Confessions of a Party Animal

The majority of the events in the four-day season celebrating the ascension of George II are hosted by what are called State Societies. In essence, these are nonprofit organizations for the legions of transplants who live in D.C. who want to mingle with those who come from the same state. By tradition, the inaugural parties they host are ostensibly bipartisan, but the majority of the guests forking out for tickets are inevitably those with something to celebrate. And this year, of course, that means Republicans.

No blackouts at this ball

The California Society in D.C. certainly came up with something other than the usual nighttime ball. Deciding to show off a couple of strengths of the Golden State — fashion designs emanating from students at the state's Fashion Institute and the glamour of Hollywood — it staged a combination lunch and fashion show Thursday in a ballroom at the plush Mayflower Hotel. The third-year students were encouraged to devise clothes inspired by Hollywood and Broadway musicals. Nothing unusual in that, you say. But throw in a desire to salute the military, and the mix becomes more interesting. This perhaps explains why 20 wafer-thin models sashayed down a runway in outfits inspired by shows such as "Hello Dolly" and "Sunset Boulevard" accompanied by a parade of clean-cut soldiers and sailors direct from the casting of "A Few Good Men II: Defending The Runway." The (recorded) musical accompaniment was equally inspired: Woody Guthrie's "This Land Is Your Land" as sung by a Perry Como-style easy-listening chorale. Adding to the surreal quality of the moment: running commentary from Hollywood's self-appointed honorary mayor, the effervescent Johnny Grant, who emcees the installations of stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

The grand finale consisted of the models and the militia waving American flags as a cascade of confetti rained down amid patriotic fervor. It was magnificent — a seemingly unbowed homage to Mel Brooks' show-stopping "Springtime for Hitler" number in "The Producers." Afterward, Johnny Grant was effusive. "Hollywood and Washington are kindred spirits," he told me. "Politicians are going for the votes... entertainers go for applause. We just wanted to bring them the glitz and glamour."

And how did the military feel? I quizzed a couple of the models' escorts. Seaman Gabriel Garcia, stationed at Anacostia near the Potomac, and Specialist Avery Green, from Fort Lee, Virginia, were fairly bursting with pride. Was it a tough assignment to march with models? "Just part of the job," said the crew-cut sailor, who only learned of his fashion maneuvers the night before. He reassured me that none of the models had pestered him for his phone number. As the two members of the armed services marched away with smiles playing about their faces, I realized that this event had already fulfilled one of Dubya's campaign pledges — boosting military morale.

Mixing with the powerbrokers

I had a few hours before the next event so I nestled into serious people-watching mode in the Mayflower's Town & Country Bar. A mixture of movers and heavyweight shakers were scattered in the plush hostelry, quaffing cocktails, chomping on stogies and barking into cell phones. One duo was particularly animated. A Ted Turner clone sat next to a George Foreman look-alike. Every few minutes a new round of loud phone calls emanated from them. "Yeah, I finally tracked down Andy Card at a reception. He's gonna call Podesta and have him speak to the President.... Nothing they haven't touched for 90 days will be affected.... Espy will call Clinton...." I had no idea what scheme was being cooked for their clients, but know for sure that I wouldn't want these guys as enemies.

In the lobby, a slew of pols and celebrities mingled. Bush legal strategist Ben Ginsberg — who came to prominence in the five-week Florida craziness — checked in. "Is this a triumphant return?" I asked him. "Well, actually, I've never left," he smirked. All heads turned as Muhammad Ali went by, en route to the Lincoln Memorial concert. His Parkinson's causes him to move slowly now — a literal Ali Shuffle. Several people went up to him or called out "You're still the greatest." The warmth of the greetings brought a slight but unmistakable smile to the champ's face, and his hand rose slowly to shake those of the admirers who approached him.

Beef and bourbon at Kentucky's Bluegrass Ball

Off to the Marriott-Wardman Hotel for the Kentucky State Society's "Bluegrass Ball." In a large, glittering ballroom were a couple of thousand Kentuckians sat at round tables almost groaning with southern fare. Salad smothered in a bourbon-flavored salad dressing, beer-flavored filet mignon and George Clooney's dad Nick as the emcee. Not a bucket of KFC in sight (and since KFC is one of my secret guilty pleasures, I'm slightly disappointed).

I found the deceptively mild-looking Kentucky senator Mitch McConnell in the corridor chatting with constituents. I asked him what was the most common misconception about his home state. "That we have no shoes," he responded without a pause. I glanced down and noticed a rather spiffy pair of shiny black patent tuxedo shoes. "As you see, we do," he chuckled. "And I have another pair — my regular shoes." I checked most of the other feet at the ball; the senator was telling the truth.

A treat for the guests was a brief performance by the 97-strong DuPont Manual High School Choir (the choristers who will be serenading the nation during the swearing-in ceremony). They were magnificent, singing "The Star Spangled Banner" and "America the Beautiful." Patriotic shivers went down my spine — and I'm not even American! Outside the ballroom I caught up with one of the youngsters, 15-year old Emily Sellers. She was fizzy with excitement, telling me that the choir is being put up in a local Comfort Inn. Four to a room and having a blast. I wondered if the kids in the choir had political leanings. "Well, about half of us were for Bush and half for Gore," said Sellers. "But we're so proud to sing at the inauguration — we'd have sung for Ralph Nader!" Were the Gore supporters in the choir disappointed? Initially they were, but then came the Zen realization that since Al Gore would be there as well, they'd be singing for him anyway. (Kids can be so much smarter than adults.) And what was the personal musical taste of this girl in her black prom dress? She giggled and told me that she rather liked Rage Against the Machine and Green Day. Would the choir ever consider performing songs by either of those bands? No! Mr. Brown (the choirmaster) would have a heart attack.

Mmmmmm! Juicy political gossip

As I waited in the hotel lobby to leave for the next event, an effervescent young lady in a powder blue dress was propping up a column. "Having fun yet?" she asked me. I said that I was, and inquired what she was doing there. It transpired that she was one of D.C.'s supreme spinners — a publicist who runs what she called "crisis management" and "damage control" for politicians. Without inquiring who I was or why I was there, she effusively sailed into a detailed and juicy explanation of her day spinning on behalf of a Cabinet designee currently undergoing the confirmation process. I was transfixed as she volunteered scandalous tidbits and opinions about three very prominent Republicans to a total stranger who could be anyone... even a member of the media! I suspect it was the relaxed nature of the Bluegrass Ball that caused her to share all with the first person she encountered. Tempted as I am to dish the succulent details, I have decided to award her retroactive "off-the-record" status. Maybe it was the old-fashioned southern charm of the night, but her salacious secrets are safe with me.

Down Arkansas way, a subdued celebration

Off to the final party of the night at the Washington Court Hotel on Capitol Hill, that of the Arkansas Society. With the society's most prominent member about to leave office, there was a comparatively subdued mood to the celebrations compared to the exuberance and expansive mood of the Kentucky crew. There was a cash bar and baskets of Tyson chicken tenders with an indeterminate dipping sauce. But there is no mistaking the intense pride of the Arkansas fraternity. Though the hoped-for Roger Clinton was a no-show, a proud but scrappy band called the Wild Bunch strutted their stuff, with four female backing singers like a 20-years-on version of the girls in "The Commitments."

In the bar I encounter Rep. Asa Hutchinson, one of the determined House managers who pursued Arkansas' favorite son. Since we know what he disliked about the President, I wondered what he admired about him. Hutchinson paused for a moment, and then reeled off an endorsement any candidate would be proud of: "I admire his intellect, his passion, his tenacity... the fact that he really cares. I believe he does. And I admire how much he loves Arkansas." And how would he feel if the former President decides to run for further office? "I'd fight him every inch of the way" he instantly replied with a sly smile. "Well, who's more tenacious?" I asked. There was a long pause as the congressman pondered his response. Then he grinned and shrugged his shoulders as his answer. It was clear that Rep. Hutchinson is hoping that that particular battle is not joined anytime soon.

The Arkansas delegation drifts off into the drizzling night. This particular party is over....