Meat and Greet

Dating tips for the well-seasoned

I'm tired of being told that I'm not a serious journalist, that I'm not someone like Bob Woodward, who is always on important conference calls with big shots. Well, I'll have you know I am on an important conference call right now.

Me: Paul, am I correct that you are a partner in a thousand-lawyer Washington, D.C., firm that is so big and influential that it actually has an office in Düsseldorf?

Paul: Yes.

Me: And Michelle, you are Washington's best wedding photographer. Your pictures don't chronicle the cliched events of the day so much as they indelibly capture the complex emotions behind them. You explore the intriguing ambiguity of love itself. You are an artist.

Michelle: Thank you.

Me: I wanted to bring you two strangers together today, in a professionally arranged conference call. Paul Hamburger, please say hello to Michelle Frankfurter.

Michelle and Paul: Ha-ha-ha-ha.

Me: My goal today is to start a process that might ultimately bring the two of you together in holy matrimony.

Paul: Okay, there is an impediment. Your plan would require me to hire a lawyer to deal with a divorce from my current wife.

Me: So?

Paul: Well, getting out of a marital contract is not simply a minor inconvenience. Plus, I have three little burgers to consider.

Me: Why does everything always have to be about you, Paul? This is bigger than all of us. The future of Washington humor is in grave jeopardy. All the smartass lefty comedians have been numbed by their love of the Obama administration, and there's no one funny at all on the right. One of America's greatest political satirists has become a U.S. senator and has officially declared his intention to be dull. What we need is a counteroffensive. And what better place for it to come from than two ordinary people in Washington who declare, through a dramatic personal decision, that they will dedicate their names -- their very existences -- to the pursuit of humor? You both could do it with ... relish.