Like most of the United States east of the Mississippi, Washington spent this week in the grip of a truly torrid heat wave. The difference, as the old adage has it, between Hell and Washington DC in the summer is that Hell has dry heat. And at the moment, there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind here in the Nation’s Capital that on days like these, it’s the humidity that makes this place at least as miserable as Tophet itself. And with that devilish humidity factored in, the Heat Index here in DC has hovered between 105 and 110 degrees Fahrenheit all week long – for those of you who use the metric system, that’s between 40 and 43 degrees Celsius. It’s simple physics, really – the First Law of Thermodynamics says that heat flows from the warmer place to the cooler place. Therefore, usually, your body is the warmer place and heat flows out to the surrounding air, which is cooler. But when the air is warmer than your body, heat flows in, creating metabolic conditions which, after not too extended a period of time, are fatal. And while your body is working up to death by heat stroke, it can be mighty uncomfortable indeed. So the thing to do under such circumstances is to stay inside an air conditioned building, which is exactly what I was doing this afternoon – that building being my home in Great Falls, Virginia. Since Cerise was out of town and Veronica staying overnight with her latest conquest – a Supreme Court law clerk who shall remain nameless – I was home alone with my cat, Twinkle. She generally likes to go out in the back yard on weekends to prowl around, but as soon as I opened the door and a blast of hot, humid air hit her, she immediately turned and strutted away to the living room, depositing herself with appropriately offended feline dignity on the couch. “Too hot,” she sniffed as I sat down next to her holding a well chilled, dry Botanist martini with a lemon twist and a copy of Scientific American, “inside nice.” Leave it to my cat to display more common sense than a significant portion of the DC metropolitan area’s human population, who were outside in that steam bath atmosphere, having what they are pleased to call “summer fun.” As far as Twinkle and I were concerned, however, at 72 degrees Fahrenheit and a relative humidity of thirty percent, life was good. Then the phone rang. Caller ID indicated it was Dick Cheney’s daughter Elizabeth, who, for reasons I have never quite completely understood, likes to be called “Liz.”
Liz: Hello, Tom Collins?
Tom: At your service, Ms. Perry.
Liz: Please, call me Liz.
Tom: Okay, sure, hi, Liz. May I ask where you got my home telephone number?
Liz: From Dad. He said you wouldn’t mind. You don’t, do you?
Tom: No, no, not at all. What can do for you?
Liz: Well, you know, earlier this week I declared my intention to run for the US Senate from Wyoming.
Tom: So I’ve heard. But if the truth be known, you’re actually from around here aren’t you? You grew up in Washington and you were a cheerleader at McLean High School.
Liz: Yes, but the Cheney family goes back a long way in Wyoming, you know – our roots go deep. My ancestors were pioneers in 1852. My great grandfather was a ranch hand in 1907, and my grandmother was raised in the Salt Creek oil fields. She became the first woman deputy sheriff of Natrona County, you know. And I’ve discussed running for US Senate with my husband quite extensively, Tom. So we decided to move.
Tom: To Wyoming? Where?
Liz: Jackson Hole.
Tom: That’s a ski resort isn’t it?
Liz: Among other things. yes, it is.
Tom: Don’t they have five star hotels, million dollar ski chalets and that sort of thing in Jackson Hole?
Liz: Uh… sure, so what?
Tom: So, what’s your house in Jackson Hole like?
Liz: It was um… a vacation home, basically, but we’re living there full-time now, and we’re genuine, bona-fide uh… Wyomingers.
Tom: That would be “Wyomingites.”
Liz: Yeah, that’s what I meant, Wyomingites.
Tom: It’s not by any chance a million-dollar ski chalet, is it?
Liz: Well, I’d prefer not be crass and discuss how much our houses are worth, if that’s all right with you.
Tom: Just asking. It’s only that I’m thinking, Jackson Hole is not exactly a typical Wyoming town; not like Laramie, Big Piney, Powell, Bear River, Elk Mountain, Medicine Bow…
Liz: Not one of those places has a decent restaurant with an acceptable wine list!
Tom: Maybe not, but…
Liz: Or a jewelry boutique, or a day spa, or a caterer, or a stylist who didn’t apprentice at The Hair Cuttery! What am I supposed to do, Tom, live like a… I don’t know… some kind of…
Tom: Cow-pie-kicking hick?
Liz: Now, wait a minute, I never said that!
Tom: What, then? Surely, you must realize that the average… Wyomingite… isn’t exactly going to identify with someone who just traipsed in from the heart of the Capitol Beltway, set themselves up in a posh neighborhood of a remote, fashionable ski resort full of billionaires, and then had the unmitigated temerity to declare themselves to be the very salt of Wyoming’s hardscrabble, windswept, high prairie earth?
Liz: Well, why not?
Tom: I guess I don’t know why not, if you really think Wyomingites are that stupid.
Liz: What? I beg your pardon, Tom! I think the people of Wyoming are the most intelligent, perceptive, clever, inventive and perspicacious human beings who have ever lived!
Tom: And that, I suppose, is why they’re going to vote for you in the Republican primary next year?
Liz: Among other things, yes.
Tom: In that case, Liz, I stand corrected. Is there something I can help you with?
Liz: Uh, yes, as a matter of fact, there is. It’s this guy who wants to run against me.
Tom: You mean, Senator Mike Enzi?
Liz: Yes, him.
Tom: The gentleman who was raised in Thermopolis, Wyoming, and graduated from Sheridan High?
Liz: That’s the one.
Tom: The hard working son of a shoe store owner who built the family business up on his own, with no help from powerful friends and no fat paychecks from the federal government?
Liz: Um… so they say.
Tom: The person whom the people of Wyoming have elected to represent Wyoming in the United States Senate three consecutive times?
Lis: That’s correct, yes, they did.
Tom: The candidate whom the people of Wyoming elected with seventy-six percent of the vote in 2008?
Liz: Seventy-five point six-three!
Tom: Again, I stand corrected. You’re talking about the fourth most conservative senator in Congress, the guy with a ninety-two percent approval rating from the National Rifle Association. Doesn’t he more or less fulfill all the qualifications any typical Wyomingite would require?
Liz: He’s too old!
Tom: You’re saying Mike Enzi’s too old to be a US senator?
Liz: Way too old.
Tom: Well, now, just how old is he?
Liz: He’s so old, his mother’s obstetrician was Alley Oop!
Tom: Seriously, now, how old?
Liz: Mike Enzi’s so old, his childhood drawings are on the walls of the Lascaux caverns!
Tom: How old is that, anyway?
Liz: Mike Enzi’s so old, his first driver’s license was for a chariot, and written on a clay tablet – in cuneiform!
Tom: No, really, how old is he?
Liz: Mike Enzi’s so old, he got stuck with the check at the Last Supper!
Tom: Oh, come on now, exactly how old is Mike Enzi?
Liz: Mike Enzi’s so old, he went to toga parties with Nero!
Tom: That old, huh?
Liz: You bet, and now it’s time for some new blood; time for a real conservative to take over.
Tom: But Enzi’s on the Senate Budget Committee, the Finance Committee, the Committee on Small Business; the Health Care Subcommittee, the Taxation Subcommittee, the Energy and Natural Resources Subcommittee; he’s the ranking minority member of the Senate Committee on Health, Education, Labor and Pensions; you’ve got to admit, he’s accumulated a very significant amount of seniority, all of which would be lost if you replaced him as a freshman – or fresh-woman – member of the US Senate.
Liz: I don’t think that seniority is necessarily such a good thing.
Tom: It’s not?
Liz: No, actually, as I’ve told the press, I think that part of the problem in Washington today is seniority. I think it’s time for a new generation to come to the fore, and I don’t see seniority as a plus, frankly.
Tom: How about compromise, then? Enzi is reputed to believe in it, and what’s more, it seems he actually practices it occasionally. You figure that’s just as bad as seniority?
Liz: Worse. If… no, make that when I’m elected to the United States Senate, I intend to never compromise with anyone about anything!
Tom: But how will consistently refusing to compromise benefit the people of your state?
Liz: Do you see the Tea Party Republicans in the House of Representatives worrying about that? Well, I’m not going to worry about it, either!
Tom: So you think we need more gridlock in Congress, not less?
Liz: Look, Tom, if we hold our ground by refusing to compromise until we get enough Tea Party Republicans in Congress, the log jam will break, and we’ll start getting things done again – the right way.
Tom: I see – okay, it seems like you have an answer for everything. In which case, what sort of advice could you possibly need?
Liz: It’s about… um… how I should… address… confront… deal with… uh… handle the issue of my sister…
Tom: Oh yes, your younger sister, Mary, an openly lesbian homosexual rights activist who publicly campaigns for legalization of gay marriage. Not exactly the kind of relative who’s going to help you triumph in a Republican primary against a three-time incumbent who wins three quarters of the votes.
Liz: Point taken, Tom. So – how do I spin that issue?
Tom: Well, anybody who’s seen Brokeback Mountain knows that they’re not too fond of gays in Wyoming. Consequently, including a gay marriage plank in your campaign platform simply isn’t going to be a viable option for victory. On the other hand, if you denounce your own sister as a perverted Sodomite, it’s going to make you appear hard-hearted and unsympathetic to a large portion of the electorate, and seeing as how family ties are very, very important to the folks out there in Wyoming, that strategy could cost you almost as many votes as endorsing holy matrimony between Adam and Steve or Lilith and Eve.
Liz: What would you recommend, then?
Tom: You could play it from a states’ rights angle, of course – maintain that if the people of Massachusetts or DC want to let degenerates like that get gay-married, that’s their business, as long as they don’t try to do it in Wyoming. But that strategy has some dangerous pitfalls. First of all, Enzi could ask what your position on federal spousal benefits for people who are gay-married in other states would be if they move to Wyoming. There are simply not very many responses to such a question which wouldn’t lose votes, unfortunately. The only one that makes any sense, given the stated policy position, would be to say no, if they want federal spousal benefits, then let them stay in New York or Vermont where everybody’s comfortable with abominations like the disgusting things they’re doing every night in bed, but not here in God’s Country, not here in Wyoming. So then Enzi could ask, what about a couple of gay Air Force pilots who are ordered to move to Wyoming? That would open a total can of worms, naturally, which you alone would have to deal with, because Enzi can go ahead and say he’s flat-out against homos without anybody thinking the less of him for betraying his own flesh and blood. So, on the whole, I’d say forget about that approach altogether.
Liz: What should I do instead?
Tom: Just pretend.
Liz: Pretend what?
Tom: Pretend you don’t have a lesbian sister who advocates gay marriage.
Liz: Huh?
Tom: Never mention her. Say nothing about gays, one way or the other. If asked about such subjects, reply with a long, complicated obfuscatory response that provides the answer to absolutely nothing. And when reporters from MSNBC chase you down the streets of Cheyenne yelling, “What’s your position on gay marriage?” or, “Your sister Mary is openly gay, do you care to comment on that?” you just completely ignore them and act as if they weren’t there.
Liz: And you’re sure that will work?
Tom: Of course. Let Rachel Maddow go on MSNBC and tell the world you won’t talk to her – nobody in Wyoming even watches MSNBC, much less cares about what the rest of the world thinks of them.
Liz: What about Enzi?
Tom: Don’t worry, he won’t mention it at all, at least not in the beginning. Why should someone sitting on a presumed seventy-plus percent of the vote risk looking petty and mean by attacking you through your relatives? It will only be at the end, when the polls show you are going to win, that he will lash out at you about Mary, and at that point, you will be able to loudly – and quite accurately – denounce him for doing so as an act of desperation. In effect, by pretending Mary doesn’t exist, you will be able to use her as the knife edge of Enzi’s self-inflicted coup de grâce.
Liz: All by playing pretend?
Tom: Precisely, because denial, you see, is not just a river in Egypt. It’s also one of any successful politician’s most useful tools.
Liz: Interesting advice.
Tom: For free.
Liz: And perhaps worth the price. ‘Bye.
Tom: Any time, ma’am, any time.