Leon Wieseltier, recumbent upon his divan and daintily pressing a Proustian Oreo against his palate, reflects on M. Obama's triumph:
I woke up the next morning still under the spell of solidarity and love. I decided to make the spell last. I gave away my tickets to a performance of some late Shostakovich quartets, because for once I was not interested in the despair. Instead I spent the day listening to the Ebonys and the Chi-Lites and the Isley Brothers. For lunch I went to Georgia Brown's for fried green tomatoes. A day of dopey symbols, I admit. But reality, or the rest of it, will have to wait.
Once again, my life eerily parallels the literary editor of the New Republic's. As for moi-meme, I woke up the next morning still under the spell of Jack Daniel's and Ambien. I decided to make the spell last. I gave away my tickets to a performance of some late Dixie Chicks madrigals, and instead spent the day at a survivalist warehouse in Waxahachie, stocking up on handguns and hardtack.
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I hesistate to be too critical, here. Sincere expressions of wholesome patriotism are pretty rare on the Left, so we should celebrate them when they come. And our culture does have a sinister instinct to mock earnestness in which I resist indulging.
But, and you knew a "but" was coming, this was such an odd mix. Both navel-gazing and unreflective at the same time. I am left with the impression of a good-hearted man trapped too long in the hopeless parochialism of his milieu.
You're funny!
You can take the boy out of the bayou.......
...and for all you yankees, it's pronounced "woks-a-hatchie," not "wax."
Congrats, and thanks, Rod. Truly snort-producing.
I gave away my tickets to a performance of some late Shostakovich quartets, because for once I was not interested in the despair.
No doubt to some deserving Negro child, in need of Culture.
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