Were I to be nominated to the Supreme Court, I think I’d like everyone to know I, too, used to read a lot of Nancy Drew books. The new case files, not the old set, but only because they were cheaper and more readily available. These were the days before Amazon. Don’t judge me too harshly.
Were I to be nominated to the Supreme Court, I’d like everyone to know that the last album I bought was Green Day’s “21st Century Breakdown,” and that I listened to it all the way through twice. I’d also like them to know I do this with nearly every album I buy, because I respect the order that the artist chooses for their songs. It might be important to note that, while I do buy the occasional single, I am mostly an album collector, whether through iTunes purchase or through gifts/trades from friends. Into this you may read either an abiding regard for, or a blatant disrespect of, intellectual property rights at your will.
Were I to be nominated to the Supreme Court, I hope no one would hold it against me that I use both a P.C. and a Mac. I understand that this kind of open-minded technological embrace could be seen by some as signaling a flippy-floppy, go-with-the-flow nature that would make me a danger on the Court, likely to be swayed by whichever side had the shiniest apps. In reality, though, I think it speaks to my ability to see both sides of an argument. (And if forced to choose sides: Apple. See? I’m decisive).
Were I to be nominated to the Supreme Court, I worry I would have to buy more suitable clothing, and possibly hire a stylist. Since people are already comparing Sonia Sotomayor to Susan Boyle, I can’t imagine any flattering comparisons in my own future. I can’t sing, for one. And I think there may be salsa on my shirt right now. Does this disqualify me from the bench?
Were I to be nominated to the Supreme Court, I wonder if those columns I wrote for the college newspaper would come back to haunt me. I suppose they would, despite often being composed during almost out-of-body experiences brought on by massive doses of caffeine, grease, fluorescent lighting, questionable (but loud, god, so loud) music, second-hand smoke, and long stretches without sleep. I’m not saying I don’t take responsibility, but I’d like to see the people at Pepsi on the hook a bit, too. But maybe the context isn’t important, and it should be assumed that the way I thought ten years ago is the way I think now.
Were I to be nominated to the Supreme Court, I hope I’d have enough notice to send out some very belated thank-you notes to everyone who attended my Kindergarten birthday party. It was at McDonald’s and we had cake with whipped-cream icing, and I was so focused upon that cake and upon the various burdens of being six years old, I may have seemed distracted, or uptight, or even difficult. I would hate to have anyone approach a reporter now and offer stories of my ungracious behavior, particularly knowing that filtering these things with something like research is not always how the journalism world works.
Were I to be nominated to the Supreme Court, I’d like to ask in advance that my name be spelled out for Mike Huckabee. I know he’s busy, and it’s a hard name to remember, and through the telescope in his backyard maybe many planets seem to be of similar shape or something. So if we could get someone to send him a little memo, that might make things easier.
Were I to be nominated to the Supreme Court, I believe I could learn to live with the disappointment I’d cause Rush Limbaugh.
But I doubt I’ll ever know, since this present pick seems to be going OK.