Yea Yea Yea Swizzles in the Nizzle. I'm back from the Greenbrier with the fams and my ridiculously adorable little cousins.
How's this for odd. The Alanis Morrisette in me wants erroneously to say it's ironic, but it's not, it's just coincidental: immediately after writing an off-color dialogue snippet about National Security Advisor Condoleeza Rice, who should be staying at the Greenbrier and wind up playing tennis two courts over from me but Rice herself? Not joking. Would I lie? Yes. But right now I'm telling you the God's honest.
She was there with a couple family members including a woman who had to have been her mother; they have almost the exact same facial structure. Saw her a few times and let me tell you, she is a horrible tennis player. She was getting lessons a couple times a day and they weren't doing her much good. My mom wondered, tongue-in-cheek, how Rice could have risen so far in the Republican power structure being such a dreadful tennis player. With that stroke, she can't be any good at golf either. (I don't play golf myself. The Greenbrier is mainly famous as a golf resort, with three world-class courses.)
Seeing her, having her appear before me as an actual human being with poor hand-eye coordination and a lousy forehand, I felt badly for all the nasty thoughts I've had about her. But of course the only reason I had the chance to get close enough to her to make that observation is the fact that my step grandparents are very affluent. Whatever. A good weekend to all and to all a good night.