I heart New York, it's true. It's so different from DC and it's so refreshing. Politics didn't exist. I didn't know about Brangelina popping. I was only interested in my friends, seeing their new apartments, eating a vodka-melon, and hanging out in the park. Oohh, and that cheapo pedicure. But I digress...
Lately my many retreats in and out of Washington have really brought on a love-hate relationship with the city. I've lived here since 2000. Give me a break. Most people move on by now, don't they? But for some reason I can't. It keeps me here.
When I'm here, I'm so full-up with the politics, and the wonking and the gossip that no one can really talk to me about it or the hands wave frantically and I get flustered because I am SO FULL OF POLITICS THAT I COULD JUST DIE. And my office doesn't have CNN on all the time. And I hit the alarm too fast to listen to NPR in favor of the Today Show.
When I leave, I wonder what's going on in the world. I sneak away to check the Post. I talk a good game (not that I'm involved in politics professionally, but like to leave the impression that washingtonians know EVERYTHING) and always like to argue about things and wear my liberal badge in precarious places and make no apologies at family dinners where the rest of the family jokes about wearing their GOP t-shirts and bringing guns to meet my boyfriend who is decidedly liberal. (note: no guns are actually OWNED by the fam, so they would GO BUY THEM just to SHOCK THE DK.)
I think the world would be easier for me to take if the McLaughlin Group wasn't on TV. I'm sure everyone on the program is a nice individual-- but with their powers combined I can't take the yelling, the screaming, the punditry, and the VOICES. THE SQUAWKING. I swear, my life would be a lot better if they just stuck to journalism that is seen and not heard, or were fluent in ASL. Because everytime I am at the gym on Saturday evenings I have to see it. The DK watches it EVERY SUNDAY. And it's EVERYWHERE ALL THE TIME. It makes me need to lay in a room with a cool compress on my face. Or at least escape to his roof deck. With a mimosa. And that cool compress.
I don't understand how people can survive 30 minutes (oh god-- is it an HOUR? I don't even know) of people yelling over each other in competing volumes to really try and get someone from the Times and someone from Newsweek to agree. IT'S NOT GONNA HAPPEN.
Couldn't they debate like, which puppy is cuter?
or Puppy B?
I think that much more productive discussions would go on. The blonde, short-haired lady would like the bottom one because he is VISIBLY exhausted from being reamed by "The man" all the time, and the guy in expensive suits would CLEARLY like the top one, because he's pulling himself up by his own bootstraps. Or t-shirts. Or something. The misc. extra guy from the Financial Times would talk about them being HILARIOUS, because he's British and above puppies. And Pat Buchanan would just say to hell with puppies because THE MINUTEMEN will take care of them ONCE and for all.
Are they working towards good? NO. Is this helping America? NO. Is this squawking and yelling going to change anything? NO. Somehow it's a JOB to scream at someone on Saturday evenings for no end but the entertainment of Washington to chuckle at themselves for a job well done. I suppose these shows exist for some audience, but can't they be PLEASANT. Can't Operaman sing about some scandals? Couldn't a midgit in a bikini interview a Senator?
So John McLaughlin, start squawking about puppies and fluffly clouds or something. Go a little soft in your old age. It would widen your appeal. It would make it better for those of us who wish for earmuffs when people allow other people to get red in the face about taxes, war, and the state of the union. People are ALWAYS going to get red in the face, isn't that what this town exists for?
But puppies? The options are ENDLESS.
*puppies taken from CuteOverload, which makes life worth living.