The two are at an LA party. Scotty is emboldened by alcohol to express his secret feelings for Dirk. Outside the party, Scotty tries to kiss Dirk and is rebuffed. The camera lingers on Scotty for the next few minutes as he deals with his humiliation. He pounds the steering wheel of his car. He calls himself names. He sobs. Finally, he yells out, "Why am I so stupid?"
How many times have you wanted to yell out the same line? Not many of us have suffered unrequited love for a human tripod, as Scotty did, but time and again all of us have wanted to hit ourselves over the head with a skillet because we've done something spectacularly idiotic.
That was your humble blogger Tuesday night. See, I normally have a rule: don't get into political arguments in bars. Arguing with guys who are half in the bag is a fool's endeavor. And political discourse today has been transformed by TV and talk radio into a professional wrestling match where your guy is the upholder of all that is righteous and good while the opponent is a comic book character bent on the destruction of America. Yelling and personal attacks are de rigueur.
It was Trivia night and Team Gorlock was cleaning up. Here's one I'll bet you didn't know - which country is the world's largest producer of bananas? (The answer is at the end of this post.) Skip the Trombonist and I got that one wrong but not too much else.
We were feeling pretty good about life when in walked Captain Billy, fueled by his normal rage and, perhaps, a libation or four. The Captain generally is angry about illegal Mexican immigration, Indians and Pakistanis who are swiping IT jobs from good Americans, and, in his own inimitable words, "all those fuckin' towelheaded bastards."
His dudgeon lies just beneath the surface at all times. Mention the words poblano peppers to him and he'll launch into a screed about how the best way to stem the tide of illegal immigration is simply to pick off Mexicans one by one with high-powered rifles as they scuttle across the deserts of the Southwest.
Captain Billy's heroes are few but he's in thrall to the bilious Lou Dobbs ("Now there's the man who should be president.") and the mad Sheriff Joe Arpaio of Maricopa County ("He doesn't give a shit about all the scum.")
Now you might think I'd be smart enough to refrain from matching wits with such a thoughtful observer of the human condition. And usually I am. Captain Billy operates under the notion that I'm always eager to hear his opinions. He'll catch me early on a Monday morning, say, when I'm rolling the garbage can out to the roadside. As the cardinals and the mockingbirds begin to announce their presence, the Captain finds it necessary to dash out of his house and explain to me that the best way to get politicians to become responsive to their constituencies is to have dedicated patriots sneak up behind a few of them as they leave their homes in the morning "and put bullets in their heads. Then we'll see 'em start listening."
Naturally, I do not offer counterpoint because, well, what am I gonna say? Golly Captain Billy, maybe we oughta try the ballot box first?
So, the Captain lugged his steamer trunkful of grievances into Dick's Pizza midway through Trivia. He ranted loudly about the world in general, then the French, then his wife - his favorite bullseye. At one point, he slammed his palm down on the bar and declared Andy the Trivia-meister "an incompetent fuck."
By this time, Skip and I, in a futile effort to ward off the onslaught, were huddled together like early-20th Century immigrants on the deck of an ocean liner entering New York harbor.
It was between the second and third rounds of the game when I forgot my own rule. A clip of Barack Obama flashed on the big TV screens. He was explaining one or another plan to delay financial armageddon. The mere sight of the president's face drove the Captain to an even higher level of fury. "Look at 'im," he barked. "This no-good, messianic, narcissistic asshole. He's worse than all the rest of 'em!"
This was followed by a string of garden-variety pejoratives and expletives. Then, as if a light bulb had flashed on above his head, the Captain delivered his biggest indictment of Obama. "He's lettin' that crazy bitch from California run all over 'im!"
He meant, of course, that House Speaker Nancy Pelosi is telling Obama what to do. A man allowing a woman to tell him what to do is the foulest entry in Captain Billy's list of abominations.
Here's where I said, Screw it! I launched into a defense of Obama that for sheer volume and spirit matched the Captain's own retorts. Diners lowered their heads and began eating faster. Skip did his best to shush us. Eventually, the bartender came around and warned us to keep it down.
The Captain still had to get in the last word. "Your problem," he said to me, "is that you try to make everybody who disagrees with you look like they're crazy."
Give me credit. I caught the words, No, only you, before they could escape my lips. After a few minutes, the Captain offered me a ride home. I quickly came up with an excuse not to go with him. Later, Andy the Trivia-meister drove me home. Poor guy. Through the whole ride he had to put up with me hitting my forehead with a fist and repeating the words, "Why am I so stupid?"
Trivia answer: India! Who knew?
