On March 19, 2003, it was a fine day for America to invade Iraq. On March 19, 2005, it was a perfect day for Karl Rove to invade Las Manitas. I’ve seen Ann Richards stop in, which makes sense, but Rove? Well, Dubya’s right-hand man met Karen Hughes for breakfast at the lefty restaurant. Rove enjoyed a bite, while hundreds marked the anniversary of the controversial war by parading in protest just blocks away at the state Capitol. So it was impossible not to speak of America’s problems – the apparently unwinnable Iraq battle, oil consumption, and the dollar’s sad fade (Why do you think there were so many Europeans in Austin for SXSW?) – over spicy huevos.
“I want Karl Rove to come over to our table [and] answer some questions,” I said rather loudly, still a bit loopy from the previous night’s bender. “I’ll even pick up his check, and I never pick up anyone’s check.” Rove, who sat about 10 feet away, budged about as much as his buddy, Mr. President, does on most issues.
But when I was waiting in line to square my bill, who was standing in front of me but Rove himself. I felt compelled to ask ol’ Karl to take care of my personal deficit, since he should know a little something about deficits. Rove replied, “Sure, your money is no good here.” (Kind of like it is in Europe.)
What are the odds? A lot better than running into Dubya in the hospital and getting him to agree to help with my health care costs.
This article appears in “The AC” Gen Y Magazine Debuts.