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.

A Dollop of Something Else

I'm at a walk-in clinic yesterday and I'm checking myself in. The girl behind the counter is entering my information into the computer and I'm just sort of standing there, handling the tchotchkes scattered around the counter top. Also on the counter, next to an industrial size box of facemasks (sinister), is an industrial size bottle of hand sanitizer.

This reminds me of a vignette from Barack Obama's book where he describes the first time he met George Bush. This was just after Obama had been elected to the senate and he was invited to the White House to meet the president. So he goes and Bush is there to greet him outside the White House. They shake hands. Immediately after they shake hands, and without so much as a word or a glance to anyone nearby, Bush reaches out his right hand to an aide and the aide squirts a big dollop of hand sanitizer into the president's hand. He rubs it all in with his other hand and then invites Obama in.

This is a really rather funny little story about Bush. (Why couldn't he just keep his paw out of his mouth for the next twenty minutes and then use the sanitizer after Obama left the room?) How was I to know I was telling it to a Palin-kateer?

It really isn't funny enough to relate in great detail, but suffice it to tell that the conversation took an odd turn. Governer Blogejevich was mentioned and the phrase "shows who Obama associates with" slithered across the counter at me. Forget that the two men hate one another or that Obama's people are the ones who got the feds on the case when they found out what Blagojevich was up to. Forget all that.

I just wanted to tell a funny little story about Bush and hand sanitizer. Was I mad to expect that one could tell such a story to an attractive young woman who sits behind a giant bottle of the stuff every day?

I Nearly Become a Republican Activist

“My name is James and I am calling to thank you for everything you did last year for the Republican party.”

But all I’ve done for the Republican party has been to occasionally clench my teeth, pull my hair, and spit when it is mentioned. It isn’t personal; it’s only their hypocrisy, backwardness, and ineptitude.

So you can imagine my surprise at this rather forward telephone introduction. On the other hand, I voted for Kerry and that seemed to work out pretty good for the Republican party, I guess. Maybe I do deserve their thanks.

In any case, I just laughed. James continued.

“Well, Mr. Nielsen, we need your help again. The Dems think they have us on the edge and we can’t let them take back the House and Senate, now can we?”

I’m warming up to the whole thing by this point. I reply: “We certainly can’t.”

“Well,” says James, “And Schwarzenegger needs your help, too. I mean, California is finally doing pretty okay and we can’t let ‘em bring back the days of Gray Davis.”

“Dear God, no.” I said in community theatre-grade horror.

“Well, I’m happy you feel that way Mr. Nielsen. That’s why you’ll see how important it is that we get everyone signed up this year - to fight those tax-raisers. What can I sign you up for? A hundred or a hundred-fifty?”

“Dollars?”

“Yessir. Dollars we’ll use to get the word out about the party and make sure Republicans keep America on the right track.”

“Well I think we’re okay here in Orange County.” I said dryly.

“What’s that?”

“Orange County. I think we’re okay here. Have you any idea how many golf courses there are?”

“Well, your donation will help Republicans across the state of California, Mr. Nielsen.”

“So lemme get this straight. You’re asking me to redistribute my hard-earned money to you?”

“Huh? Mr. Nielsen, your money could help us keep America moving in the right direction.”

“Nothing. Look, James, it’s a nice pitch. Really it is, and I wish you all the luck, but I’m just not the sort of Republican who gives money away to people who need it. I mean.”

“Well, you know, any size donation would be appreciated.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know, but market forces and Adam Smith and all.”

“Huh?”

“I’m just not going to—” and I’m cut off by a dial-tone.

It was too bad. I had a whole bit about Hillary I was going to try to slip in. I can't believe he hung up on me. My Republican impression was fine. Anyone would have sworn I was wearing a golf shirt tucked into khaki pants by the tone of my voice - hell, you could hear the side part in my hair. I didn’t snicker behind my hand or anything.

Afterwards I took a hot, soapy shower.