There is No Such Thing as an Ex-Bimbocon ...

"I can remember when I was a little boy. My grandmother and I could hold conversations entirely without ever opening our mouths. She called it 'Shining.' And for a long time, I thought it was just the two of us that had the shine to us. Just like you probably thought you was the only one. But there are other folks, though mostly they don't know it, or don't believe it. How long have you been able to do it?... Why don't you want to talk about it?"
- Dick Hallorann, from The Shining

Dearest Michelle,
Aloha ... from the western rim of the blue states. It is pouring cats and dogs, the waves are approaching ten feet ... and the wind delivers huge raindrops down on Ocean Boulevard like a nuclear form of hail, clearing the streets and giving all of the surfers an excuse to hit the local bars and drink away the choicest surf. I normally stay away from the bottle; nevertheless, this age of Dubya is making me reconsider this temporary abstinence. My days are consumed with plotting your righteous escape from the lowlands of Maryland, saving you from the God-forsaken ranks of eternal Bimbocon doom, and our eventual rendezvous with a political destiny rivaling that of Mary Matalin and James Carville - or even Evans and Novak with a little sex appeal.

I can hear the gasps of anticipation as you read this; the sheer fascination of it all as the creative juices start flowing in and out of your journalistic awareness, but settling for that hesitation instinct to remain where you are with a frustrated tilt of your head. And I guess you are trying to understand why I am writing you again after all of these weeks, alternating between responding to your incessant emails and sometimes proof-reading them for proper grammar and your present emotional state, and I can imagine you scanning your inbox feverishly with that delicate recklessness that only the promise of a grand awakening can inject into an otherwise vain imagination.

What in God's name made you say "your connections would get us both outed for being on the take"? Judging by the recent scandal circling around Armstrong Williams and the sudden disappearing act performed on CNN's Crossfire and The Capital Gang, I could probably force the issue by leaning on my numerous connections within American Journalism, Inc., without a hint of trouble or payola from administration boosters. And as for the other bimbocons haunting me for attention, I feel quite sure that I could take an entire harem of pundits safely across the Iraqi countryside, because I am that kind of guy. As a matter of fact, I'd be pretty reliable in taking anyone or anything into the jaws of the beast except a pack of giggling vestial virgins.

Your emails, though - however innocent and full of giggling emoticons - never fail to cheer me up a bit. And, strangely enough, even now when things are going this well, I still find the need for outside approval and affection of some form. It seems the reason for this is tied to the idea that I will remain on the West Coast for a very long time as precursor to reaching my journalistic destiny. It's not that I have specific ideas in mind about how long this stay will last, but I do see the pressing need to stay here until I have reached that perfect moment. The Southern California waterfront is at once a spiritual thing, an initiation to the power of nature, and just a constant stimulant. It offers me a perspective, I sense, that is almost impossible to find anyplace else in the country. I only mention these feelings because you are beginning to sound so discouraged and so alone with that tax problem in Maryland that I simply could not reduce the dormant "protector-advisor-svengali" relationship lying at peace within the breast of my intentions.

And, yes, every once in a while I do smile for a picture. Take a look at the attachment. It was taken for a passport. And that will still give me about three more cycles before I finally catch up to Hemingway.

So now we must visit the most pressing question of yours: what part of you attracts me? Well, Michelle, I don't think that you phrased this query too nicely at all, so I'll attempt to respond in the manner by which I think you meant it. Had I answered this question in the way you wrote it, I think that this relationship would go up in smoke and that would not have been ideal for anyone involved.

Jeez ... not exactly an easy thing to respond to. It would be far easier to answer it the way it came across in your email. But I am a gentleman, and I can overlook your nervousness about changing your lifestyle in such a dramatic way.

I would be less than honest if I did not acknowledge the self-fulfilling need to corral your political passions and the physical attraction we share. And I think this is reason enough; neither you or I would have it any other way. There's a lot more to it, of course, but I've really never thought about it deeply. I only know that you are the only woman I've run across who I could turn into a cultural phenomenon. It's been about six months, by now, and I still haven't been able to get past the earning potential we could have. And I have tried to erase this thought many times. God! Six months already! Does it seem that long to you?

Do you recall, by the way, that at the beginning of November, I was opening my emails with the word "Mishi" and calling you "emotionally stubborn" and "ideologically incompatible"? And by November 3rd, you were giving me that very familiar line that ran something like "About our get together next month. I've got quite a lot of columns to write about this glorious GOP victory and I'm going to be rather busy churning out the words ... It's not you, it's about me." An extremely cliche response. You went on to mention, nonetheless, that you "could definitely be persuaded for a couple of getaway weeks in Cabo or another Baja destination," but that "perhaps January would be a better time to escape from the reality of East Coast life."

I don't exactly remember what was supposed to happen next, or where we left the exchange, but I'm sure it's frustrating to be pulled into one direction only to find a fork in the road.

Are you still as desirable as you once were, by the way? Why don't you send me another picture for comparison? Just remain desirable. It's extremely important that you are desirable when you finally touch down on the West Coast. I'm serious about this requirement.

All this writing has left me in such a fine mood, and if I close my eyes I can almost see us taking over CNN's 4:00 PM timeslot where Crossfire once stood for 22 years. If you were here I'd take you immediately to the bungalow for physical priming. It's a depraved situation, but true, I must admit. I guess I'm going to frustrate myself again with these idle thoughts; Dangit, I just can't get past it.

Grin and bear it, I guess.

And this is not just about you sliding into the definition of a bimbocon. I'd actually break down and have some meaningful conversation with you. But don't take any of that GOP payola - just like Armstrong Williams did. Do it and your fate would be sealed forever, and we could not ascend to the journalistic summit I have planned for us. By the way, are you any good in the kitchen? I am getting a terrible appetite right about now, and I must go make myself another rigatoni quattro formaggi for the afternoon NFL action. I live only on finely prepared Italian food and most of the women I meet can only order from a menu.

This is becoming a very strange response, I agree. I haven't really answered many of your questions, but I've had a great time imagining your reactions. I must say that I am enjoying them. Perhaps you didn't know this, but I have one one smiling picture of you and another where you seem stoic and aloof. I switch them back and forth in hand, depending on what kind of reaction I expect to receive.

As a sidebar to my curiosity - suppossing that you finally make it here before Tax Day - I do intend to make a climb from my current living arrangement and closer towards Pacific Pallisades where the european-style villas are a more fitting destination for my soul. Then, most certainly, I will need a courtesan to address my guilty pleasures. And even in your long-repressed state, there is always the possibility that you could be of service - as long as you bring the iPod with the 40GB memory and plenty of clean sheets. In the end, that is all that I will let my mind consider - and a rather nebulous consideration it has become.

Still, I promise to respond more frequently in the future: our destiny will be anything but routine.

Until that wondrous day, I persist, joyously and libidinously in wait.

Team Gonzography