A woman ran into the shoppe today, hawking the wares of NPR. Normally this is irritating. In this case we were already listening to Obama's top ten favorite songs which directly preceded the inaugural concert. I wondered how many people frowned/furrowed at the list before it reached approval.
"I expected more rap," Ginny stated.
The question of, "because he's black?" hung for a moment before she followed, "All cool people like rap."
Yeah, it's true. You can't be cool unless you like rap.
I couldn't believe he went with Fugees instead of Pras/Mya/ODB's Getto Superstar. If I became president you can bet ODB would be there, like the retarded child I drag with me everywhere. This blog is getting racist, fast.
"I mean, it's from a political movie even," I defended. "But I suppose that could go the other way too. And there's ODB. 'living with girls that never die!' I mean, those are probably new girls, ODB."
I was off-topic again.
"What we could really use here is a very touching but inappropriately-timed number by George W. I Never Got Over You Getting Over Me. I see him on a piano with a purple feather boa," I decided.
"Purple would make his face seem less ashen," Ginny agreed.
Another pick of Obie's fav ten was The Rolling Stones - Gimmie Shelter. I'd heard the song that morning at Pine Cut Biscuits on Belmont. The place was full to the brim with breeders in parkas per usual, their tiny blond children with $45 haircuts taking up nearly double the space of their adult counterparts.
"Why do you bring children to good/small restaurants?" I asked rather loudly. "They can't enjoy things." A woman and I exchanged bitter stares but she could hardly argue her toddler's enjoyment as the paltry daughter's shrieking wail synced up eerily with the song's end screams. Oh child, it's just a shot away.
After Bam's favorite songs, the other singing began. I wonder if U2's Bono practices underwater so he can rock it even when he can't have a hope of hearing himself on the monitor. So many of them sounded downright ragged. I did my Beyonce Cannot Hear Herself impression for Marcel and explained how important it is for singers. I have no idea why I know these things. I could tangent about Batman at this point but I will abstain.
At some point I began to feel a slow swell emotion about Bo-bama's impending presidency. I really do think he's a top notch fellow. In general, you can't trust smilers, but though I don't buy Britney Spears albums I dance to top 40 just like everyone else. Even though I think your children are rawther loud, we're all in this together.
How best to show such pride? I fooled with the idea of making Regan-esque Obama masks and passing them out on Tuesday so every face in the shoppe would reflect the smiling visage of the new chief. Naturally I began to increase the creepiness of such masks, gaping mouths, hollow eyes. Could patriotism be parlayed into practical jokes?
And the music we were listening to, who was to say it wasn't all being played by Obama? Was that Beyonce? That could be Obama. That could easily be Obama.
That chorus? Obama. Hundreds of Obamas. We now face the replacement of the entire American people by Obamas. I decided I needed to work on my Obama impression. (But what about your Tim Gun impression?) Tim Gun impression will have to be put on hold.
So hooray for Obama. Let's have eight years of fucking glory. Then you know in 1216. It's fucking Girl Talk, running the nation from his laptop.
(and/or the jonas brothers.)