This is not my first trip to Harvard. Oh, no. Far from it, my friends.

It is my second trip to Harvard.

My first trip occurred shortly after the 1998 election cycle during which a group named "MoveOn.org" had used the internet to raise a bunch of money to urge people to get beyond Monica Lewinsky, and Jesse Ventura was the man-of-the-hour with the way his campaign used the Internet to get people who had never voted before to come out and vote for him.

Now that I think of it, Monica Lewinsky, based upon her recent HBO performance, hasn't gotten over Monica Lewinsky, but that is outside the scope of this travelogue.

Anyway, I was invited to participate in a day-long discussion about the future of the Internet as a political tool - as a political tool myself, I was highly qualified to hold forth.

In the 1960's, during the folk music craze, there was a group named the Chad Mitchell Trio which starred none other than Chad Mitchell until he left the group which was renamed The Mitchell Trio and featured a young John Denver.

One of the staples of The [Chad] Mitchell Trio's act was a number called "The John Birch Society" which started with the stanza:

Oh, we're meetin' at the courthouse,
At Eight O'clock tonight.
You just come through the door and take the first turn to the right.
Be careful when you get there.
We hate to be bereft.
But we're takin' down the names of anybody turnin' left.
Oh, we're the John Birch Society, help us fill the ranks
To keep our movement growing we need lots of tools and cranks."

There are some here at Mullings Central who question my ability to remember whole stanzas of obscure folk songs from 40 years ago and, at the same time, can go oh-for-29 on wedding anniversary dates.

It is in this sense that I use the term "political tool."

You know? It has been a long time since anyone has written a lyric with the word "bereft." Maybe Ozzie Osborn.

Ok. Harvard. So we're in one of those interminable sessions where people are sitting on the panels and rehearsing what they are going to say so they can sound reeeeeely smart, while their cohorts in the audience are trying to come up with THE QUESTION which will be inscribed on a stone at the entrance to the Harvard Campus.

I was sitting in the back alternately giggling and poking like Huck Finn in church; and napping.

At one point one of the MoveOn.org people was going on and on and on about how someday the Internet would provide a forum for people of good will from around the world to find others of the same ilk and would have wonderful discussions about how to improve the planet � [suh-NOOR]

I woke up and, after wiping away the long line of drool which had grown like a spider web from a corner of my mouth to the classroom desk at which I was sitting, said: "That already exists. It's called Kumbayah-dot-Org."

All my buddies laughed and laughed, and if any of us would have had any athletic ability (which we didn't), we would have high-fived (which we didn't). This was reported in at least one newspaper of record and was, therefore, the last time I had been invited to sully the Crimson Campus.

So I am heading up to Boston to speak at the John F. Kennedy School of Government to a class which is being taught by Vice President Cheney's former press secretary, Juliana Glover-Weiss. This invitation was extended because the person who was supposed to speak had to back out at the last minute and as I, as you know, love to go bye-bye on an airplane, I agreed to fill in.

We were taking the US Airways Shuttle and we were to meet on the plane.

As is my wont (I love that. You never get to use the phrase "as is my wont" any more. It makes me, I don't know, bereft, sort of), I got to the airport about two hours early. At Reagan National there are a bunch of restaurants, one of which is a Japanese sushi bar.

I like Japanese food. I like certain types of sushi and sashimi. But I don't know that I would, just prior to boarding an airplane, eat some.

To be safe, I went to Legal Seafood. And ate only fried things.

There was no line at security, and for the first time in many a trip no one wanted to "Do a Dingell" on me so I sailed through and waited for the boarding announcement.

The aircraft was an Airbus 319 which is equivalent to a Boeing 737 but seemed to be a bit wider. I got on, put my stuff in the overhead, and got seated.

Michael Isikoff of Newsweek Magazine came down the aisle. We met eyes, nodded desultorily, and he went back to his seat.

I pulled out my laptop and was beginning to record these thoughts when I heard him say, "Juliana! You're the reason I'm on this plane."

That very same faster-than-light brain of mine which (a) got me accepted not to Harvard but to Marietta College (on the waiting list) lo those many years ago, and (b) allowed me to graduate with a bachelor's degree not in the normal four years, but in a blistering six-and-a-half years allowed me to deduce that (1) Mr. Isikoff was going to the same class as I was, and (2) Ms. Glover-Weiss was not going to be there.

"She's not sure she's going to make this flight," Isikoff said, as I planted myself, arms akimbo, in the aisle next to him.

"Do you know were we're supposed to go?" I asked.

"To the JFK School," he said. "We'll figure it out." He probably made it through undergraduate school in three years and got a bunch of awards on the way.

Here's a new Mullings Rule: If you are going to be stranded, be stranded with the best investigative reporter on the planet.

As it turned out, Ms. Glover-Weiss arrived as they were closing the cabin door and all was well.

Except for this. On Delta, which is the Official Airline of Mullings, they show CNN on short flights. US Airways, I discovered, shows Fox.

Good enough, except that what they were showing on this flight was a replay of Tony Snow's Sunday show which starred, if you remember, Tom Daschle.

I didn't even have to plug in my earphones. I could tell he was dissembling just by watching his lips move.

Air rage, indeed.

If you are going to speak at an Ivy League school, you have to make a threshold decision as to your outfit. There are three basic choices: One, you can adopt an outfit that you remember from your youth as being what people wore when they went to Ivy League universities. This would include a tattersall shirt, a rep tie, a v-neck sweater, a corduroy jacket with suede patches on the elbows, grey slacks, and tasseled loafers over argyle socks. Pipe, optional.

I don't think anyone ever wore an outfit like this with the exception of Al Gore when he taught those classes at Columbia University. But, then, he had Naomi Wolfe to dress him.

Second, is to wear what is called "business attire." This would be a dark suit, white shirt, tie, black shoes. Yawn.

Third, is to wear whatever you normally wear to work. As I work in my den, this is my uniform: Oxford cloth button down shirt, khaki slacks, beige sweat socks under Docksiders. No Plebe at West Point has a more defined uniform than I do.

After some consideration, I took the second option and wore my best suit. My best suit was custom made for me by Sid the Sikh during a trip to Bangkok, Thailand. [Oh, Rich? Is there another Bangkok? Bangkok, Iowa? Bangkok, North Carolina? Bangkok, Alaska?]

Anyway. ANYWAY � The secret to having a suit custom made in Bangkok - any Bangkok - is to stay away from the places with signs that say, "Custom Suits in Eight Hours."

The suit is likely to last about eight hours once you get it home.

With Sid the Sikh you have to leave time for at least one fitting but Sid strongly recommends two fittings.

Actually, the name on the shop is not Sid the Sikh even though the guy is a Sikh with the turban and the whole thing. The name on the shop is: Steve.

So, I am wearing my suit from Sid and a tie I bought in Arizona which is a Jerry Garcia design. As I wing my way to Logan Airport I am the very picture of middle aged confidence at my sartorial peak.

Isikoff is wearing his investigative reporter's outfit which is an eclectic combination of shirt, sweater, slacks of an indefinite color, and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

I decide he made the better choice.

Harvard is Harvard. I mean, even if you're a Republican you have to be impressed with being on the campus of Harvard.

Juliana walked us into the building which houses the Institute of Politics in the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University.

See. At Marietta College, where I spent a great deal of that six-and-a-half year undergraduate career, you just went to � Marietta College. 45750. The end.

At "The Institute" we walked past offices housing people like Linda Robb whose office was right next to former Governor and U.S. Senator Chuck Robb both of whom are "Fellows" at the "Institute."

This is true: There was a sign on Mrs. Robb's door which invited students to a "Study Group" entitled: "Politics as a Family Business" with guest speaker, David Eisenhower.

Where better to have a discussion of "Politics as a Family Business" than at a school named for a Kennedy hosted by the daughter of Lyndon Johnson with a man whose grandfather and father-in-law were Presidents?

This business of referring to the JFK School of Government as "The School" and the Institute of Politics as "The Institute" and these various seminars as "Study Groups" again made me think of my undergraduate days when we didn't go from Institutes to Schools to Study Groups, but - at least in my circle of friends - we mostly went from "The Dorm" to "The Bar" occassionally ending up in "The Slam."

Isikoff and I dropped our bags and headed for telephones. He, to investigate stuff, me to plug in my laptop and retrieve e-mails from you.

One of the ironies of modern telephony is that nearly every office has desk phones which cannot be used in conjunction with a laptop computer to dial out.

You need an analog line which is to say, a phone line which connects directly to the phone company, not to some other computer at the back a storage closet.

The best place in any office to find such a line is attached to a fax machine. The secret is to not ask if you can borrow the line because I guarantee you someone will say they are waiting for THE MOST IMPORTANT FAX OF THEIR LIFE.

The secret, then, is to simply start up your laptop and, as soon as it's fully booted, carry it to the fax machine you have espied, place it on top, unplug the phone line in the back, plug it into your computer, press the appropriate buttons, and get your mail.

If someone comes by and notices - this is generally accompanied by heavy sighing and major, major eye rolls - you just smile and nod as if John Harvard his own self has given you permission to do this.

History Lesson. This, from the Harvard Web Page:

Although the inscription on the statue reads "John Harvard, Founder, 1638," none of these three statements is true. In fact, the statue is known on campus as the "statue of three lies." The seated figure of the statue is not really John Harvard. When the statue was cast, no authentic pictures of Mr. Harvard existed anywhere. Reputedly, the model for the statue was Sherman Hoar (A.B. 1882), a student chosen at random by French and was dressed in typical garb of the seventeenth century. In addition, John Harvard was not the founder of Harvard College. The college was actually established by the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and was only later named after John Harvard. Finally, Harvard College was founded in 1636, not 1638 as the statue claims.

John Harvard, it turns out, was the principal benefactor of the new institution so even Back In The Day, if you gave enough money, they put your name on stuff.

Back to the fax business: If they say something about waiting for THE MOST IMPORTANT FAX OF THEIR LIFE you simple go into a discussion of how most fax machines have an automatic redial function and, as soon as you finish getting your e-mails - some of which may well be coming in from THE WHITE HOUSE - their fax will almost certainly be received.

It is not necessary to explain that White House business by saying that an e-mail from THE WHITE HOUSE is probably from The Lad enquiring as to your location and general state of health as opposed to Karen Hughes or Karl Rove asking for your advice on some major policy initiative. Just move slightly to cover the computer screen as if to say "this is highly classified information and you, as a mere Student at The Institute do not have nearly the clearance - and in your whole life you will probably never have the clearance - necessary to see what is on this screen.

Harvard. Hah.

The Study group is just as you see it in the movies. About 20 students of various ages sitting around in various types of chairs arranged in a more-or-less oval shape. Isikoff and I are seated next to each other at one of the flat sides of the oval. Juliana introduces us. Michael leads off. I follow. And the class immediately splits into raving Liberal lunatics and attractive, well-spoken Conservatives.

Because Juliana used to be Dick Cheney's press secretary the discussion soon descends into a discussion about why the White House should give up the list of who attended what meetings of the Energy Task Force (Isikoff's view) and why the White House is protecting a broader principle of being able to meet with individuals unfettered by the fear that Henry Waxman will be reading the minutes of your meeting (Juliana's view).

After 20 minutes of this I asked, abruptly, if everyone was as bored with this discussion as I was.

Policy Stuff. Hah.

One very, very earnest young woman demanded to know why the news media had abrogated its responsibilities with regard to "asking tough questions" of the Bush Administration.

I let Isikoff speak for the news media. Adding only interesting tidbits and amusing side notes as required to keep the conversation lively.

I'm not certain how much light was shed, but there wasn't any heat generated as Isikoff and I were on our best behavior.

After about 90 minutes - during which that very, very earnest young woman got up and left immediately after I said that Michael's job was to try and get every scrap of information out of a government official's office he could; my job was to block him; and we were both pretty good at what we did.

Perhaps she was heading for a fax machine.

Most of the discussion centered around the zeal of the press corps to cover "The Process" of how things get done as opposed to the final product.

At one point, in the Energy Task Force discussion, I pointed out that (1) The results of the task force are not secret. It is a public document which about seven people have read. (2) A good deal of what is in the report will require regulations and there is a well-defined comment and response procedure for regulations; and (3) The rest of it will require legislation which allows just about everyone to get their nose under the tent.

All of that is true, but it's not as much fun to report on, or read about.

After the "Study Group" we walked back to "The Institute" for "A Supper" with the man who is representing the interim Afghan government in Washington, Haron Amin. Mr. Amin has the official title of charge d'affaires - which is the senior person in any embassy when either no Ambassador has been appointed, or when the Ambassador is out of the country in question.

In the case of Mr. Amin, there is no official government in Afghanistan to appoint an ambassador, so he holds the title of charge (shar-ZHAY) until there is a permanent government and the head of that government appoints him or someone else Ambassador to the U.S.

Got it?

Haron Amin was born in Afghanistan but, according to his introduction, his family left in 1980 (when he was 11) and ended up in California. Amin returned to Afghanistan eight years later to fight with what became the Northern Alliance, and is back - at age 32 - to represent Afghanistan's interests in Washington.

He speaks English with almost no accent. In fact, I suspected, as I listened to him, that what accent he exhibited was re-learned to add authenticity.

Nevertheless, he is a very, very accomplished speaker, and made an excellent case for continued US support for Afghanistan after the military action stops.

One statement Amin made crystallized the problems of rebuilding a country which has been at war for 23 straight years: The only people who have a job in Afghanistan are civil servants. There is a 99% unemployment rate.

I immediately wanted to shout those were exactly the same ratios which apply to the District of Columbia but, as we were at Harvard and I was trying to sound smart - or at least trying not to sound normal - I held my tongue.

The question is, how do you get an economic engine started in which the spark plugs are fouled, the pistons are seized, and the fuel has long ago evaporated?

I do not envy Mr. Amin or his government in this task.

Oh. Steve Solarz.

I have to tell you this story.

Stephen Solarz was a Democratic Congressman from New York. He was a foreign policy expert. He told every one, every day that he was a foreign policy expert.

The room in which "The Supper" was held has a large conference table with room for some 10-12 people along each of the long edges and two at each end. The Chairman of the Kennedy School or the Institute of Politics or both is former Senator David Pryor who, by the way, was very gracious to me.

Anyway except for Senator Pryor and Mr. Amin most of the rest of the seats around the table were taken by students. Most of the other grownups in the room - including the Mullmeister - and Senator and Mrs. Robb, were happy to take seats around the perimeter.

The deal was, you went to a buffet table, got a plateful of food, walked into the room, found a seat, introduced yourself to the people near you, and tried to eat without dropping food on your tie, or sweater, or whatever.

As I have absolutely no hand-to-mouth coordination, I didn't take any food.

So, the room is pretty full and who should walk in but Stephen Solarz. He has a plate of entr�e food in one hand, and a plate of salad in the other. He pauses at the door with one of those grins that people have on their faces on when they think the room is going to break into applause at the very sight of them.

The room did not break into applause. Nor did anyone in the room.

Then, Solarz went over to the table, still sporting that silly grin, expecting to either find an open seat, or to have someone say they were saving him a seat or, at the barest minimum, have someone realize how uncomfortable he was making anyone watching this silent movie and surrender their seat to him.

None of this happened.

Solarz literally shrugged and found a seat against the wall.

But wait! There's more!

Senator Pryor, attempting to help soothe Solarz' obviously ruffled feathers, started the introductions with him. The general theory, as I was given to understand it, was that students give their class year (freshman, junior, etc.) and their home state; grown-ups gave their name and their affiliation (Rich Galen, Mullings; Chuck Robb, a Fellow here at the Institute, etc.)

Solarz stood and gave his entire biography, including the fact that in the redistricting of 1992 his previously safe districts was carved up into six different districts taking away any chance for him to run for re-election.

In a recent article about this year's redistricting in New York City, The New York Observer ran this paragraph about Solarz speaking about the redistricting of 1992:

" 'My old district was eviscerated, sliced up like nova [lox] thinly into six different pieces, putting me into a kind of politically untenable position,' Mr. Solarz recalled. 'The courts and Legislature did to my district what [Sir Mark] Sykes and [Charles Georges] Picot did to the Ottoman Empire after World War I.' (Mr. Solarz, the reader is reminded, was known as a foreign-policy expert.)"

Stephen Solarz was the Arnold Horshak of the Congress when it came to foreign affairs.

After Mr. Amin's remarks, "The Supper" was opened up for questions and the students, as usual, prefaced their question with long statements of fact which everyone already knew, but Mr. Amin was very patient and answered them all with thoughtfulness, skill, and good humor.

Stephen Solarz raised his hand. "I have a question - actually it's a MIRVed question," he said with that supercilious smile still plastered on.

Mr. Amin didn't understand the term, "MIRVed" so it was explained to him that it was a military acronym for "Multiple Independently Targetable Reentry Vehicles."

After which, Solarz launched into the first of his questions at which point I left to find a men's room.

There are two uni-sex bathrooms at "The Institute" and they were both in use with one person waiting in front of each door. I mention this only to indicate the length of time I was out of the room.

When it was my turn - no, let's skip ahead - when I returned to the room, Solarz had just finished the last of his MIRVed questions. I wanted to say I had a great idea where he could put any or all of those warheads but, again, I was at Harvard �

Mr. Amin, again, demonstrating a diplomat's grace, answered the questions in order and "The Supper" was declared closed.

As I was walking out I heard one grownup say to another "A little bit of Solarz goes a long way." The other responded "No wonder the New York legislature carved up his district. The other Democrats in Congress probably begged them to get rid of him."

After "The Supper" Juliana, Michael, and I went to dinner after which I wrote Mullings and at about 1:00 AM got to bed. Isikoff and I had an 8:00 AM flight back in the morning so we met in the lobby at the agreed-upon 6:25, got in a cab and went to the airport.

The flight home was uneventful. The drive back to Mullings Central was uneventful.

I took a nap.