With my extended family here in the Washington DC area, come Fourth of July week, it’s an orgy outdoor barbecues. There’s almost always one at my brother Rob Roy’s place, one at my sister Rose’s, and one at mine. By virtue of long-standing tradition, who holds the barbecue on the afternoon of the Fourth rotates. This year, it was Rob Roy’s turn; so tomorrow, there’s one at Rose’s, and today there was a barbecue at my house in Great Falls, Virginia. Given the 2011 calendar, that’s three smoky, charred feasts in a row, and given the current economic situation, I knew I needed to be prepared to serve a horde of ravenous relatives, famished in-laws and a smattering of their starving, self-invited friends some much-needed, high-quality protein. Which I delivered, I dare say, with considerable panache. There were steaks, of course – a choice of USDA Prime, natural grass-fed beef, organic bison or venison, in various cuts; and chops – mountain pastured New Zealand lamb and Arkansas wild boar; ribs – Kobe beef shorts and Kansas City baby-back; fowl – free-range chicken, wild duck, pheasant, partridge and quail; seafood – fresh wild-caught Alaskan salmon, king crab legs, and Maine lobsters; plenty of ground elk and antelope for hamburgers, and a wide variety of imported sausages, including plenty of brats and franks for the kids. My guests had a choice of grills, too – New Mexican mesquite, New England apple wood, West Virginia hickory or Pacific Northwest alder. Name the vegetable, it was there, available in several popular grilled presentation styles, including kabobs made with the guest’s choice of any of the meats and a wide selection of gourmet marinades.
And as usual at any party I hold, for any occasion, anywhere, there was no lack of fine potables – a feature much appreciated by my brother-in-law Hank and his brother’s wife, Shannon. I know because, embroiled in the sort heated argument no self-respecting Polack or Mick would ever start without at least six ounces of pure alcohol under their belt, they accosted me while I was working the grills.
“Okay, Tom,” Hank announced, “since you’re the fancy Inside-the-Beltway consultant, you tell us – which one is it: Michele Bachmann or Sarah Palin?”
“To do what,” I asked as I turned over a row of sizzling filet mignon wrapped in oak smoked bacon, “win the Women’s Professional Bass Fishing Tournament Tour, or play the Wicked Witch of the West opposite Justin Bieber as Dorothy in a 3D musical Sony Pictures Wizard of Oz remake?”
“To be President of the United States!” Hank declared in a slightly indignant tone.
“Well,” I allowed, “I’m certain the Democrats would be delighted to have Barack Obama run against either of them. In addition to pretty much guaranteeing a solid victory in the presidential election, it would probably restore Democratic control to the House of Representatives, too.”
“We’ll see about that,” Shannon challenged with touch of belligerence in her voice, my remark having apparently gotten her Irish up. “If you recall, before he was elected, Obama gave himself three years to turn the economy around! Now time’s up and here we are!”
“Yeah,” Hank chimed in, “still screwed!”
“I’m sure,” I opined, “the average American voter can figure out that when Obama made that remark about it taking three years to restore the economy, he made it under the assumption that the Republicans would put the welfare of our nation ahead of partisan ideology and act like reasonable, sane adults instead of like brainwashed, gibbering, fanatical teenage members of some lunatic cult.”
“Ha!” Shannon responded acidly. “What a chump! Do you think America can survive another four years of leadership by somebody that naive?”
“Yeah,” Hank added, “and the Republicans have a perfect right to act like brainwashed, gibbering, fanatical teenage cult members if they want to! That’s politics!”
“Be that as it may,” I observed, “in order to even have the opportunity to face Obama in the general election, Bachmann or Palin will have to beat Mitt Romney for the Republican nomination.”
“Piece of cake,” Hank huffed.
“Yeah,” Shannon agreed, “no problem. Romney’s too liberal to win the Republican nomination.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” I requested as I began placing filet mignons on the serving plate, “I understand Hank believing in a bunch of demented, deranged TEA Party conservative propaganda – he’s been at it ever since he lost his job. But you, Shannon? Aren’t you Chicago Irish? Doesn’t that mean you’re a Democrat?”
“It is not demented, deranged conservative propaganda,” Shannon insisted, “it’s very sensible conservative propaganda; and, yeah, I am a Democrat, but that doesn’t mean I have to vote to put a black-[expletive], big-eared [expletive] in the White House, does it?”
“That, at least,” I conceded as I finished plating the filet mignons and began turning the bison porterhouse steaks, “sounds like the Chicago Irish Shannon I know.”
“Okay,” Hank continued with an obvious air of satisfaction and a swig of my best Talisker 18, “so who is it – Michele Bachmann or Sarah Palin?”
“Well,” I pondered, “it seems to me that both of them have an equally… interesting… grasp of American history – Palin, for example, offered a truly innovative interpretation of Paul Revere, while Bachmann’s version of John Quincy Adams’ role in the Revolutionary War was… ground breaking, to say the least.”
“Ah, phooey,” Hank shot back dismissively. “I’ve been a Tea Party supporter from the very beginning, and let me tell you, Tom – nobody in the Tea Party cares about exactly who did what in the Revolution or where this or that thing – like the first battle or whatever – happened, or what it’s supposed to mean, or any of that kind of stuff.”
“Details,” Shannon sniffed. “What really matters is… you know… the general principles of the American Revolution… like no taxation and the right to bear arms and getting the government off our backs. All that other stuff is just details, that’s all.”
“Right,” Hank seconded. “What’s important is that, once they’ve said something, no matter what it is, they don’t let some jerk in the liberal media make them back down and say they were wrong.”
“Because history,” Shannon proclaimed, “is written by the winners, not the losers, and only losers back down when somebody says they’re wrong.”
“Actually,” I pointed out, “Michele Bachmann did, in fact, admit that she’s ‘not perfect’ and made a mistake in confusing John Wayne the Hollywood cowboy actor with John Wayne Gacy, the children’s clown serial killer.”
“Irrelevant!” Hank instantly spouted. “I’ve been hearing about that all week and I say the same thing every time – neither John Wayne or John Wayne Gacy had anything to do with the American Revolution! So tell me, why should a Tea Party candidate know the difference between them?”
“Okay then,” I suggested, “let’s call it a draw on Bachmann’s and Palin’s respective senses of history. Then on to moral issues, I guess. Any daylight between Bachmann and Palin on a woman’s right choose?”
“Abortion?” Shannon challenged. “You mean abortion?”
“Yeah,” Hank echoed. “Abortion?”
“Okay,” I shrugged as I began to plate the bison porterhouse steaks, “abortion, then…”
“Bachmann’s way more against it than Palin,” Hank declared.
“No way!” Shannon objected.
“She is, too,” Hank insisted. “Bachmann called Planned Parenthood ‘the LensCrafters of big abortion!’ Let’s see Palin top that!”
“Oh yeah?” Shannon retorted. “Palin said she’s against abortion even if it’s her own daughter who’s pregnant – and even if she was raped! She’d still make her have the baby! Now that’s a real anti-abortion stance – not just some catchy sound bite like Bachmann!”
“But Palin said she’d allow it,” Hank countered, holding his arms aloft over his head, making a huge circle, “if the life of the mother was in danger! Hello? Loophole! About this big! All it takes is a little doctor-shopping, and bingo! There you have it – another unborn baby human – murdered!”
“Bachmann would allow it for that,” Shannon replied with her best snarky voice, “and in cases of rape or incest! Sounds to me like somebody’s talking out their…”
“Okay, okay,” I interrupted as I finished plating the bison and began turning the venison rib eyes, “I think we’ve established that Sarah Palin in marginally more unreasonable about abortion restrictions than Michele Bachmann. So how about gay marriage?”
“Palin’s firmly on the record against it,” Shannon assured me.
“In 2008, maybe,” Hank snapped. “But show me where she’s said anything lately!”
“Why should she bother?” Shannon demanded.
“Because the public has a right to know,” Hank said, a bit too loudly. “Are you sure she’s not plotting to keep quiet on the issue so she can pull in the queer vote after she gets the Republican nomination, huh? Where’s Palin’s integrity? On the other hand, Bachmann’s husband called gays ‘barbarians,’ and gave money to the Minnesota Family Council so they could oppose gay marriage!”
“I swear, Hank,” Shannon fumed, “you really ought to do your homework! It’s Bachmann who won’t take a stand on homosexuality! When Bob Schieffer asked her about gay marriage on CBS last week, she said she’s ‘…not running to be anyone’s judge.’ Does that sound like a genuine conservative Tea Party view of the issue?”
“Bachmann told Schieffer,” Hank muttered a bit half-heartedly, “that she’s going to let the Constitution be her guide, which is good enough for me. And besides,” he continued with considerably more conviction, “she says gay people have very sad lives, and that gays are part of Satan. That sounds pretty credible to me.”
“Her stepsister,” Shannon hissed, “is a lesbian!”
“Michele Bachmann,” Hank persisted, “says being gay is dysfunctional bondage and that encouraging kids to be tolerate of gays is child abuse, pure and simple!”
“Ding!” I chirped as I began plating the venison, “Round over! Consider it established – they both say God wants Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, and that being a homo is bad. I notice you both neglected to mention that each of them has avidly supported anti-gay marriage legislation in their home states, or that they both have endorsed the Republican Party platform, which calls for a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage in the United States – because, I assume, each of you knew the other’s candidate…”
“Sarah Palin is not a candidate!” Hank interjected.
“…make that ‘favorite TEA Party politician,’ then,” I continued, “had done exactly the same two things with respect to this issue. So obviously, this round is a technical draw, and no gay people are ever going to vote for either of them in any election, and both of them are obviously counting on the fact that only ten percent of the population is gay.”
“Three percent!” Hank objected.
“Three?” Shannon exclaimed, “try less than one percent! That’s what the real statistics are, you know!”
“That depends,” I remarked, “on how one defines ‘gay.’”
“Hmph!” Shannon grunted. “I’m pretty sure I know what it means!”
“Me, too,” Hank informed me confidently, “and I’m pretty sure it’s a mortal sin, too!”
“Moving right along, then,” I suggested, “let’s look at economic policy. How do Palin and Bachmann compare on the issue of, say, raising the federal debt ceiling?”
“Aha!” Hank exulted, “now we’re talking! Palin’s already said she thinks that an increase in the federal debt ceiling is inevitable!”
“Not true!” Shannon vehemently replied. “Just three days ago Palin tweeted, ‘Hype re: “need” to incur more debt now is nonsense.’ What you’re talking about is something she said last month!”
“Okay,” Hank shot back, “then she’s flip-flopping on the issues!”
“Nuh-uh,” Shannon shook her head smartly. “You’re totally misinterpreting her quote from June. She said she thought a vote to raise the debt ceiling is inevitable – not that she thinks it’s the right thing to do!”
“Well,” Hank sneered, “instead of raking in big bucks as a… media commentator… and driving around the country in a huge bus with her name on it in gigantic letters, horning in on legally declared candidates’ campaigns, like some people I could mention, Michele Bachmann is actually a member of Congress and she’s said that unless there is serious, legitimate reduction in federal spending, she’s not going to vote for an increase in the debt ceiling. And what’s more, she’s had the guts to call out Obama on his scare tactics, and point out the lies he’s peddling about how the world financial markets will start treating Uncle Sam like a deadbeat or something, just because the Tea Party Republicans fix it so he can’t borrow any more money.”
“Palin’s no slouch!” Shannon yelled back at Hank. “She called Timothy Geithner a liar, didn’t she?”
“Pfft!” Hank rolled his eyes, mocking. “Like doing that took a huge set of cojones! Big whoop.”
“Fair enough,” I noted as I began turning the antelope burgers. “Both of them consider Tea Party economic ideology to be more important than the full faith and credit of the United States, and both of them think that’s a very patriotic thing. Now, how about foreign policy – Afghanistan, for example?”
“Bachmann makes no bones about it,” Hank flatly stated. “Obama’s doing it all wrong. America needs to do what she would do – call General Petraeus in there, ask him what it is we need to win and give it to him – no political strategies where our troops are concerned; military strategies only. Which, I might add, is considerably more than Palin has had to say about Afghanistan lately.”
“That,” Shannon dismissively replied, “is because Afghanistan is yesterday’s war. Palin knows that the next foreign policy frontier is places like Sudan!”
“Her trip to which,” Hank snickered, “she just abruptly canceled.”
“Rescheduled!” Shannon barked.
“It’s because she wanted to stop in England on the way to Sudan and visit Margaret Thatcher,” Hank speculated, “and when it turned out that Thatcher wouldn’t see her, Palin just canceled the whole thing.”
“It is not!” Shannon shrieked. “A person like Sarah Palin has huge commitments all over the place! Sometimes that means she has to change her plans, that’s all!”
“So tell us, Shannon, what would Sarah Palin do if she ever got to Sudan?” Hank demanded.
“Uh… I… I guess she’d… ah, inspect the situation… um, get the facts on the ground…” Shannon stammered.
“And get plenty of photo opportunities with starving Sudanese, no doubt,” Hank pressed, “and then what?”
“I… I don’t know…” Shannon confessed. “I guess she’d come back to the US and tour around in her bus some more.”
“Okay,” I arbitrated, “I hereby declare both sides equally clueless and Panglossian on foreign policy. Next – social programs. Where do they stand on Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security?
“Ryan plan,” Hank and Shannon blurted out simultaneously, throwing each other annoyed looks immedately thereafter.
“With an asterisk,” Hank clarified.
“With an asterisk, a dagger and a double dagger,” Shannon explained.
“Is that, perhaps,” I asked, as I began plating the antelope burgers, “because so many TEA Party folks are old and decrepit? Neither of your gals are prepared to fully endorse a plan, like Ryan’s, which might gore their own supporters’ ox, are they?”
“Maybe,” Hank allowed, “but I can assure you, Michele Bachmann is more than willing to write off poor people.”
“Not half as willing as Sarah Palin!” Shannon proclaimed.
“Is too!” Hank snapped.
“Is not!” Shannon insisted. “Sarah Palin cares ten times less about poor people than Michele Bachmann! To hell with them!”
“Are you kidding me?” Hank roared, “Michele Bachmann cares absolutely nothing about the poor! [Expletive] them!”
“Ahem,” came the sound of Hank’s wife, my dear sister Rose. Hank went white as a sheet, then slowly turned to face her. Suddenly, Hank and Shannon realized that a crowd of guests, including my brother Rob Roy’s family, several of my neighbors, several of their neighbors and about a dozen kids were gathered around, staring.
“Um… just politics,” Hank announced, picking up a serving plate, “the right of free speech we’re all celebrating this weekend… uh… antelope burger, anyone?”