The Special This Evening is Waterboarding

Found myself at a dinner with a friend of mine and some of her coworkers.

At one point, apropos of nothing, my friend turns to me and says:

"You're a republican, right?"

I fell off of my chair and was unable to see or taste for several minutes. When I recovered, still in shock, I told her that I "was the most liberal creature she'd ever encountered. I would," I said, "grant trees the right to vote and animals representation in congress. "

she laughed. I continued, feeling on a hot streak.

"I want the government to pay for breast implants and for Obama to swear an oath on a gay baby."

This, it developed, was not the crowd for this sort of thing.

All of my friend's coworkers, I would soon discover, were of the 'double Guantanamo and put the environmentalists there' persuasion. The evening continued in a predictable fashion.

I wish I had been cool about the whole thing - aloof, suave, confident in the resounding victory of my ideology. I wish I'd weathered the "Obama won because the people are so uninformed and it's only a popularity contest," and the "Bush made us safer than we were eight years ago," and "torture is a subjective thing," and, worst of all, the "double standard of the media and the way they reported about Palin" with more aplomb.

As it was, it was all I could do to reassure them all that the coming socialist utopia would have a place for them, too.

Someone at the table eventually was successful in steering the topic to the Superbowl, and I admired them for it. Me, I was itching for a fight and would have liked nothing better than to get to gloat about the potential supreme court appointees. I had already suffered through being told that I only believed what I did because I was clearly a defense attorney (I'm not) and that I didn't understand America as I came from L.A., which was nearly Mexico anyway (that's stupid). I had a hardon to yack about the end of the war in Iraq and Planned Parenthood and the Kyoto treaty and all the other bugaboos of the conservative heart, but I ended up discussing whether or not Kurt Warner would make the hall of fame. (I argued yes, but that he didn't really deserve it. This was only vaguely controversial).

In the end, a man at the end of the table bought drinks for everyone. Everyone, that is, except for me.

I absorb your catcalls. I'll settle for winning the culture wars.