Simpson knows how to ‘sizzle your undershorts’

I have a confession this election season.

I adore Alan K. Simpson.

I wish he’d run for something so I could vote for him.

He’s the retired Wyoming senator who shows up frequently on cable news panels with quotes so fresh and pungent they will, to swipe his words, sizzle your undershorts.

Just last weekend one of the Sunday morning shows quoted him again, and I felt a familiar rush of affection for the old guy.

What is it about some Republican men that can be so darned appealing?

President Bush and Vice President Cheney lack that charm for me. They both looked polished and presidential at the Republican National Convention. But other times, I see too much of the belligerent frat boy in Bush, and I’m put off by Cheney’s snarl. He strikes me as a man who over the years has practiced the use of force, not humor.

But his pal, Al, well, he just warms my heart.

I’m reminded here that men are often confused by the great range and variety of fondness women feel toward them. So let me spell this out. This is not about sexual attraction. It’s about the sort of affection one feels for a favorite older male family member. Like a father or grandfather, for example.

No matter how much he has puzzled or infuriated me over the years, I adore my dad, the original Republican in my life.

It’s ludicrous, I heard him explaining to a family member at a recent reunion, to vote for someone just because you think he’s a good guy. You’ve got to vote based on the party’s principles, not a candidate’s likability. Those principles will guide the candidate’s actions, he said.

That’s the problem with arguing with my dad. He always falls back on logic.

As for my fondness for Alan Simpson, it’s simple. He says what he thinks, aims for the truth, and delivers his message with style and humor.

The guy’s smart. No matter that, like me, he graduated from the University of Wyoming, not Yale. I’d stack his verbal skills up against any Yalie (he particularly outshines the one in the Oval Office with the ho-hum verbal SAT score of 566). Simpson jokes he never graduated “cum laude,” just “Thank the Lawdy,” but I think he’s being modest.

I adore that old West straight-shooter image he brings to the cable news panels.

Like Matt Dillon and John Wayne, he oozes “good guy” vibes. But even better, he has a fine sense of humor.

He explained in a speech at the University of California-Irvine in 2002 that his mother called humor “the universal solvent against the abrasive elements of life.” That it is.

In the same speech he said he was pro-choice. Male legislators, he said, shouldn’t even vote on the issue.

Here’s what else he said that I liked: He talked about the importance of compromise. He talked about the dangers of following true-believers. He warned his listeners to stay away from those “100-percenters.”

He has been around long enough and reflected about life deeply enough to know that legislation requires bringing diverse voices together, finding common ground and reaching agreement.

But, of course, the process really only works when we vote for politicians with integrity. And that’s Simpson’s strong suit.

Mostly, I love the way he uses the language. Perhaps it has the same effect on me that Bush’s Texas expressions have on Southern voters.

A few years ago, I bought the book “How to Speak Minnesotan,” because the dialect was so familiar. But I grew up in South Dakota west of the Missouri River, which aspires to be more like Wyoming than Minnesota.

So while Garrison Keillor’s world resonates, we were a step removed, culturally, from the farm-based colloquialisms of the land of 10,000 lakes. My grandmother was a straight descendant of a batch of earthy cowboys, West River ranchers, who survived life in a place called Buffalo Gap. They baked apple pies with windfalls and lard and chided lazy children by saying, “Get a little Good-God-Almighty get-up in ya!” My grandfather to this day jokes about cooks serving soup so thin “the chicken must have been run through with his hip boots on and his tail tied up.”

And so Alan Simpson simply sings my song.

He does it with style and panache and, best of all, authenticity and humor. Why couldn’t he be running this November? I’d be so much more comfortable placing the country in his experienced hands.

Of course, he’d just bollix up all the deals the Republicans have made this campaign year with hard-liners of every stripe. And he’d never stay as airbrushed and “on message” as the Democrats.

But if you hear he’s going to be on the air, give me a call. I’ll drop everything just to hear the echo of my grandfathers’ voices.