Elena Kagan, the woman of my dreams…
I don’t know why Elena Kagan has been dancing through my dreams for the last week, but sure enough, every time I close my eyes, there she is. Often in a kimono, Elena lays aimlessly by the fireplace, reading the Yale Law Review. Or sometimes she’s half-covered by a Snuggie, eating apple slices seductively dipped in melted chocolate. Once I thought it was Grimace (from the McDonald’s commercials), then I realized comfortingly, “no, no – it’s just my sweet Elena.” It must be because of the constant news coverage, the CNN updates, the Huffington Post profiles and predictions. She’s slipped into my mind and I can’t get her out.
Why must we talk of her sex life? Already on this very site there are discussions of her conquests, of the possible lovers of her past and – gasp – the idea that maybe, possibly, somewhere she is not entirely heterosexual. Why, because of her look? Do we question every unmarried woman with short hair? It’s absurd. Insulting and obscene, to ask such questions when much larger ones about her beliefs and political leanings are unknown. I do wonder what her skin smells like, though. Do you think she’s an adventurous lover?
In my dreams Elena always refuses the first dance. I extend my hand and she demurs, shyly, womanly-ly. But after that, she’s all business. You’d like to know does she lead or does she follow? Does she seem to be a conservative dancer, or does she let loose, liberal and free? But I will not speak of that, not here. What I have with Elena is ours and ours alone. Our love does not have litmus test issues. Plus, I don’t know crap. She won’t tell me a thing.
That’s SO like her, you know? Oh, no, you don’t, do you?
The news shows talk of her endlessly, but really have nothing to say. She re-energized Harvard, she hired conservatives, she didn’t hire blacks. But you don’t know her the way I do. In the morning she likes strawberries with her corn flakes, and enjoys a brisk jog on the beach before sunrise. She thrills at the sound of a violin and uses a comb, not a brush, on those amber locks. Elena and I sit around and laugh about silly you all have become. I know her personally, and so I know her professionally. As a judge. Don’t you see?
The Elena Kagan in my dreams is always forthright, always fair. She does a mean Charleston and can bake an apple pie that’ll make your toes curl. You say this silliness means nothing about her as a Justice? You say I’m just making things up to fill the time? Well, I agree. So when do I get my own TV network?