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7.26.04

Just 99 Days Left: Put Your Hands on the Wheel

By Mark Grueter

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The Democratic National Committee threw a party for the press on Saturday night at Boston’s brand new Convention and Exhibition Center. I guess the idea was to impress us so that we write good shit about the Democratic Party. But Ann Coulter was there. Yes, Ann Coulter. Ann and I have our differences on the issues, but I personally appreciate her psychotic rants. That shrill, scrawny, wine-guzzling, chain-smoking minx. Stuttering cretinously, I introduced myself:

MG: Hi Ann! I’m a big fan.
AC: Thanks. What’s your name?
MG: Mark Grueter. You know, you look good tonight.
AC: So do you!

But then the conversation ended abruptly and tragically as she was whisked away by her friends. I overheard a vulgar and obviously uncultured individual describe her as the “ultimate hate fuck,” which I thought very bad form. I mean, chivalry and all that sort of thing. David Corn, the best reporter for The Nation, was in attendance. If you’re reading this David, I really mean that; you are the crème de la crème without the skin.

The night went on for far too long. I woke up Sunday morning with a broken bone in my left foot. No insurance, I now have to hobble around, and none of this would be possible without the morphine. Thanks for hooking me up Chris. Ah, the drugs; where would anyone in this terrible city be without the drugs? For those who are unfamiliar with Boston, it’s a city filled with people who take professional baseball seriously, something no intelligent person would ever consider doing.

I just saw Mumbles Menino on the street, the mayor of this little city, nicknamed “Mumbles” by talk show host Howie Carr, who, by the way, has the best radio voice in the country. I know because I’ve heard every radio host across the country; I made it a point to do so when I traveled through all 50 states last year.

I have not, however, been to Guam or Puerto Rico, two “territories” that actually have delegates here this week. Apparently, these people do hold influence in our tender democracy. I especially cannot wait to meet the Guamites, who, to me, might very well be representing the planet Xenon, 14th street. Thankfully I know sign language and can read lips.

Finally, I promised to give a shout out to Katrina at The Point Bar and Grill. Molsen Goldens are two dollars all week long, Buffalo wings only ten cents each. Ten cents! No minus or plus, no in between or outside. There is nothing worse than this. Nothing.

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Mark Grueter is a writer living in New York City. He can be contacted here.

© 2004 Me Three