And then he shows up.
Suddenly the party becomes about trying to avoid him. But you can’t, because he is the kind of guy who knows just how to screw up a good party.
Right as you’re backing away from a great conversation with a coworker’s spouse, he’s standing there, looking at you, his nose half a foot from your own. And he’s smiling and tipsy. And you try to return the friendly smile even though you’re cussing like a Tarantino movie inside.
“Don’t you think he could’ve picked out a better beer?” he asks. “I mean, Yuengling? Fat Tire is a much better beer for a party. This just makes him look cheap.”
“I didn’t even notice,” you say.
“And was anyone under the age of 35 even invited? Jesus, my church is younger than this crowd.”
You start looking around and counting the number of younger couples and wondering what he’s talking about.
“This party I was at last night? It kicked the shit out of this party,” he says. “I mean, every step you took, there was another hot girl standing right there. And they were horny, too, dude. I almost asked one of them to rub me a quick one right there in the hallway.”
“Um, you’re married, dude,” you say.
You try to casually insert yourself into some other conversation, but now this guy is like herpes, and he’s going wherever you go. And even if you sneak into the bathroom with the lame “I gotta pee” excuse, he’s hovering mere feet away from the door so you can’t sneak past.
We all know this guy. We all secretly suffer nightmares where we realize we are that guy, and we wake up in a cold sweat and praying to God to let us at least have enough self-awareness and social sense not to be that guy.
I just described the conservative movement in America circa 2012. I just described why I lean left.
The Clint Eastwood “Halftime in America” commercial was just about the only pitch I enjoyed on Sunday night, and it hit every note perfectly. It had grit, and it didn’t try to call piss rain, and it had the kind of stubborn pissed-off chip-on-the-shoulder version of hope that made Rocky Balboa run through Philly, the kind of hope that made Rudy play football for Notre Dame, the kind of hope that made Gene Hackman move to the middle of nowhere and coach the Hickory Huskers to a state championship.
Not for one minute, not a single minute, did I read politics into that ad.
Not, that is, until Monday morning. That’s when the party crasher showed up. Karl Rove and the Conservative Blabber Machine took to all forms of media (even CNN!) to announce that the ad was just a veiled Obama ad.
Are you shitting me??
And then the party crasher shows up and tells me that liking that ad means I want to fellate Obama.
Well guess what, turdbreath? You’re wrong. My love of that ad has nothing, absolutely nothing, with being a Democrat. I didn’t support the Detroit bailout. I didn’t support the Wall Street bailout. I abhor the words “Too Big To Fail.”
But whether I supported it, whether Obama or Dubya set it in motion, whether it was the right thing to do, Detroit has made one helluva rebound.
I didn’t even think the ad was a way of saying “Thanks for the Bailout!” The ad’s not about the bailout. It’s about a comeback from the verge of death. The crux of the ad is here:
“All that matters now is what’s ahead. How do we come from behind? How do we come together? And how do we win? Detroit’s showing us it can be done...”Countries the world over are burning in flames. Political leaders are shooting their own citizens by the hundreds and thousands. Europe is being dragged into a fiscal pit because of a few stubborn and clueless countries. And we can’t even agree that it’s OK to want American car companies to rebound? Is that where we are now? Is that how we forge ahead?
I disagreed with the Iraq war. I believed it was a terrible and rushed decision. But I promise you that never once did I wish death or failure on our soldiers or the plans. I was angry every step of the way about Make-Believe WMD, but once you’re in the damn thing, you gotta get out, and I was cheering for us to get out safely and securely.
But conservatives? Do they hate that America’s own damn car companies are making profit? They’re accusing the lifelong Republican and immortal asskicker known as Clint Eastwood of shilling for Obama! Are Amigos falling from the sky??
The Republican Talking Heads are the most humorless, stiff, unfun, annoying, unsociable and despicable kinds of party crashers.
Maybe one day the idiots in D.C. -- idiots of both political persuasions, mind you -- will figure out that few of us really care whether they’re an elephant or a donkey. We want them to be kickass bald motherfucking eagles, and we want them to fly in formation and make us a country instead of some mess of red and blue.
Clint -- here’s to you, buddy. You’re the kind of conservative I cheer for. You're a bald motherfucking eagle. I can’t wait 'til there are more of you.