Spies and Whiskey

Somehow, on Friday night, 4am, I find myself on a balcony in the warehouse district, standing between 1 portly Englishman who used to be a spy for the MI6 and 1 nervous American man who used to be a spy for the NSA. My boyfriend stands across from me, drunk on cheap whiskey, jabbering loudly at a million bpm.

I've barely slept in a week and I feel a cold coming. 75% of me wants nothing more than to go home and sleep. Enough excitement already, or pseudo-excitement as it were. Three hours of failed napping (on accounta my being anxious to the point of handicap); an empty dance floor at a giant local venue; a self-indulgent loft party thrown by and for the techno-DJ underground; and I am more than ready to call it a night.

"You want to stay and talk to these people," says M. "I think you'll be interested." Indeed, I am interested. Interested enough to ignore my exhaustion for the time being and stand outside in the cold, breathing lungfuls of other people's cigarette smoke.

I listen as the ex-spies talk about war with Iran, and intelligence failures, and Iraq, and the 2008 presidential race, and how they came to work as spies, and they thereby keep me interested. So far, so good.

Regrettably, though, whiskey makes a first-class asshole out of my boyfriend. A loud, arrogant asshole who cannot stop talking to save his life. For instance.


NSA Guy: I think this is important because--

M.: No, no, NO! You're wrong and I'll tell you why. [insert long, pedantic speech on a political, scientific, mathematical, linguistic, musical or other topic].

NSA Guy: I understand, but I still disagree with you because--

M.: Well, I think I have some credibility here because I just got published in [prestigious science journal]. Anyway, as I was saying, [insert interminable speech].

MI6 Guy: I agree with NSA here, I think--

M.: Well, *I* think [insert position] and that's legitimate because I'm smart and my girlfriend told me something to that effect, and my girlfriend reads The Economist and blogs.

Me: (embarrassed) I do read The Economist and blogs, but that hardly makes me an expert. I think we should at least listen to what these guys have to say since they have way more experience than I do.


Yet it is nearly impossible to do any such thing. M. keeps talking. It is six AM now, and he keeps talking. I am a zombie at this point and our new acquaintances are rubbing their eyes.

If I could, I would hereby ban M. from whiskey for ever.

The necessary disclaimer here--for M., if he ever reads this--is that he does not typically act in this way. My guess is that his rantings were a product of (a) too much whiskey, as I've already said; (b) a very, very long time off his meds; and (c) the euphoria of getting his work published. Moreover, this is the only example that comes to mind of my boyfriend having seriously embarrassed me as opposed to the reverse.

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Bonus round--the intelligence guys predicted the following.
(1) A McCain presidency
(2) No war with Iran

I do, however, take their predictions with "a grain of salt" as they say: on (1) because they were experts in international not domestic affairs, and on (2) because both retired from their government jobs during the Clinton years, presumably giving them little insiders' insight into the workings of the current administration.