“A GOP dance party at the governors mansion’
Here are three of my favorite things right now.
1. For Swingin’ Republicans Only!
“Dear Legislators, On behalf of Gov. Ned Lamont, I’m reaching out to invite you to a cocktail reception next Thursday at the residence in Hartford. This is an informal meet and greet for the Republican Caucus to get to know the Governor. … Unfortunately, no additional guests are allowed. … We hope you will join us on Thursday, Feb. 14th…”
This came from a Lamont aide, but we know where from the idea springs.
Ned was doing that cute thing where he dances all over the mansion to “Jump (For Your Love),” and he thought, “This would be so much more fun with, you know, other people.”
But when you invite Republicans over to the residence, date-free, on Valentine’s Day, to play Massive Online Retailers of Cattan and other swell ice-breaking board games, you look like Louis Tully, the accountant played by Rick Moranis on “Ghostbusters.”
Also, nobody who has ever been to the governor’s mansion wants to go again. The governor’s mansion has in common with the Playboy mansion the word “mansion” and nothing else.
If the governor’s mansion were to be haunted by the ghost of a decapitated Victorian girl, everybody connected to the place would treat it as a step forward.
“There goes Emily Jean! I love her.”
“It’s so adorable the way she tucks her head under her arm when she runs down the hall.”
“She’s a breath of fresh air around here! Well, maybe ‘fresh’ is the wrong word.”
Anyway, when you invite Republican legislators to attend a Valentine’s Day party alone, it’s as if you think they’re social misfits who spend their days slouching outside gun shops and their nights staring feverishly at adult Breitbart sites. And I am personally aware of five or six instances where that is not the case.
2. At Last, Someone Willing to Fight for the Rich.
Do you remember that night down at Hitching brooke in Redding where Aunt Lavinia Squeer son was simply beside herself about the estate tax?
“How is one to enjoy oneself while knowing that strangers will be going through one’s estate some day?” she wailed, and no amount of brandy would calm her down.
That was when young Will piped up and told auntie that the first $3.6 million of her estate would not be taxed and that would go up to $5.1 million if she could wait a year before dying and $7.1 million if she could wait a year beyond that.
She grabbed his sweet young cheek with her bony hand and cried out, “Dear Boy! $3.6 million is what I spent last year on medical care! For our pheasants!”
Will said, “Auntie, Mr. Stefanowski says he’ll do away with the estate tax!”
“That awful man who comes every week to oil Uncle Brideshead’s metal fist?” Auntie demanded. “Whatever use can he be?”
“No!” said Will. “He’s a chap who’s running for ... never mind, Auntie, I’ll run for something up there and fix it myself!”
I should have borne in mind that scenario when Will Haskell and Alex Bergstein were sworn in as Democratic senators from affluent Fairfield County districts. They seem to have highly specific ideas about who is in need of relief, and one of their early priorities is going after the estate tax, which raises about $200 million, a number that will decline as the exemption level rises.
It’s just not fair! The bloody poor people never have to pay this tax! And they get their groceries free or something. I believe I read that.
3. “In 4 miles, on the left, the Least Penitent Christian Ever!”
Faith is a deeply personal affair. But I have been studying John Rowland for a very long time, and I think it’s possible that no human being has spent as much time in the presence of Christian theology and gotten so little out of it.
To recap: In 2004, Rowland was sent scampering from the governor’s office, ahead of a legislative subpoena he didn’t really feel he could honor. A House Select Committee had already revealed a comprehensive system of bribes and dirty deals that made Mordor look like a Model City by contrast.
Rowland went to prison, had a spiritual awakening, got out in less than a year and started giving inspirational speeches. But always missing was the moment in which the penitent full embraces his own slide into vile turpitude. “I said unto the Lord, surely Father, you see me as like unto a foulsmelling greasy stain one might find on the back of a carpet being ripped up in an off-license establishment. For I am that stain and only with your forgiveness can I rise and be Febrezed.”
Rowland never really liked the part of the story where he had to make a clean breast of his own personal evil. A writer named John Murray, brought in to rewrite Rowland’s never published memoir, “Falling Into Grace,” described Rowland getting angry at him when that possibility came up.
In 2014, history repeats. Rowland gets caught running a scheme that involves hiding from the federal government the ways in which he is being paid by a congressional campaign. A jury of his peers finds him guilty on seven out of seven criminal counts related to the conspiracy. He goes back to prison.
Now he’s out and giving spiritual lectures again. And according to some fine journalism by colleague Ken Dixon, he still does not do the whole standard thing where you acknowledge your crimes and beg forgiveness.
In fact, his new Christian takeaway is that he got screwed. Vengeful prosecutors thought he got off too easy the first time and came back for more of his blood. That’s his spiritual message. “I got screwed!”
Maybe he really means it. If so, it would be a nice gesture if he let us make him a tourist attraction. We’re going to need new revenue sources.
Colin McEnroe’s column appears every Sunday, his newsletter comes out every Thursday and you can hear his radio show every weekday on WNPR 90.5. Email him at colin@ctpublic.org. Sign up for his newsletter at http://bit.ly/colinmcenroe.