I was in Washington the last few days, and I couldn't resist stopping by the Mayflower Hotel for a celebratory cocktail. Since our fallen friend Eliot Spitzer is unlikely to make a comeback, this was my one and only chance to toast his late career. In selecting the perfect drink from the hotel's lengthy menu of 101 martinis, I had the help of a couple of classy ladies--neither of whom demanded payment. After our first read, the initial nominees included the Naughty Lady, Passion Potion, Pucker Up, and Rum Around. Ultimately, I decided that the drink should be about my feelings, not his deed. Therefore we ruled out all of these drinks and the runner-up, Royal Beef, martini. For nearly a week, a voice has kept me awake at night. I lie in bed, grinning ear-to-ear, reflecting on the fact my dear governor is gone from public life. As I was sitting there in the Mayflower, I couldn't discern exactly what that voice in the back of my head was saying . . . until I read it on the drink menu. My choice became clear: the Woo Woo Martini. Woo woo, my friends. Woo woo is how I feel.
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