Okay, before we get back to the BushCo horrors:

I’m not exactly sure how it all happened, but yes, we did end up going to lunch with Krugman and his wife, Robin Wells. (Obscure trivia: Paul’s middle name is also Robin.) Although I do love the sound of my own voice pontificating, I also enjoy interesting conversation from others as I eat; so I was happy.

We didn’t know Krugman was even coming to Eschacon until someone told us he was outside at the registration table. I immediately told my best friend, who was wide-eyed. “Really?” So imagine how thrilled she was when the couple sat down right next to her. “I gave him a piece of paper,” she said. “I said, ‘A writer without anything to write on?’ and he laughed.”

Yeah, my friends are mostly political geeks like me - but not all of them. Another friend I told last night at a party wrinkled his brow and said, “Who’s Paul Krugman?”

We walked to the nearby Reading Terminal Market, where all six of us ate at the Down Home Diner. (If you really must know, yes, Paul did have the catfish po’boy. And iced tea. Never let it be said that SG is not a full-service blog.)

I can’t think of much I’m comfortable repeating, although he and Robin did say they didn’t agree the Bush reaction to the flood was purposeful genocide, but rather the result of an insulated and dysfunctional management style. Well, maybe. We’ll see.

Oh, and they said they couldn’t believe how low the rents are in Philadelphia. Somegirl chimed in that she was worried New Yorkers would start moving here; Lionel (who’s a real estate attorney) mentioned he’d only had one closing under $100,ooo in a long time.

My best friend talked about her boss getting the bright idea to outsource all their customer service people to Pakistan after reading Tom Friedman’s “The World is Flat.” Krugman sort of blanched, grimaced and covered his face with his hands, shaking his head.

And yeah, I said a thing or two. (I had far too much caffeine yesterday and it does tend to rev me up.)

Anyway, they’re charming people and we all enjoyed ourselves. (The missus reminds me very much of the witty Mrs. Atrios, as I told her last night at dinner. No, I can’t tell you what either she or the Sweaty One ate. It was an Indian buffet and I don’t know the names of anything.)