by Molly Ivors
Once upon a time, Ariel, the Idiot Princess™, viewed the world with faux-innocence, a wide-eyed Ingénue at the mercy of the demonic Sea Hag determined to do anything to achieve her goals.
And then Senator Clinton dropped out of the race.
And Ariel was left with options B & C, Barack and Chipmunkcheeks. Now in the ur-text for Ms. Dowd's psyche, The Little Mermaid,* once the Sea Hag has been well and truly fucked by the handsome young prince of dubious sexuality (let's just say Eric plays a lot of flutes), father and son-in-law join forces, and King Trilateral Commission realizes, sadly but inexorably, that his Little Girl is Growing Up, and that she needs his permission to get busy with the young prince. Not in that bad way, as was enabled by that mean Ursula, but as a function of the father's power, plus, with a cool prom dress.
I'm afraid that if Maureen is hoping for Grandpa Matlock J. Depends to give her permission to fawn over Prince Barry, she's got a long wait ahead of her. I hope she brought her ipod.
Now, I generally leave MoDo alone when she abuses George Bush: after all, she at least has a subject worthy of her shriveling scorn and Heathery hate. But I wanted to pause and spend a moment on this morning's excreta, because I think in many ways its generally positive commentary on Obama is setting the stage for sins to come, and I want to track how she does it, now and as we move forward.
In the French imagination, Barack Obama is already the president.
To the French, the Democratic primary was the general election.
The word “elite” is not a pejorative here; it’s a compliment. It does not occur to Parisians that Americans will choose the old, white-haired one if they can have the cool, skinny one with the Ray-Bans, John le Carré novels, chic wife and secret cigarettes.
Newsstands carry a whole magazine devoted to “La révolution OBAMA.” The papers are avidly following Obama’s post-Hillary quest to “cherche les femmes,” and on Friday, Le Figaro led with the headline that he had widened his lead over his “rival républicain.”
Aside from the bone-crunchingly bad eighth-grade French (she must have studied under the same program as that which taught Bush Spanish, and be well qualified to find bathrooms and libraries the world around), note the introduction here of several memes:
- Obama is loved by the French! Get it?!? The FRENCH! And you know what they're like! They're all Sartre and Gauloise and cowardly and existential and shit. (And oh, how I wish I were there with my peeps this week.)
- He still smokes sometimes (though why she obsesses on this is beyond me. You'd think she was blowing the lid off some well-kept secret. If MoDo had been alive in the 30's (bites hole through tongue), she'd have stuck a stick in the spokes of FDR's wheelchair. If she'd been of age in the 60's, she'd have flashed her tits at JFK and then got mad when he wouldn't "go all the way.")
- (and most importantly) MoDo is in PARIS! Whee!
I think it's important to catalogue these memes, because by October, they'll be conventional wisdom. And so, as is my custom, let me clarify a few things for Maureen, if she can get her head out of the Veuve Cliquot long enough to listen:
The French treat George Bush as inconsequential because he is. He's a loser. He's failed at every job he's ever done, and the blood of hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, is smeared on his face, Hannibal-style. And he's too fucking stupid to realize that that's a bad thing. He will be gone soon, and while I would love to see him brought to justice for what he's wrought, a lifetime of obscurity is probably almost as good. He can wear tissue boxes on his feet and get spit on by the paper boy and have people piss in his drink at Mickey D's for all I care. Because we have work to do, and we'd like to get started. Love, Molly I.
The more I think about it, the more I believe that this is how MoDo sees Obama:
(Get it? "RasBARRY Beret!" It's French, people! And all androgynous and stuff. Please try to keep up. Apparently the video is silent by design, but here's the music for all you nuts out there.)
*My trip to Kentucky was worthwhile if only because I met someone else who shares my reading of that creepy-as-fuck film. I'm pretty sure that's the first time that's ever happened--well, except for people who've seen me give my paper with appropriate video support. Then they tend to ask "Wow! Did they know what they were doing?" I'd say that's a resounding yes.