Here’s your daily dose of hate-filled pessimism.
Dear Vh1, Guess who’s having the best year ever. Hope. That’s right, Hope–a four-letter word I find no reason to use unless it’s accompanied by a “-less.” Yet, in retrospect, I totally should’ve kept the little bit of Hope stock I had. Instead, I panicked when the economy kissed it* and sold it to David Axelrod for a Home Run Inn Pizza coupon and a used copy of The Jordan Rules. Yep. I choked, just like my fantasy football team did this week. (Gargamel’s Revenge is now 4-1.) Hope is not intangible. Hope is priceless. Hope is worth more than the American dollar multiplied by GM stock. Hope is currency. Hope can e-race you. Hope can garner you more votes than your opponents. Hope will win you Nobels.
(kissed it = committed suicide)
On the morning of what turned out to be one of the weirdest news days in recent memory, Barack Hussein Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Those tricky Swedes pulled a fast one. Even Dionne Warwick didn’t see this coming. (Where is the Kanye when you need him? “BHO, I’m happy for you, and I’ma let you finish. But Martin Luther King was one of the most peaceful brothers of all time.” *shrug*) And now, because I spent Friday walking around with a “WTF?” look on my face after I heard the news, I will probably be labeled a hater–again. I embrace the designation. In fact, I’m giving it a bear hug.
Let’s face facts: As my boo, AC pointed out, nominations had to be in by February 1, 2009. Which means this cat got nominated on Hope, because the only thing he had really done by that point was talk pretty, run a successful political campaign, and be president for just under two weeks. Since those awesomely euphoric and giddy first two weeks in office, Gitmo hasn’t closed, more troops have been sent to Afghanistan, my gay and lesbian (or is it same-gender loving? I can’t keep up with the name changes.) homies still can’t play GI Joe openly, and we bombed the moon. To the latter point, I suppose we should be happy that the US zapped the cheese that lights the night sky instead of another Middle Eastern country. (The citizens of Qatar wipe their brows in relief.) But please know: Mac Tonight is rallying his troops. He doesn’t appreciate the invasion. He doesn’t care how parched we are. (Bob Marley says, “In the abundance of water, the fool is thirsty.” Just FYI.)
Is it no longer an honor just to be nominated–especially when you didn’t deserve that much?
Indeed, the bar the Nobel folks set to declare this year’s winner was as low as the Obama Administration’s was high. With this change of pace, I deserve a Nobel Peace Prize, because as a black dagger living in this world I believe I have been beyond peaceful; if I may quote Wanda Coleman, “I have yet to kill anyone. I have exhibited GREAT RESTRAINT!” Of course, Obama apologists have been busy formulating arguments that all begin something like, “Well, I hope winning the Nobel means that Obama will…” It’s been called an “aspirational” award. While you’re at it, may I please have my degree? I’ve yet to finish my Ph.D., but I aspire to. I’ll take $1.4 million, too.
One can neither maintain nor pursue imperialistic enterprises peaceably. It’s easier to touch one’s left elbow with one’s left hand. (Stop trying to do it. You look silly.) I doubt that one can extend the American project non-violently without radically altering it–and it may even be too late for that. I see no indication that that is BHO’s goal, his aspiration. If it were, he’d lose his job like so many of his fellow Americans. And although BHO doesn’t seem to like to stay in one place too long (Occidental to Columbia, community organizer to Harvard, senator to president, etc.), my guess is he wants to hold on to this gig. The perks are terrific.
I have bad news for BHO lovers/supporters/defenders. The dude has peaked. Remember those girls in high school whose popularity bothered the hell out of you? You know the ones. They never seemed to get acne and were somehow still cute with braces? Well, they peaked in high school. Trust me. Check your Facebook account; they friended you weeks ago. Now, their life highlights include going to Dane Cook shows and/or catching reruns of The Game. They’ve turned their FB account into flickr with all the photos from homecoming ’96 they’ve posted recently; they want to remind you that they were the first ones rocking the T-Boz haircut. (Have I gotten too personal?) Just as those girls reached their zenith circa junior year prom, Obama is peaking in front of the world. It’s all down hill from here. 2008-09 is IT. There will be no The Godfather II. The sequel is not going to better than the original–which, if you ask me, wasn’t all that great to begin with. Obama is the 2006 Los Angeles Clippers, who surprised everybody by making the playoffs and winning in the first round, only to return to the bottom of the NBA standings where they belong. Better yet, he may even be the 2008 Cleveland Cavaliers, the political LeBron James–best record in the league, but (still) no championship. And there will always be those pesky Jordan comparisons, which are thoroughly unwarranted: There will never be another Jordan.
I suspect King James may actually win a championship, though, and that the comparison may thus be unfair to him. Besides, in the NBA, black guys still lead winning teams. In the political realm, they only elect black* dudes to captain the Titanic. And while many got drunk off of this latest Obama “victory” the more sober ones remember that this boat has already sideswiped an iceberg. Our best bet is to stop ogling the Negro in uniform, grab a jacket and jump on a lifeboat. There’s no where to go but down.