The poignant and sagacious David Remnick once more.
Obama’s election was one of the great markers in the black freedom struggle.
I respectfully disagree with the prose hose. Barack Obama's career has nothing to do with black freedom any more than Selma had to do with his conception. This is the story of a con artist being elevated to cult leader. Please, Mr. Remnick, please show us a black person whose freedom has increased under Obama. How did the "black freedom struggle" rise with Barack Obama's fortunes?
The popular opposition to the Administration comes largely from older whites who feel threatened, underemployed, overlooked, and disdained in a globalized economy and in an increasingly diverse country.
You might also add that we resent being lied to with a fervor and frequency and impunity such as we have never before witnessed. We also don't like doubling and trebling of health care premiums. We also have a distaste for IRS harrassment and I for one dislike quantitative easing. And I will add, anyone who can type is intensely jealous of illiterates like David Remnick who land cushy jobs at "The New Yorker" for piling it higher and deeper.
“There’s no doubt that there’s some folks who just really dislike me because they don’t like the idea of a black President,”
And some of us dislike you because you are an overgrown pansy. Yes, it demeans the presidency to dismiss legitimate criticism as racism. But worse in my eyes, playing the race card is chickenshit. You are supposed to be a leader. Compared to George Bush, your criticism is padded and sugar-coated and virtually nonexistent. When it does raise its gentle, apologetic head, it gets hammered down with the racist sledge hammer. Mr. President, will you ever be a man?
Tea Party at Perrysburg was able to wade through 23% of this sludge. She is a better blogger than me. I endured about 15% and I feel like I need a shower. Someone else can swim through the rest of this muck.
Showing posts with label New Yorker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Yorker. Show all posts
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Piling It Higher And Deeper
Is this our future? Will "Poor, Poor Barack" stories dominate the world of print? The high-minded, idealistic saint butting heads with the vestiges of power. Can a mini-series ve far behind?
Usually, Obama spends Sundays with his family. Now he was headed for a three-day fund-raising trip to Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, rattling the cup in one preposterous mansion after another. The prospect was dispiriting.
How long can we choke back the tears? Yes, he could have stayed in that cabin on the Potomac and toiled in the job he was elected to do but Barry had to be amongst his people. Poor, poor Barack.
“At the back end of his career, I see him as an international and national community organizer.”
Is that what we call a latter day Jim Jones?
“I don’t see him locked up in a room writing all the time. His capacity to crank stuff out is amazing. When he was writing his second book, he would say, ‘I’m gonna get up at seven and write this chapter—and at nine we’ll play golf.’ I would think no, it’s going to be a lot later, but he would knock on my door at nine and say, ‘Let’s go.’
In other words, he used a ghost writer and will use a ghost in the future?
The question is whether Obama will satisfy the standard he set for himself.
This is just page two of eighteen, folks.
His biggest early disappointment as President was being forced to recognize that his romantic vision of a post-partisan era, in which there are no red states or blue states, only the United States, was, in practical terms, a fantasy.
But what did he find enchanting?
The structures of American division came into high relief once he was in office.
But Barry was never, ever, ever, ever divisive?
The Republican Party is living through the late-mannerist phase of that revolution, fuelled less by ideas than by resentments.
And if they did have ideas, they would not be considered.
Rejection is all. Obama can never be opposed vehemently enough.
We tried to choke back the tears. The floodgates are opened and we are now treading water in the briny swells. Poor, poor Barack.
Two pages is all I can do today, folks. Maybe after I drink lots of water and the eyes have sated their reservoirs, maybe, just maybe I can view this saga anew. Poor, poor Barack.
Usually, Obama spends Sundays with his family. Now he was headed for a three-day fund-raising trip to Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, rattling the cup in one preposterous mansion after another. The prospect was dispiriting.
How long can we choke back the tears? Yes, he could have stayed in that cabin on the Potomac and toiled in the job he was elected to do but Barry had to be amongst his people. Poor, poor Barack.
“At the back end of his career, I see him as an international and national community organizer.”
Is that what we call a latter day Jim Jones?
“I don’t see him locked up in a room writing all the time. His capacity to crank stuff out is amazing. When he was writing his second book, he would say, ‘I’m gonna get up at seven and write this chapter—and at nine we’ll play golf.’ I would think no, it’s going to be a lot later, but he would knock on my door at nine and say, ‘Let’s go.’
In other words, he used a ghost writer and will use a ghost in the future?
The question is whether Obama will satisfy the standard he set for himself.
This is just page two of eighteen, folks.
His biggest early disappointment as President was being forced to recognize that his romantic vision of a post-partisan era, in which there are no red states or blue states, only the United States, was, in practical terms, a fantasy.
But what did he find enchanting?
The structures of American division came into high relief once he was in office.
But Barry was never, ever, ever, ever divisive?
The Republican Party is living through the late-mannerist phase of that revolution, fuelled less by ideas than by resentments.
And if they did have ideas, they would not be considered.
Rejection is all. Obama can never be opposed vehemently enough.
We tried to choke back the tears. The floodgates are opened and we are now treading water in the briny swells. Poor, poor Barack.
Two pages is all I can do today, folks. Maybe after I drink lots of water and the eyes have sated their reservoirs, maybe, just maybe I can view this saga anew. Poor, poor Barack.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Bullshit Unlimited
I am trying to read David Remnick's 'New Yorker' puff without getting sick. Almost every paragraph drips with questions like "Why doesn't everyone love him?" and "Why doesn't everyone love him more?"
One of the enduring mysteries of the Obama years is that so many members of the hyper-deluxe economy—corporate C.E.O.s and Wall Street bankers—have abandoned him.
Then we are told of how great our economy is and it's followed up by:
Obama bruised some feelings once or twice with remarks about “fat-cat bankers” and “reckless behavior and unchecked excess,” but, in general, he dares not offend.
Say what? You didn't build that. Obama is not just chronically offensive, it is his intent to offend. His life and words are an ongoing tribute to the attack politics of Saul Alinsky.
I can't finish the hagiography just yet. I am off to the dentist. That should be less painful.
One of the enduring mysteries of the Obama years is that so many members of the hyper-deluxe economy—corporate C.E.O.s and Wall Street bankers—have abandoned him.
Then we are told of how great our economy is and it's followed up by:
Obama bruised some feelings once or twice with remarks about “fat-cat bankers” and “reckless behavior and unchecked excess,” but, in general, he dares not offend.
Say what? You didn't build that. Obama is not just chronically offensive, it is his intent to offend. His life and words are an ongoing tribute to the attack politics of Saul Alinsky.
I can't finish the hagiography just yet. I am off to the dentist. That should be less painful.
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