Wry Martinis Read online

  “We pour millions into traffic safety issues each year,” he says. And what thanks do they get? None, nada, rien, zip, zilch. Ingrates. We discuss the government’s “Controlled Availability Theory,” the idea that if you tax something, people will buy less of it. He quotes Himmler: “We must get rid of the alcohol.” He adds, “That’s not an exact quote.”

  I follow him to a health symposium called Healthy People/Healthy Environments 2000. My beer guy says that he sort of “relishes” being at the conference. He says it’s “like being black in the Old South.” I will hear variants of this as I shuttle between my alcohol, tobacco, and firearms people: They are the new pariahs, the niggers of postmodern morality—the victims. The DISCUS person, gray-haired, grandfatherly, and aggrieved, will crack the faintest smile when asked about the effects of neo-Puritanism on his social standing and will shrug, “It’s not quite as bad as being a Colombian drug baron.”

  My beer guy gets up and speaks to the healthy fifteen hundred. They sense the presence of the enemy. Fifteen hundred bottoms—three thousand buttocks—shift warily in their seats. You can hear them clenching.

  It is called buttlock—gridlock of the indignant. They do not like him. He is … unwanted.

  He looks like an Eagle Scout up there. He pleads earnestly, “All we’re looking for is some input.” Can’t they see that? It’s all he wants, input. Just a little input. “We’re not saying we in the industry should control alcohol policy in this country, but for Christ’s sake”—he smiles when he says this—“give us some input!”

  At the National Beer Wholesalers’ Convention in a few weeks their banners and lapel buttons will say it loudly: “WE’RE PART OF THE SOLUTION!” And they are! Drunk driving is down 40 percent since 1982, but you don’t hear that from the Healthy People. “It interferes with their funding needs.”

  He is finished. The applause defines politeness: over in less than a nano-second. The next speaker, from Mothers Against Drunk Driving, receives applause befitting Schwarzkopf ticker-taping up Broadway. I begin to appreciate what my beer guy is up against: a massive, tectonic moral shift, spearheaded by a phalanx of pissed-off acronyms: MADD, SADD—Mothers Against Drunk Driving, Students Against Drunk Driving. P. J. O’Rourke, booze muse of the open road, wants to form an organization called DAMM: Drunks Against Mad Mothers. My beer guy loves P. J. O’Rourke. So does my cigarette girl, so does my gun guy. So do I.

  We descend the hotel escalators into the exhibit rooms, where the individual groups that form the body Healthy have set up their booths. It is just like any trade fair. My beer guy says, “We’re sort of shocked that they’re even allowing us to exhibit here. They were very specific that we could not give away free products. It was a real interesting discussion,” he chuckles, “about what we could and couldn’t do with that booth. It was their worst nightmare that we’d have a couple of kegs tapped and some trashy trinkets like bottle openers.” He laughs. Animal House. A toga party. To-ga, to-ga! He is hearty, my beer guy. Which is really what you want in a beer guy.

  Together we walk down the aisle between the booths. It is to walk a gauntlet. I keep my reporter’s notepad well in view, like a shield, so that they will not mistake me for a beer lobbyist. You would not want to be mistaken for one yourself, walking past displays from Mothers Against Drunk Driving, Trauma Systems Associates, the Mid-Western States Substance Abuse Committee: Facing Alcohol Concerns Through Education. Their display shows the Coors ad girl altered so that she’s pouring a pitcher of beer down the toilet. He shakes his head and says, “What a waste.”

  There is the National Head Injury Foundation booth. He says they’re “okay” but adds winkily, “We usually define the good guys by who’ll take our money.” We then come face to face with another of the enemy, and here is more evidence that God is a bad novelist. She is a nice lady, in charge of Washington D.C.’s anti-drunk-driving initiative. Her name is Pam Beers.

  On we go past the National Highway Safety Administration, the New Hampshire Concerned Citizens Against Drunk Driving. They have caught on to the quilt thing: Theirs is inscribed with the names of all the kids killed in drunk-driving incidents. “Chipper, We’ll Always Love You.”

  Does this crack my beer guy’s heart? Not. In truth, he didn’t even see it. We have arrived at the Beer Institute’s booth—no Spuds Mackenzie, no Swedish bikini team, instead a model of sobriety and educational material. Signs proclaim the 39 percent decline in drunk-driving fatalities between 1982 and 1990. A slogan urges, THINK WHEN YOU DRINK. A lonely color poster proclaims the photographic glories: a frosty mug surrounded by mountains and valleys of fried chicken, burgers, ham, and pizza.

  But what’s this? The booth next to the Beer Institute’s is … the National Coalition to Prevent Impaired Driving. My beer guy grins wickedly, “They’re going to be sooo pissed.”

  What does the novelist make of all this? As much as he can, I suppose, while straining—straining—not to turn his director’s chair into a seat of judgment. Anyway, who’s to escape whipping in this crazy, mixed-up world? An ethical man, said Twain, is a Christian holding four aces. While in the midst of my research, I was somewhat surprised to find on the back cover of the magazine I edit an ad for cigarettes. My indignation, expressed to my superiors, was duly noted. What goes around karmically comes around: Several weeks ago an excerpt from my novel, eagerly desired by the literary editor of a national magazine of reputation, was turned down by the magazine’s editor in chief on the grounds that it would imperil advertising. “Yes, yes,” I said, “I understand.”

  —Adapted from a talk given to

  The Century Association, 1994

  Blubber

  DEFIANT JAPAN TO PROMOTE EATING WHALE MEAT

  —The New York Times

  CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM

  To: FISHERIES AGENCY, TOKYO

  FROM: ZEIT, GEIST, WELT, SCHMERZ

  & SCHAUUNG, NEW YORK

  RE: WHALE MEAT

  THE PROBLEM:

  While consumption of whale meat among older Japanese has remained at satisfactory levels, consumption among the younger generation, susceptible to international whale-lobby disinformation about alleged “endangerment” of world whale stocks, has fallen off drastically. Groups of young Japanese are even being lured to Hawaii, where instead of playing golf they participate in offshore whale-watching parties, and they return home to disseminate pro-whale sentiment and dissuade their peers from eating whale meat.

  THE SOLUTION:

  An immediate and all-out information campaign targeting the under-thirty Japanese, to show the new generation that eating whale meat is not only nutritious and healthful but also “cool.”

  THE STRATEGY:

  To bypass ordinary advertising methods, which the media-savvy younger generation regards with suspicion, and to develop dramatic and documentary television programs and specials that will bring about a real “sea change” in attitudes toward the true nature of whales. Specifically:

  Situation Comedy:

  The Harpooneers, a hilarious series about the antics of the wacky but brave crew of the whale ship Minke Business. Sample episode: After a grueling six-month whale-gathering mission, the good ship M.B. is on its way back to Yokohama in time for the big dance, but the young crew members have all broken out in pimples and are ashamed of showing themselves to the pretty young port girls. Fortunately, the wise, fatherly Bos’n Kikkoman knows that whale meat is an ancient cure for unsightly acne. He advises the youngsters to eat plenty of whale meat. They receive this advice respectfully and, sure enough, their pimples disappear just as the ship pulls into Yokohama. As the crew files down the gangplank, the girls cry out, “What fine skin they all have! We cannot wait to have sex with them!”

  Public Affairs:

  Devils of the Deep! Narrated by Leonard Nimoy (if we cannot get him, we will get someone who looks like him), this series will expose the whale for what it is: a large, ugly nuisance that only a gaijin could love.

  Who Cries
for the Krill? A shocking, heartrending documentary about the alarming depletion of the world krill supply caused by the irresponsible eco-gluttony of the blue whale, which has enjoyed “protected status” since 1966. The krill, the most gentle of the creatures of the sea, faces virtual extinction, with dire consequences for the world’s food. Using a special new underwater “krill-cam” developed expressly for this investigation, the documentary will feature twenty-four hours in the harrowing life of a krill as it is pursued across the South Pacific by a so-called “gentle giant of the sea.”

  Ahab’s Children. Real-life interviews with people who have lost limbs to whales.

  Exxon Valdez: The Untold Story. This fresh look at the 1989 tanker “grounding” uncovers shocking new evidence suggesting that the fateful Alaska oil spill was not the work of a drunken captain and a submerged rock but, rather, a whale’s coolly calculated revenge upon the sea otters of Prince William Sound.

  Mega-Waste: The Coming Crisis. A frightening documentary that demonstrates what scientists have long suspected: if present whale excretions continue unchecked, the world’s oceans will rise twenty-five feet by the year 2000, causing unimaginable global havoc. A family in low-lying Bangladesh expresses its hope that the international whaling community will not stand idly by as this tragedy gathers critical mass.

  Mammals, Schmammals. A controversial cetologist (to be determined) reveals that these so-called ocean monarchs are really fish after all, and feel absolutely no pain when harpooned.

  —The New Yorker, 1993

  Ayes Only

  AUGUST 1, 1994

  TO: THE PRESIDENT

  FROM: STROBE TALBOTT, DEPUTY

  SECRETARY OF STATE

  RE: TURNING AROUND PUBLIC PERCEPTION

  oF HAITIAN “LIBERATION”

  It is imperative that we move swiftly to correct the growing public misperception that the liberation, as opposed to invasion, of Haiti is anything less than an urgent national-security priority of the United States government. In the face of national complacency about the Caribbean powder keg, we must demonstrate that Haiti represents a threat to every American citizen.

  The following proposals ought to be immediately implemented so as to insure that public opinion is squarely behind you when Operation Daydream becomes operational and the troops hit the beaches.

  1. National Security Adviser Lake should hold a strictly off-the-record meeting with the press and reveal that the government has determined that the pilot of the Cessna that crashed into the White House last week was in fact a former member of the Tontons Macoutes, working on behalf of General Cédras, to decapitate the U.S. leadership. Though it is admittedly unusual for a middle-class white man from suburban Maryland to be a Tonton Macoute, strange things happen in time of war.

  Your measured response would be along the lines of: “I can’t really comment on an ongoing national-security investigation. I’m just grateful that Hillary and Chelsea and Socks are safe. Meanwhile, I would stress that I do not hold the fine Haitian people responsible for the vile, cowardly actions of their military dictator.”

  2. Director of Central Intelligence Woolsey should hold an urgent press conference to assert that “at this point we can’t say for sure one way or the other” whether Haiti has nuclear weapons capable of reaching Miami, Atlanta, and Mobile. He should stammer, avoid eye contact, and, if possible, sweat freely. (Surely CIA technical people can accomplish that much.) The briefing should be conducted against a backdrop of blown-up satellite photographs of Haiti, with a detail of the interior labeled “LASCAHOBAS HEAVY WATER FACILITY” and another labeled “PETITE RIVIÈRE DE L’ARTIBONITE ICBM SITE.”

  3. Secretary Christopher should publish an Op-Ed piece revealing that, based on our interrogation of Haitian detainees at Guantánamo, the tide of so-called Haitian “boat people” is in fact the vanguard of a Haitian invasion of the American mainland. SecState can assert that, despite their scruffy and half-starved appearance, these are the highly trained élite of the Haitian Special Forces—so deadly, indeed, that they don’t even need conventional weapons to carry out their instructions to sabotage vital U. S. military and civilian installations.

  4. UN. Ambassador Albright should convene a plenary session of the Security Council and reveal the existence of a document entitled Plan Vraiment Secret et Extraordinaire pour l’Overthrow des États-Unis et du Canada par les Dictateurs d’Haiti. The Haitian ambassador will of course denounce the document as a forgery. Let him. Ambassador Albright’s position should be: “Je suis prěte à attendre votre réponse jusqu’ à ce que gèle I’enfer.” (“I am prepared to wait for your reply until hell freezes over”—a nice Stevensonian echo, which will connect this crisis with the Cuban Missile Crisis, when Americans faced down another Caribbean threat to the security of the United States.)

  5. American tourists who had unpleasant pre-embargo experiences in Haiti should be urged to come forward with their horror stories of lost luggage, stolen purses, turista, misplaced reservations, indifferent service, and beach boys urging them to buy marijuana. Your average American basically does not care one whit what happens in the Caribbean as long as it doesn’t interfere with his vacation. This aspect of the plan would therefore strike at the very heart, so to speak, of America’s soul, Caribbean-wise.

  6. Delta Force, our most secret and élite military element, should immediately, and under cover of night, establish a third-rate medical college deep in the Haitian interior. The “students” would consist of short, young, gender-mixed, and, if possible, pimply Delta Force personnel. The Haitian military will of course attack the facility. The students, equipped with a state-of-the-art satellite telecommunications uplink, can tearfully appeal for U.S. military assistance, paving the way for thorough and enthusiastic public acclaim of your bold leadership.

  —The New Yorker, 1994

  Whitherwater?

  LOGON

  WELCOME TO TIMELINE AMERICA

  PLEASE ENTER THE PASSWORD

  ENTER DATABASE NAME

  WHITEWATER CHRONOLOGY

  AUGUST 1994-MARCH 1995

  ACCESSING …

  August 5, 1994: Special independent counsel Robert Fiske denies report in The Washington Post that he is “bored out of his gourd” with the Whitewater investigation.

  September 7, 1994 Congressman Jim Leach, ranking minority member of the House Banking Committee, announces that his investigators have discovered “something really, really interesting” on the Whitewater case but that he cannot reveal what it is for fear that once he does, people will stop paying attention to him.

  September 28, 1994: The Washington Times runs a story saying that former U.S. assistant attorney general Webster Hubbell received collagen injections to enlarge his Ups. The story notes, “While so far there is no direct link between Whitewater and Hubbell’s lip injections, federal investigators are said to be ‘Very interested’ in the fact that Hubbel discussed having his lips enlarged with White House counsel Vince Foster, who subsequently committed suicide.”

  September 29, 1994: Hubbell strenuously denies having had cosmetic lip enlargements. “Lotta people in Arkansas got lips like this. And I wouldn’t even know how to spell collagen.”

  October 16, 1994: White House adviser David Gergen denies telling Maureen Dowd of The New York Times that Whitewater was “a dumb, Dogpatch-type thing between a couple of bubbas and a woman obsessed with making an easy buck despite trying to make herself into the second coming of Eleanor Roosevelt”; furthermore, he denies saying, “This is starting to make me look bad.”

  October 17, 1994: Hillary Clinton tells Newsweek that it was White House adviser David Gergen who, during the 1978 Renaissance New Year’s weekend at Hilton Head, suggested to the Clintons that they invest in the Whitewater Development Corporation.

  October 18, 1994: President Clinton announces that he is nominating David Gergen to be U.S. ambassador to Rwanda. “As much as I need him here,” the President says in a written statement announcing the a
ppointment, “I need him more there.”

  November 8, 1994: Senate minority leader Robert Dole demands that outgoing Senate majority leader George Mitchell “stop thinking about girls and baseball the whole time” and start holding Senate hearings on Whitewater. Mitchell says Dole is “just jealous” over the fact that his fiancée is younger than Dole’s wife.

  November 21, 1994: A Current Affair airs an interview with a man identified only as “Fred,” who says that on the afternoon of July 20, 1993, the day Vince Foster committed suicide, he saw a large man with “humongous lips” lurking on the grounds of Fort Marcy, the Civil War—era fort where Foster’s body was found.

  December 4, 1994: Clinton political strategist James Carville tells reporters at the Godfrey Sperling breakfast that Whitewater independent counsel Robert Fiske is a “motherf- - - - -.” Carville later confirms that he did call Fiske that but not in reference to Whitewater.

  January 16, 1995: An ABC/Washington Post poll shows that 78 percent of the American people no longer give “a rat’s ass” about the Whitewater scandal, and that an overwhelming 94 percent are “much more interested” by the fact that more than a dozen female Arkansas state employees have now filed lawsuits against President Clinton, alleging that he asked them to perform oral sex on him.

  February 2, 1995: Hillary Clinton, in an East Room press conference, says that she wishes the media would stop asking her husband about oral sex and concentrate on Whitewater, which, the First Lady says, “is much more interesting.”

  February 10, 1995: In his first interview since his resignation more than a year ago, former White House counsel Bernard Nussbaum tells Sidney Blumenthal of The New Yorker that the reason he wouldn’t let Park Police investigators into Vince Foster’s office after Foster’s 1993 suicide was that he was afraid they would discover the bills for Webster Hubbell’s collagen treatments in Foster’s safe. “That’s what this whole miserable thing has been about from the start,” Nussbaum bitterly tells Blumenthal. “Webster Hubbell’s secret obsession with bigger lips.”