I, too, have a name that can be twisted into not-so-polite anatomical references.  Although my skin is not orange, and I don't drink hard liquor, I do cry.  I cry when I drive to work.  I cry when I hear music.  I cry at plays.  I cry at movies.  I even cry watching TV.  Not in loud boo-hoos, but just tearing up.  Sometimes I think I'm tearing up at all the injustices I hear about (I work for a public radio news station); sometimes I think I cry in wonder at the beauty of the universe, the "gift of sound and vision," as David Bowie put it.  I have a few thoughts below the Danish pastry.

I have a pretty darn sensitive nature.  I can feel the pain of others and I work to be kind as possible, aware that we all hurt inside from "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."  I'm slow to anger but I can get mighty angry if pushed beyond a certain limit.

What has this to do with House Speaker John Boehner?  

Well, I wonder if he has -- perhaps unconsciously -- a very different person inside of him; a person horrified at the policies his party espouses.  Could the cognitive dissonance between the hard-drinkin' tough guy who won't budge to help our first minority President and shouts F-bombs at the Senate Majority Leader and a little boy, who grew up poor, scarred by poverty and scared easily by the world around him.  Maybe the tears are not such a mystery.  Now, the orange skin, that's another story.

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