Dear Diary: After a stressful week Saturday has been a bright sunny day with low humidity, perfect for golf. I donned a white polo, khaki shorts and flip-flops. The Beast was waiting to take me to the clubhouse at Fort Belvoir. As I travelled, I ran the planned events for next week through my head. I am flying to Africa on Wednesday, and you can imagine my consternation when I was told that George W. Bush was going to be over there performing good works at the same time.
Aauggh! Every time I get an opportunity to distract the media from more so-called "scandals", something happens. My historic speech in Berlin was dismissed as "empty mush." But I have plan -- a way to polish my credentials in Africa and among African Americans: am busily brushing up the Xhosa language that I once learned as a brilliant postgraduate student at UCT, The University of Cape Town [no, my transcripts are
not available]. This will make for an impressive video-op when I exchange pleasantries in fluent Xhosa with the sainted Nelson Mandela [or 'Madiba' --his tribal name and the one that, as a fellow African, I can use. [Madiba is weakening faster than officials admit. With my current bad luck, he may drop off the twig while I'm there and coverage of Me will be knocked off worldwide front pages and even on lapdog TV shows like NBC's
Today, I will be relegated to the Natalie Morales'
Other News segment.
But enough about me.
