My very dearest Senator Feinstein,
I feel like we’re old friends. Years ago, when Arianna Huffington was a Republican and you were a moderate Democrat, I sent money to your re-election campaign. A good chunk of money. I was offended that Arianna’s husband was trying to buy your senate seat. I admired your tenacity in fighting him off. I loved the bumperstickers that said: Dianne: Make him spend it all!. Those were the days, huh?
And then began our long correspondence. Okay, I wasn’t so good at writing you back- in fact, I never did- but you kept sending me letters, every month or so, describing all the fine work you were doing in Washington. I was touched that you made the effort. Having once worked for a congressman, I knew how much effort it took. And they were all personally signed by your signing machine! I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. And it went on for years and years. I could tell that you cared!
We were even once almost formally introduced. Well, not quite formally, but you did once almost bowl me over, late one night at a dim sum restaurant, when I was walking past your table, and you suddenly rose to put on your coat. Had your daughter not quickly whisked you out of the way, our introduction might have been more than formal. It might have been almost intimate! But your daughter saved the day- or night- and you were startled, and apologetic, and gracious. It was actually quite human and charming. I almost stopped to tell you how much I appreciated your recent efforts in helping get the assault weapons ban through the Senate, but having known quite a few famous people, I considered it best to not interrupt your private time.
The years went by. We had a falling out. You voted for Bush’s tax cuts. I called your office and said there would be no more money. I admit that I hadn’t actually intended to give you more, anyway, but I thought you needed to understand how disappointed I was. And you did seem to understand. You seemed to understand that relationships sometimes need work. The thoughtful letters kept coming, as if nothing had happened. It was kind of sweet. I understood that you didn’t take me lightly, and that you intended to keep trying to grow the relationship. I did my part, too. When you sponsored a bill to shut down Guantanamo, I wrote a diary on Daily Kos, to praise you. I called your office to thank you. Despite our estrangement, I wanted you to know that when I thought you deserved it, I would still always be there for you.
So, we do have a long history, together. And we have much in common. For example:
You went to Stanford University. I went to Stanford Hospital.
You were mayor of San Francisco, in the 1980s, and worked at City Hall. I went to a lot of concerts at the San Francisco Civic, in the 1980s, and often walked past City Hall.
You live in a famous Pacific Heights mansion. I’ve driven through Pacific Heights.
We both root for the 49ers and Giants. We both suffer for it.
We both know that the best dim sum in San Francisco is not found in Chinatown.
It’s almost like we’re related!