an interesting contrast to the usual Washington party. This just meant that I didn't know many people there.

Entering the reception at the Renaissance Hotel, I was confronted with two things. Well three things: a banner welcoming me from the family of Philip Morris companies, a bar sponsored by that generous family, and Caron. "Philip Morris is picking up the tab?" I asked, after brief pleasantries. The entire thing, he said. Noticing my firm grasp on a bottle of Miller Genuine Draft, he bragged: "This isn't even a Miller hotel."

I begged off, telling him it was time for me to gather news. I immediately ran into a gang of I.J.ers. "Where else can you find crab quesadillas at one of these things?" enthused I.J. attorney and Randian music critic Scott Bullock. The band was playing the Gap theme song--"Jump, Jive, and Wail." I decided to peruse the food tables.

There were indeed crab quesadillas. But they were distinguished from the rest of the fare, which consisted of trays of cheese, crackers, and raw vegetable platters. As a result, they were oversubscribed, and a line of eager legislators had formed. As the cook removed a burnt quesadilla from her pan, I decided not to wait for a sample.