The GOP’s many mistakes this election season included the massive one of attacking House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, the soon-to-be Speaker of the House. The tactic was to smear the San Franciscan as an ultra-liberal, whining, latte-sipping Frisco fag hag who presided over gay leather weddings on Castro Street.
In its arrogance and ignorance, the GOP didn’t figure how the public was starting to see the real Nancy Pelosi: a hard-nosed Italian-American mother of five, who grew up in the heart of heavyweight politics in Baltimore, where her father was a legendary mayor. And you don’t get voted House minority leader by running through the House chamber, flapping your hands in the air like Butterfly McQueen’s maid in Gone With the Wind, shrieking, “I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout birthin’ legislation, Miz Scarlett!” That’s America’s Nancy.
There is another power Nancy among the Washington leadership: President Dubya, a premier nancy-boy throughout his life.
A No. 1 momma’s boy growing up, he was a cheerleader at Andover (Oooooh!), before becoming a backslapping, heavy-drinking Yale frat boy, hanging out with his fellow girlie men. Then, when faced with the proposition of service in Vietnam, George was saved by Poppy, who slipped his delicate progeny in the back door of the National Guard.
Boy George found even that too taxing, so he went missing from duty. The pattern continued, with Poppy bailing Dubya out of failed businesses ventures and setting up jobs for him with well-to-do friends. Nancy-boy Dubya steadily fit the bill, as the late hot shit and former Texas governor Ann Richards once said of his father, “He was born on third base and thought he hit a triple.”
When nancy-boy became president, thanks to a cosmetic makeover that would make Cher whinny, he quickly got rolled, dancing to “Big Time” Cheney and Rummy Rumsfeld’s beat, with Karl Rove showing him how to do the Twist. The faint-hearted little man became an imperial dunce, as P.J. O’Rourke once called former vice president Dan Quayle.
Thinking he was an actual tough guy, this all hat-no cattle drugstore cowboy started shooting off his mouth, saying things like “Osama: Dead or Alive” and “Bring ’em on,” and condoning torture — while he was thousands of miles from harm — hiding under his bed in Crawford while endangering our finest troops. But he loves playing dress-up in cowboy boots and big belt buckles, or in that cute little Top Gun costume bought by Rove.
Dubya the nancy-boy thought it was neat to ride his little bicycle all the time, occasionally falling off. All he had to do was stick some streamers in the handgrips, mount a little bell and a horn on the handlebars, put a terrorist trading card in the back spokes, and we would have had our own President Pee Wee Bush.
So it is very nice to see how many of the serious decisions in DC will soon be made by a Nancy who proudly spells her name with a capital “N.” Good luck, Ms. Pelosi. And sleep tight, nancy-boy Georgie, with the special pillow you take everywhere for your frequent naps. You can also take the costumes when you leave town.
We know the inside story
The Urinal had an excellent recent article about the musical group Tavares, born and bred in Fox Point, upon their induction into the Cape Verdean Hall of Fame. BeloJo music writer Rick Massimo wrote it.
