The American Spectator

I’ll admit it. As a huge fan of 1930s music and movies, I’ve always dreamt of being a lyricist, a la Ira Gershwin or Dorothy Fields. These folks produced songs that were incorporated by Hollywood into what are often referred to as “screwball comedies”; essentially plotless vehicles for great tunes and snappy repartee.

What passed for plots often featured mistaken identities and usually included parodies of the rich as clueless and helpless, unable to navigate life without the help of the common everyman: see It Happened One Night or almost any Astaire and Rogers musical.

Recent reports that the “draft Al Gore” movement is gaining steam, filled me with nostalgia for a winsome time gone by; a harkening back to the days when class envy was the stuff of Hollywood inanity and not the tactical weapon of a political party. I thought that maybe this was worthy of its own holiday song.

p>I picture the setting as a kind of Holiday Inn thing; with liberal pundits — who, like Bing Crosby’s character, shun any real work except for a few days a year — sitting around a fireplace and each taking a verse or chorus. The song would start out with a romantic, tinkling-piano intro sung sweetly by say, Donna Brazile, then segue into a rousing blockbuster. Kinda like this: br> /p> blockquote>Autumn leaves are falling and the Yule log’s on the fire; br> The air is filled with whiffs of potpourri; br> Yet the holiday attire only fills me with desire, br> For the not-so-favorite son of Tennessee…Gee! p>Oh, come on back big Albert, to the folks who adore you; br> The greenies and the Deanies are the ones who implore you! br> The only thing to set our hearts aflutter will be: