First things first... was my last post really on rickrolling back in fucking August? Jesus. Not exactly the most cohesive cliffhanger. My sympathies to all 5 of you still on my Feedburner list yawning with disinterest for the past 4 months. The operative word being sympathy not apology because I know sooner rather than later yet another Robert Downey, Jr.-like relapse will be on the horizon. So why fight fate?

Entry unreliability is par for the course since I always wind up getting sidetracked with bullshit, or I just become hooked on other people's sites while completely neglecting my own or writer's block holds my amygdala hostage.

However, in this case, I didn't spend all that time burnishing my slacker cred to a polished sheen. Like thousands of other starry eyed supporters, I got off my ass across 5 states to be a part of the Obama campaign. From late summer till November 4th, I spent a good 70% of all waking hours to help make change become a reality. Now the hangover's finally subsiding till the Acela bunnyhop to Chocolate City in T-minus 31, there's no time better than the present to blow the cobwebs off while rekindling my literary flame.

I did keep a journal of some of the many experiences that made the effort worthwhile and I'll be updating with backdated commentary shortly. Pinky swear. Until then, here's a quick distillation of the recent newsreel in two minutes courtesy of Slate.

One of Team Obama's aces up the sleeve both during the campaign and now in the transition, was their meticulous attention to detail. Hardly any ends left to come undone. And when circumstance and coincidence went half on a baby, it produced flashes of brilliance like the majestic finale at Invesco Field on the 45th anniversary of "I Have A Dream," Secretary of Veterans Affairs-designate Eric Shinseki being announced on Pearl Harbor Day and the synchronization of a national call to service with the observance of MLK only 24 hours before taking that historic oath. Classy, creative, not a false note to be found.

However, the announcement of douchenozzle deluxe Rick Warren delivering the inaugural invocation makes me throw a flag on the play for excessive tone deafness.

I mean, Rick fucking Warren?

Do we have to relive the "cone of silence" duplicity at Saddleback all over again?

Was Prop 8 magically overturned and I slept through that news bulletin?

Just... ugh. Talk about the proverbial turd in the punch bowl.

Overtures to the rational wing of evangelicals is a strategy to bridge a gap Democrats haven't been able to narrow for decades. Reaching out to the other 46% of these divided states who didn't cast a ballot for you not only makes perfect sense, it's smart politics. Believe me, at more than a quarter of all registered American voters go, I get it. But at what point does reconciliation lose its privileges?

Why does keeping your enemies closer have to mean validating this bloated snake oil salesman? Seriously, olive branches should not be handed to people who are going to proceed to beat you about the head and shoulders with it.

Barry, take it from a card carrying fag hag. Part of the new job description in fine print is wielding clout to get fringe assholes to stop picking on the outsiders who don't sit at the cool kids table. If reciprocating an invite to the Negro Super Bowl after being welcomed (albeit tepidly) on away territory pushes the ball forward on repealing egregious stains from the era of Clinton like Don't Ask, Don't Tell & the Defense of Marriage Act as promised during the campaign, I'll gladly eat crow. But somehow the flashing neon danger signs surrounding this co-opt via compromise with the Religious Right give me serious pause. And a mild case of acid reflux. I'm hoping for the best while bracing for a shitstorm.

The sands in the patience hourglass is quickly dissipating before the Velvet Mafia revolts to ratchet up another media-assisted fusillade. Two words: Isaiah Washington. Protect your neck.

Labels: Barack Obama, Inauguration Day, politics, religion, Rick Warren

Breaking news from the department of obvious comes the widely expected announcement that Washington's new golden boy has been named Time's Person of the Year. And while this clearly gets filed under "no shit, Sherlock," the accolade is richly deserved. The most improbable of longshots overcame back alley knife fights with both the Democratic establishment and a make believe maverick while simultaneously rejuvenating America's image, forever changing the campaign template for future politicos. Reporter David Von Drehle echoes the inevitability as such:

"He hit the American scene like a thunderclap, upended our politics, shattered decades of conventional wisdom and overcame centuries of the social pecking order."

After parlaying the "You" acknowledgement in '07 as a resume reference, this reasoning sounds about right.



While the final choice was a no brainer, brainstorming went underway for the JV squad. The also rans with lovely parting gifts were Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson, French President Nicolas Sarkozy, Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin and film director Zhang Yimou, who designed the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony.

But all of that is besides the point since the good folks at Time buried the lede. The real gem of the story is the online feature reveals #44 at his adorkable best. Previously unseen photos of the president-elect striking poses as a freshman at Occidental College taken by amateur lenser Lisa Jack back when I was still gurgling Gerber in 1980.

She doesn't remember much about first encountering him at the Cooler, a campus snack shop. "He was really cute," she says. "What else does a 20-year-old girl remember?"

Does it matter that I'm mentally reliving Lou Bega's "Mambo No. 5" because of the Panama hat?

No question O-man could've gotten the business, magnetic bracelet be damned.

From Barbizon rising star to Time cover magnet almost 3 decades later. What a strange and remarkable trip it's been.

Labels: Barack Obama, photos, politics, Time magazine

No sooner than the whispers percolating for weeks snowballed into screams with confirmation that in fact yes, Caroline Kennedy is asking to be considered as the next junior senator representing my great state in the U.S. Senate did the knives come out and the jackals ready to pounce.

Who does she think she is? A Senate seat isn't another family heirloom to be passed down. Why her, why now? She's never stood up for anything before. What the hell makes her qualified?

You think Illinois would have all the intraparty backstabbing fun?

Much of the skepticism and concerns are well within bounds and justifiably deserve merit. That is until you consider whom the main source of opposition is coming from. A coordinated attack doesn't just sprout up from thin air and talking points don't script themselves.

"Caroline Kennedy, although I’m sure a fascinating and engaging person, simply doesn’t have the experience or Washington know-how to get it done for New York." - Stuart Applebaum, president of the Retail, Wholesale, and Department Store Union

"We don't know if Caroline has that fire in the belly. Being senator of New York is a 24/7, 365-day-a-year endeavor." - Rep. Anthony Weiner (D-Queens, Brooklyn)

"I don't know what Caroline Kennedy's qualifications are. Except that she has name recognition, but so does J.Lo." - Rep. Gary Ackerman, (D-Queens)

Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it's enemy action.

So what do these hacks all have in common? They're all footsoldiers in the Hillary or Mass Suicide personality cult.

The same brown nosing lackeys who peddled the imaginary sniper fire bullshit with a straight face on the cable news yakkers are the same ones taking potshots. The same water carrying cronies who elevated resume padding to a fine art with the puffed up peace treaties she signed in her downtime with foreign ladies who lunch are the same ones trying to cast Caroline Kennedy as some dizzy dilettante window shopping for a new hobby.

Hypocrisy thy flipside is irony.

Labels: Caroline Kennedy, New York, politics

"If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs... you'll be a Man, my son!" - Rudyard Kipling, If, 1910.

Labels: political humor

The election's been decided for a month now, but you can't empty out your spam folder faster than yet another solicitation from O, Inc. trying to strongarm some more funds. Dammit, David Plouffe & Co, I love ya'll like secret sample sales, but even God rested on the seventh day. Take a fuckin' breather already. Today's beggars bulletin comes courtesy of the VP elect, Joe Biden.

President-elect Obama and I have been assembling our team, and we plan to hit the ground running next month.

We want to be ready to go, and that's why I'm asking you to help us honor an outstanding commitment we made during the election.

Our campaign pledged to help Senator Hillary Clinton -- one of the vital members of our team and our future Secretary of State -- retire her campaign debt. That's the money her campaign owes to the vendors across the country that make our political process possible.

Barack and I had the deepest respect for Hillary as an opponent on the campaign trail. Her undeniable intellect, talent, and passion strengthened Barack as a candidate and tested our movement for change.

We welcome Hillary as a partner in our administration, and I hope you will show your support by helping Barack fulfill our campaign promise.

Will you make a contribution of $100 or more now to retire Hillary's campaign debt?

Four simple words: hell to the no. I donated my $10's, $20's & $50's to benefit Barack Obama. Period, full stop.

Since I'm not one of those "hard working Americans, white Americans" who was so paramount in making her case as the stronger candidate to carry the banner for the Democratic Party as the nominee, I suggest Hillary Clinton start leaning on those oft-mentioned supporters of hers... all 18 million of them.

Labels: Barack Obama, elections, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Indecision '08, Joe Biden, rants