I heard once that one of the reasons why Playgirl magazine eventually folded was because it tried too much to be like Playboy, only substituting the pictures with male nudes. Women, it seemed, were much more titillated on an emotional level. I want to know if this columnist had a cigarette after she got off the plane . . .
Raise your hand - when was the last time a friend called you and said, "Dude . . . pop over for some pizza!" Thought so. Not unless there was beer involved . . . BTW, pissing in one's pants can also feel natural, casual, warm if you are looking for a different metaphor.Flying on Air Force One with America’s new first family feels much like popping over for pizza.
Natural, casual, warm.
Although I’ve traveled on Air Force One before with President George W. Bush—as well as separately with Mrs. Bush to the Middle East—this trip was special. Not only was it the first journey home for the new president since he assumed office, but the entire Obama family was aboard. In fact, our scheduled 4 p.m. departure time was set around the girls’ getting out of school.
"Yeah, because when I flew with the Bushes, all I got were lousy peanuts! With the Obamas, I can haz pizza!"
That's right - the hop from D.C. to Chi-town was far more special than accompanying the First lady on a trip to the Middle East, and far more significant.
There was just, rather suddenly, Malia—all smiles and clearly used to cutting a swath wherever she goes. Then came another burst of light named Sasha.
And Charlie the Unicorn! And fairies!
You know they’re adorable. You’ve seen a thousand pictures and video clips. Forget all that. This is when you need Spanish so that you can add the absolute superlative -isima to the end of adorable. They are that adorable. Uninhibited and guileless, they seemed utterly at ease with five strangers— especially, may I say, with the sole female, who just happened to have a little green Ugly Doll hanging from her purple purse, very similar to one spotted several weeks ago on Sasha’s book bag.
Do I really need Spanish to express a superlative? How about your puff piece is the single most f**kin' annoying piece of crap I have read in years? See? English!
BTW, "Ugly Dolls" look like those funky, reject, Eurotrash plush toys they sell at Ikea. Eurokids don't have enough balls to play with G.I. Joe and feel insignificant next to Barbie. But I digress.
The guys may talk football, leaving some women reporters clueless, but guys don’t know jack about the Ugly Doll fashion phenom begun by one Sasha Obama several weeks ago. I wouldn’t call my Ugly Doll “bait” exactly, but I might call it strategy. As a conversation starter, it worked.
I hear most pedophiles use kittens or puppies, but if the fugly toy works . . .
Fashion phenom? If that is her contribution to society, let us all be grateful that there is only "one Sasha Obama." Oh mah Gawd, is this lady trying to get a permanent ticket to Air Force One, or what?
Impressions: I had met Obama before he became president, but not Michelle. I was struck by her warmth and a sense that she has no need to be the center of attention. (This cannot be said of all first ladies.)
She's right . . . but it's not like you felt comfortable turning your back on Hillary anyway. How is Vince Foster doing these days?
BTW, I am struck more by Michelle's resemblance to a Klingon when she frowns and her brow knits up like that, but again, I digress.
I was also struck by how lean and fit everyone is. The Obamas are thin people, a sight to behold in the age of obesity.
If you are overweight, you are unfit for this new society of Obama. Kill yourself now. Oh wait, with health care reform, the government will do that for you, when you are refused coverage for diabetes, say, because it is your own damn fault for not being lean and fit like Barry and Michelle.
Greetings accomplished, the Obamas disappeared into their section of the plane toward the front, while we settled in for takeoff. There is nothing unique about a presidential takeoff. An airplane is an airplane. Except! The flight attendants on Air Force One don’t nag you about stuffing every little thing under the seat in front of you. Your seat doesn’t have to be in the upright position, nor does your tray have to be in the locked position. I briefly considered walking around during takeoff, rather than repeating The Lord’s Prayer as I usually do, just to mock death because I probably could.
For anyone who wants to know, the same thing happens on military MAC flights - no one cares what you're doing during takeoff. And why wouldn't she feel comfortable mocking death? The One was aboard and his magic rainbow powers were beaming the plane aloft, Bernoulli effect be damned!
Once we reached our cruising altitude, as they say, we were summoned to the conference room. Obama, wearing white shirt and tie (sans presidential bomber jacket— too much drama?), again greeted us with yet another round of smiles and handshakes. At this point, I have lost count. We took our seats around the table—alpha dog positioning as one might expect . . .
Yeah, it was too much drama when Bush would wear the jacket he did when he flew for the Air National Guard. Or in his position as Commander-in-Chief. Or because he was just comfortable wearing it. And the imagery of Obama "alpha dog positioning" is disturbing . . . doggy style . . .
"How are we going to run this thing?”
Eh? The president was asking us how we wanted to proceed. For the record, this is very un-Bush. At several meetings with the former president, including a one-on-one interview aboard Air Force One, there was never any question about how we would proceed. Bush ran all shows. Either Obama hasn’t figured out yet that he’s the boss or, quite possibly, he doesn’t care. As a veteran White House correspondent suggested to me later, “Maybe he knows he can handle whatever we toss his way.”
Or maybe Barry is just an amateur . . .
What struck me most was his immense calm. I kept looking for fissures in the façade, some signal that the cool cat is a defense mechanism or some tactical ploy to deflect or defuse an opponent. Nary a crack. You may as well try to find the Dalai Lama’s Achilles heel. I suspect that if you cut Obama open, you’d find a little Buddha sitting inside, smiling.
Or the anti-Christ. Or nothing at all . . .
Before a crowd of thousands, Obama the Orator is a performer. In a small room with a few journalists, he is a teacher, mindful that his students are trying to write down what he says. He speaks slowly. I took this as an act of consideration and thanked him for it.
And we, we are not independent reporters. We are mere mortals, waiting for Siddartha to bring us to enlightenment . . . or we're just piss boys. And Barry knows it . . .
If one judges people in part by the way they and their family comport themselves—and we all do—then the verdict is clear. The Obamas are the family for which less-fortunate children wish upon stars.
This is a comedy piece, right? Good Lord, please tell me she is writing this as a comedy piece and is not serious.
Yes, yes, I hear you. Air Force One. Big deal. Sucking up to the prez. Piffle. Know this, my fellow Americans: The romance ends on the tarmac. Once we landed in Chicago, the Obamas descended the red-carpeted front stairs to their awaiting helicopter and we unworthy wretches dropped from the belly of the beast to the pavement and our waiting . . .
The media at work . . .