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Reiter

Insidery on the inside
The stupid party games people play ... in D.C. Plus: Jared Harris on getting dogs stoned -- "It was a gift to the animal." And: Miss America trades her tiara for hot pastrami on rye.

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By Amy Reiter

Dec. 3, 1999 | For some folks in Washington, home is not simply where you lay your hat -- it's where you throw huge cocktail parties (valet parking, coat check and all) and invite lots of people you may or may not know.

Ted Kennedy's big white manse was already full of mingling media types by the time my companion and I arrived.

We were immediately herded into a big pale-yellow living room and welcomed by Sen. Teddy himself, looking trim, if a little wan. He stood in the center of his formal home and sang the praises of the magazine we'd come to fete: The American Prospect, a 10-year-old quarterly magazine of liberal thought that's just gone biweekly.

"A Robert Kuttner column a day helps keep the conservatives at bay," he said, expressing his regard for the magazine's co-founder. The line got a hearty, appreciative laugh from the crowd -- blame the wine.

Kuttner stepped up and talked about changes in the political climate since the magazine was launched -- back in the day when a favorite D.C. parlor game was Pin the Tail on the Effective Liberal Politician (if you could find one). Another big laugh. (What do you people in Omaha do for fun?)

Soon the crowd launched into its own exciting parlor games.

"Sen. Kennedy looks like himself," commented one woman, standing beneath a colorful painting of flowers signed "Ted K." "I was surprised."

I soon fell into a conversation about foreign policy with a knowledgeable young writer.

Now, I'm about as up on foreign policy as George W. Bush, but I do know how to keep quiet, nod and smile. I did so liberally, and apparently effectively enough to prompt one passing partygoer to exclaim, "My, you two look like you're discussing important journalistic things!"




Amy Reiter

Amy Reiter's column appears daily on the People site, Monday through Friday.

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Emboldened, I was about to suggest a friendly game of Name That Effective Liberal Politician when I suddenly became aware of a couple of familiar figures enthusiastically waving me over.

"Hey, girl! C'mon over here and chat with the hired help."

Ted's bartenders, it turned out, were good friends of mine. Talk about insiders.

"So, you guys serve anyone big tonight?"

"Margaret Carlson," they said, in unison. The Time magazine columnist was the biggest name there. "Overhear any good gossip?" I ventured.

All they could muster was a dry little bit about two loose-tongued fellows dissing David Bradley, the Washington businessguy who snapped up the Atlantic Monthly a couple of months back; the talkers said he didn't know anything about magazine publishing. (Yawn.)

You know things are dull when even the bartenders don't have any dirt to dish. Parlor game, anyone?

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Here, kitty, kitty ...

Speaking of strange party tricks ...

Actor Jared Harris has one I know you'll all want to use to liven up your holiday gatherings.

"When I was in college at Duke, my friends and I would find someone's pet, like a dog or a cat, and blow marijuana smoke in its face until the animal was totally stoned," Harris, son of Richard Harris, told tipster Baird Jones at the Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibit opening at New York's Tony Shafrazi Gallery.

"We did it all the time, but it was all meant to share our high with the pet. It was a gift to the animal, not to screw around with its head. And it always seemed that the dog when it got high had a really great time ..."

But when Rover gets the munchies ... Run.

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Here she comes ... and she's bringing your soup!

And how about a round of that perennial party favorite: "What ever happened to ...?"

I'll start.

What ever happened to Miss America 1998?

No, she didn't gain 40 pounds, lose it again and team up with Richard Simmons to help the poor, downtrodden and flabby look good in swimsuits, sashes and high heels. (Good guess, though.)

And wrong, she didn't fall hard for a dealer in Atlantic City and gamble unsuccessfully on love, casino-style, and somehow end up on Donald Trump's arm. (Not yet, anyway.)

But if you guessed that Kate Shindle is slinging the hash at Artie's deli on New York's Upper West Side, grab your roses, smile and wave.

"There's no such thing as too much humility," Shindle, who's waiting on her big theatrical break, as well as tables, recently told the Associated Press. "When someone's yelling at me that the pastrami's not hot enough, it's got to be good for the soul." Yeah, just like winning that crown had to be good for something.
salon.com | Dec. 3, 1999

 

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About the writer
Amy Reiter is a staff writer for Salon People. For more columns by Amy Reiter, visit her column archive.

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