Thursday, February 03, 2005

Andrew Sullivan Takes a Holiday

Choire Sicha is really kicking ass over at Wonkette. Seriously, he could spend the rest of the month liveblogging CSpan2 if he wanted because coining the term "foxhole fruit" has already made this week the Best Week Ever for me.

But it was this passage that touched off the sweet, sweet euphony of the Bells of Memory for me:

"Remind me to tell you about the time in Provincetown a few summers back when Sullivan, aboard his trusty bike, darted in front of my pickup truck. It seemed like an eternity before finally my foot chose to settle on the brake, but apparently his God exerts some kind of mystical Catholic force field around him."

I would love to hear about that, Choire, and let me return the favor with my own story.

'Twas many years ago, and I was called back after a successful audition for one of William Shakespeare's best loved comedies. I'll spare you the name of the company, though it should be easy to figure out. I was stoked for the callback, because I thought my initial audition was really awesomecakes--an early morning/weekend showing that really felt good, felt like I was in the zone. But when I went to the callback--I sucked waxy balls. I was just terrible, barely elevating myself from the level of spectator. I just couldn't jack in and get my act on no matter how hard I seemed to try. I left that callback feeling terrible. I lamented: "There's no way I get cast in this show, and to make matters worse, after today's display, I have greatly impeded the likelihood that I will ever successfully convince a CERTAIN ARTISTIC DIRECTOR to submit to my tender mercies in my diabolical plan to direct that CERTAIN ARTISTIC DIRECTOR in a play of my own design, to be titled "[NAME OF ARTISTIC DIRECTOR]: Live, Nude, Onstage!"

Yet, in these thoughts, myself almost despising, haply, I came to find that Mr. Andrew Sullivan--that Andrew Sullivan--was inexplicably...or, mayhap, explicably--cast in the Lead Role of that play I sucked at the callback for! In this way, my failure was a success, because I didn't know what I would have done if I were asked to act in the same show as a man who had declared me to be the member of an invidious and insidious "fifth column." I think I would have dropped at least four columns worth of ass-beating on that bloggy clown during rehearsal, and roundly mocked him for not being man enough to simply drink the GOP kool-aid. Nothing's sadder than watching someone gag on the sweet, sweet flavor of neoconservatism after they got themselves all het up to drink it.

Still, I rather think that like Choire, I would have eventually embraced Sully and kept him from harm even if I thought, as I do, that he's a grab-ass idiot who's hopelessly playing political Sorry! while the rest of us are playing chess.

At least Sully's not moving to fucking Seacaucus.

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