10.15.08 5:54 AM ET
I'm in Love With David Gergen
I can’t hold in the truth any longer. My feelings are too large to live just within the confines of my heart. I need everyone to know:
I am passionately in love with David Gergen.
Our (mine and Gergen’s) love story is in some ways ordinary. We were friends first. I would see him hanging around the channel—sometimes on AC360, sometimes on The Situation Room—and was always vaguely aware of a little pang of happiness whenever his large, wonderful head would appear in some kind of split-screen box.
The moment I realized my feelings were more serious was in late September, right after the first presidential debate. Gergen was on for hours, and I found myself on the couch, riveted, a glass of Cabernet by my feet, hands wrapped around my knees as I leaned forward to capture every word, every thought, every—oh, be still my fluttering heart, was that a little chuckle?
And then all of a sudden my face felt hot. I was blushing. I was loving David Gergen.
How do I love David Gergen? Let me count the ways.
I love his low, quiet voice. That unmodulated buttery whisper that sounds like it’s elbowing its way past a cough drop that’s permanently lodged at the back of his throat. You know how Bed Bath & Beyond sells those white noise machines that help you sleep? And they usually make ocean noises? I want one that’s just David Gergen gently muttering about the economy.
I love the way Gergen makes me feel calm, even when he’s making dire predictions about the future of our country. I love the way he knows everything and then formulates an opinion about everything that’s always right. I love that his eyebrows only move when he gets mad, and I love that he almost never gets mad. I love that he looks like a handsome baked potato. I want him to analyze my life with the same subtle intelligence he uses to analyze politics. How can I make my kitchen brighter? Should I email that dum-dum of a guy I know or just leave it in my draft folder? Should I get a bob or is my hair better long?
I love that his name is Gergen. Gerrrrr-gen. I don’t know the real origin of the name, but it’s a quirky, comforting sound with an onomatopoeic quality to it. Like the little pleasure noise you make under your breath when you’re home in your pajamas and you hear someone on the TV making consistent, rational sense.