“Not everyone took the train. Many are already here.”
Our president plus 600 folk, the whole GOP enclave, with wives, children and who knows, were depositing themselves at the pre-Civil War Greenbrier — in West Virginia’s White Sulphur Springs — for three days. As the train crashed.
Busy beavers were tarting up areas behind the National Historic Landmark’s 6,500-plus acres so it’d look nice — even for the platoon of protesters who’ll follow. The state’s former Gov was to personally receive the prez.
Lewisburg, USA’s longest airstrip, was built to handle chiefs of state headed — if in wartime, if in case — for the hotel’s 1,500-feet-below-the-valley secret bunker. Secured just in one spot by 50,000 tons of concrete — lies a city. I’ve seen its functioning hospital built to care for our leaders plus any train passengers needing assistance.
In its secured bunker also exist the toys needed to operate a government in absentia.
There also exists the Presidential Suite, complete with bunting on the balcony, where — if needed — DJT could’ve grabbed his hamburger.
The events and plans will continue since the hotel tells me: “Not everyone took the train. Many are already here.”
REP. Joe Kennedy burbling the Dem response to Trump’s State of the Union: stellar choice. Grampa RFK was a black belt in sexual harassment. Stories exist of his catting about, his Marilyn Monroe affair, maybe being complicit in her death and of his superwarm Jackie O relationship.
Uncle Teddy? Whose late night Mary Jo Kopechne drowning is now getting another TV outing, and was such a vulgar drunken steady womanizer that I, myself, was near when he tried his way with a woman reporter.
Revered JFK? Who stacked multiple ladies, some of whom were parked when the need — or some other part arose — at our Carlyle Hotel.
Great-grampa patriarch Ambassador Joe Kennedy? When deciding his Rose stopped smelling like a rose, historians have recorded his longtime movie-star lover Gloria Swanson. In between his others, he kept her in a Park Avenue apartment.
And who knows what we can expect from the next generation?
Helen Mirren: “Spirits are real even for people who don’t believe in ghosts but know those who’ve had the experience.” Her new film “Winchester” deals with a haunted house. “We all, as children, had Ouija boards, so we are all fascinated. Many in history believed in spirits being very present in our physical world.”
She’s right. And they’re all still here. In Congress.
Designer Isaac Mizrahi, into a Café Carlyle two-week return with a small musical group, sips rosé wine, wears specs, mops his forehead and sings (we are not talking Bruno Mars) Cole Porter, Charles Aznavour, Rodgers & Hart.
Forgetful, he admits he “accidentally called my husband’s mother ‘a bitch.’” About his accompanying combo it’s, “The guys are all straight. It’s a sexual misconduct suit waiting to happen.”
Tuesday, President Trumps’ State of the Union’s freezing snowy night was opening night. Still, the packed audience loved him — and his song “You’re the Penis’ Top — You’re Ronan Farrow.”
It’s not like we’re talking Bobby Short.
Gianluca Mech, Italy’s diet biggie, saw DJ Khaled and, seizing the chance, asked might chunky Khaled try his diet product? The star didn’t know him, didn’t care, didn’t respond and left without a word. Khaled’s tied to Weight Watchers.
It’s so cold, Uber guys are calling in sick. Suffering from the new ailment Middle Finger Frostbite.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.
