Churlish right-wingers will likely keep complaining about the “cult of Obama.” I won’t indulge in that easy cynicism. I will note, however, that as I stumbled home, tired and scotch-afflicted for the first time in my life, I talked to one of my best friends about her meeting with a literary agent, and she said roughly the following:
As I often do in weighty moments, I prayed to God — but I kept seeing an image of Barack Obama. I kept saying to myself, “No, God, not Obama,” and I concentrated on images of Christ on the cross. But I kept seeing Obama smiling, until I finally decided that I would just give up and pray to Obama.
A lot of interesting and wonderful things happened tonight. I met someone really cool, and I experienced some amusing television mishaps. The word “mishaps” reminds me of the Pulp song “Mis-Shapes,” which sounds like a boozy smack on the lips. Thank you, Jarvis Cocker. This is borrowed nostalgia. I knew a beautiful Tamil girl from the forensics team, Anita, who was ahead of the curve — Meat is Murder T-shirts, etc. — and I wish I appreciated her more at the time.
One of many small things I like about our new First Family: Sasha Obama, the little one, bears a striking resemblance to my middle sister when she was a kid. This kind of convergence makes me really marvel: the descendants of Bengali peasants, new-fangled American aristocrats: we’re made of the same stuff. As my dear friend Andrew Sullivan has been saying all week, Happy America, folks.
P.S. Jonah Goldberg writes=:
Um, so, quick question: By pointing to Reihan’s post am I being churlish for saying this anecdote supports the cult of Obama argument perfectly?
The post was intended as a joke. I thought this was very clear. I apologize to readers who were confused. As it happens, my friend ended her anecdote by noting that she’s become a parody of liberal secularism.