prez sighting

Tonight so reminds me of Love Field.

(Not that I'll ever be - or even ONCE THOUGHT I'd be, excuse me no thank you - Michelle Pfeiffer whom I leeerrve to bits but DAMN why the FUCK is she not making movies anymore brings me more sadness than Diana's death).

I digress.

Ok.

Tonight is so Love Field cos Pfeiffer's character sights JFK, the most pop dead prez Uncle Sam ever killed (it was a conspiracy what, right?), at the airport concourse moments before his brain juice blasted all over Jackie's jolly pink Chanel.

(What a waste of cool wool. French cutting too.)

So too I had my little Love Field moment tonight - I sat like 3-table distance away from His Excellency's breath and body odour.

Not that he has any lah (how I know?! he's 3 tables away what!!) but you get the drift.

(Er, no puns intended for second part too. See-rye-yers!)

But la creme du diner pour moi ce soir was sitting next to His Excellency's bodyguard.

Now, THAT I consider quite something.

(Hey, hey, hey, before you breathe, DUN even THINK that naughty thought geddit).

I mean - how often can you say you sat next to National Security right?

And it helps that Michael is a conversant fella, AB-SO-LUTE-LY nooot like some po-faced stiff ass I thought a bodyguard would behave.

He's cool, vigilant - eyeballs darting back and forth at the prez every 15 seconds I worry they'd pop out - but not paranoid, carries a topic comfortably and assuringly (how he got the job, how he gets on with the prez, how he tortured prisoners - I jest) and even shared some personal details and yes, he wears sleeves (seems like they all do, to hide the sword, lightsaber??), a concealed wiry white ear piece in the left ear and a sheer buzz cut (the other 2 of 'em young punk bodyguards have styled hair) too.

Hell, I think they're Oprah-people-trained walking commentaries and information counters cos they're real assured and know eager peeps like yours truly are just kapoh as hell about what they do (contract based, per prez term only, 4 annual fitness tests modified from the Navy SEALS ON TOP OF IPPTs, fuck, man, I can't even finish HALF an IPPT).

Oh and all that In The Line of Fire stuff about running after the prez's motorcade? It's real, so fitness is tres important. But deportment is paramount too - this 49er with 2 grown kids looking like a sturdy and compact mid 30s to me will charm the pants off any one.

(Read: Can almost imagine Small Butt and Gayforce Guy tripping over each other's lily stick legs and red undies to shivvy up to him...)

And yes, the only past prez who roomed in Palais Istana on and off work was the one that just passed - none of the others wanted to stay (it figures).

The prez goes back to his OWN HOME (gosh, only in Singapore will this happen, imagine Bill Clinton or Gorgy Bushy going back to their OWN HOMES... there'd be less trouble eh???) and sleeps in his OWN bed and works OFFICE HOURS just like you and me, which may also include Sats and Suns.

Sometimes, the prez does 3-4 functions a day - can anyone imagine the amount of SMILING and CAMERA FLASHES and GERM AND PALMSWEAT-TRANSFERRING HANDSHAKES he's gotta endure??

*full body cramp crinch*

Sigh. Work is a bitch. Even if you're the prez.

And he has an aide-de-camp that's like his outdoors assistant-secretary who wears a really smart uniform and cap. Goes everywhere he goes. Yes, that includes the lave too, lurve.

And there I was, hours ago, cursing my dumb luck I'm not him and being stuck with that bunch of put-on plastic publishing poodles at the other side of the table who won't eat anything that clashes with their blood type.

Yeah. Go figure. Duh.

So the interviews had to come real later in the night, but I had a good time.

What can I say?

She's always looking out for me up there at such situations.

;o)