I live a life that straddles both sides of dismissiveness, my balls hanging directly between the inherently unworthy and those rendered unworthy by their disregard of me. If the balance of these races is sufficient, I feel free, surrounded almost exclusively by people who don’t like me and people who don’t mean anything anyway, kinda like the world is to begin with.
In such a world, I can do whatever the fuck I want. And the congressional Christmas party provided such a world, a room filled not just with the Yolos and the Stockmans, who deserve neither attention nor respect, but also worthy legislators of all power levels who, at best, don’t know why I’m around. As hired carolers piously harmonized on paeans to MangerBaby (named by God for the phrase used by Italian mothers to get their children to eat), I tried to induce the twenty-odd Jewish members of the House to sing, as a kind of rebuttal, our favored Chanukah songs..
“Is it legal to sing that religious stuff on the grounds of the Capitol?” I asked no one in particular, in a less than resonant voice. “Where’s the ever-popular ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ repertoire of inclusion?’ I wondered. “I demand equal time!”
“What?” a caroler asked?
I answered, in the manner of my clan, with a question: “Don’t you know any Jewish songs?”
“No, but I can follow on my concertina if you want,” he shot back with ridiculously unnuanced Christian sweetness.
I started on “Oh, Chanukah, Oh, Chanukah,” but didn’t know any of the other words, so I switched to “Ma O Tzur” for a word or two. Jerry Nadler continued for a few words more, then HE stopped. The concertina guy looked to me for guidance as silence overtook us all.