Dear Sarah Palin: It’s really all about me

I like to be right on things at the moment they’re happening. Like the OJ white bronco chase (not to mention his trial), or that horrible September 11 day, or Obama’s inauguration, or any random disaster where people stand on airplane wings or take hostages in Binghamton.

So why is it that every time Sarah Palin does something exciting, I’m not home?

  • She’s picked as McCain’s vice president: I’m in an Atlanta airport lounge, on my way to Africa (it took me weeks to learn the first syllable of her name was supposed to be your bucket, not your pal).
  • She gives her blowout acceptance speech: I’m in a Johannesburg hotel room, trying to recover from eating African ice cubes.
  • She resigns as governor: I’m in Lock Haven, Pa, visiting a Democratic political consultant who was compulsively checking his Blackberry but somehow managed to miss this.
  • She’s getting divorced and moving to Montana: I’m at a friend’s house for dinner, with another compulsively-checking Blackberry guy – but this guy, at least, came upon the Alaska Report, and markedly improved our dinner conversation until, sadly, the whole story (maybe) was debunked.

Now, of course, it’s old news. I’m going to let Sarah know the next time I’m going away, so she can orchestrate her next publicity.

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