On December 24th, I’ll be 42. That’s 8 years older than Dr. King when he asked us to Dream, 11 years older than John Lennon when he asked us to Imagine, 18 years older than Tonya Harding when she bashed in Nancy Kerrigan’s knee. These people changed the world with words, music and a very precisely aimed crowbar. On December 24th, I’ll be 42.
I learned a lot this week about compromise. I watched President Obama in Copenhagen close the deal on climate change, but not get everything environmentalists wanted. I watched the senate in a snowstorm close the deal on health care, but not get everything progressives wanted. I watched my brother have an entirely full restaurant on Friday night, and still leave the room upset, needing to get black out drunk. I finally understand what it means to compromise. For adults, compromise means neither side is entirely happy, but working together is more important than winning. For brats, compromise means threaten with a filibuster but never offer a solution, or protest in Copenhagen but never run for office, or come to Joey’s Brickhouse with a $25 coupon but stiff the waitress on her tip.
On December 24th, I’ll be 42. That’s 7 years younger than Charles Bukowski when he wrote his first novel, “Post Office,” 19 years younger than PT Barnum when he launched “The Greatest Show On Earth,” 2 years younger than Sarah Palin when she played dress up on the campaign trail. These people changed the world with poems, freak shows and a very precisely aimed wink. On December 24th, I’ll be 42.
I learned a lot this week about letting go. I’m done with Joe Lieberman. I’m done with Howard Dean. I’m done with Monica Lewinsky. That’s right, Monica Lewinsky. It took her 12 years, but she wrote a book. There hasn’t been this much excitement about a book since “Going Rogue.” Joe Lieberman and Howard Dean could learn a lot from Sarah Palin and Monica. Here are the lessons: don’t forget to look directly in the camera when you wink; don’t forget to hire a writer so you can write a book; and the most important lesson of all, if you’re having an affair with a married man – listen up if you’re one of Tiger’s girls – if you’re having an affair with a married man, the only time you open your mouth is to swallow…your pride.
On December 24th, I’ll be 42. That’s 25 years younger than Joe Lieberman and 19 years younger than Howard Dean, or , another way of looking at it, and in alphabetical order:
27 years younger than Lamar Alexander, 15 years younger than John Barrasso, 34 years younger than Robert Bennett, 28 years younger than Christopher Bond (no girl for you, Mister Bond).
11 years younger than Sam Brownback, 36 years younger than Jim Bunning, 12 years younger than Richard Burr, 20 years younger than Thomas Carper, 24 years younger than Saxby Chambliss (what a great name, too bad he’s a douche).
19 years younger than Tom Coburn, 30 years younger than Thad Cochran, 15 years younger than Susan Collins, 15 years younger than Bob Corker, 15 years younger than John Cornyn, 16 years younger than Jim DeMint (DeMint? Don’t worry, he didn’t DeMean it).
9 years younger than John Ensign, 12 years younger than Lindsey Graham, 34 years younger than Chuck Grassley, 20 years younger than Judd Greg, 33 years younger than Orrin Hatch, 24 years younger than Kay Bailey Hutchison (mmmkay, Kay).
33 years younger than Jim Inhofe, 23 years younger than Johnny Isakson, 17 years younger than Mike Johanns, 25 years younger than Jon Kyl, 2 years older than George LeMieux (nice going, George).
35 years younger than Dick Lugar, 31 years younger than John McCain, 25 years younger than Mitch McConnell, 10 years younger than Lisa Murkowski, 24 years younger than Jim Risch, 31 years younger than Pat Roberts, 21 years younger than Jeff Sessions, 33 years younger than Richard Shelby, 20 years younger than Olympia Snowe (shame on you, Olympia).
6 years younger than John Thune, 6 years younger than David Vitter, 31 years younger than George Voinovich, 16 years younger than Roger Wicker.
These people tried to stop the world from changing by stamping their feet, throwing tantrums and threatening a very precisely aimed filibuster. On December 24th, I’ll be 42. Which, compared to these brats, makes me big boy. I learned a lot this week about what it is to be a big boy and what it is to be a goddamn brat.