mr. ambassador

After standing in the reception line for a few minutes, Scott and I got our chance to hobknob with the ambassador. He's a nice guy. We told him where we were from (he's also from MN), what we were doing in Tromso, what we wanted to do when we were done with our program, etc. He also said that he'd love to come back up north and speak to our MPCT class. We'll try to squeeze him in, but I don't know, our student schedules are pretty packed.

We also got to schmooze with the ambassador's right hand man - a foreign service dude. This was especially swell for Scotty because he may want to get his foot in that foreign service door in the future. You know, go in there and tear it up international-style. Heck yeah!

But the best part of the evening was the secret service guys. There were two of 'em. They had those earphone-things and stood with their hands behind their backs, making sure we all stayed in line - the proverbial sheep dogs of fancy schmancy political receptions.
"Hey you! Back away from the salmon crackers."
And why are they called "secret" service, anyway? Considering that they are the only people who don't mingle, they could more aptly be called the "obvious service" or the "socially awkward service."

(I've been waiting for months to use "hobknob," "schmooze," and "mingle" all in the same onjo entry.)