Since it’s been a dreary, rainy week (here in Minneapolis, anyway), and there’s been so little to get excited about regarding President Obama lately (even Molly and Mel seem much less chipper on the subject these days), I thought this would be a good time to share with you a favorite personal entry in the Dreams I Had About Barack Obama sweepstakes. Remember there was once a semi-popular blog on this subject? Last updated in May, 2008. Those were the days, huh?
Anyway, it went like this: during the campaign, Barack and I had met, and struck up a wonderful friendship. On his off-days campaigning, he’d fly into Minneapolis and we’d get together in my dream apartment (which was much nicer than my non-dream apartment). We had beautiful matching velvet waistcoats and matching trousers that we stored at my place, and we’d put them on, play Moody Blues records on my turntable for a few hours and sit around talking about poetry. We’d do this once a week; it was how we both unwound from the pressures of our lives. Velvet’s a comfortable fabric, you know? A lot of cute stories about our meet-ups were appearing in the press (Barack’s Velvet Pantsuit Parties: The Trees Are Drawing Him Near! Inside, We Find Out Why!).
One day, before our appointed meeting, an aide (let’s say it was Rahm Emanuel) pulled me aside. “Andy,” he hissed. “These get-togethers with Barack have to stop.”
I was perplexed. “But why?” I asked.
Rahm stared at me with a look of barely contained rage. “The velvet jackets. The fucking Moody Blues. It’s all too effete. It’s not the kind of image he needs in the press right now.”
“But…but…,” I stammered.
“It ends now.”
I was on the verge of tears. “But Barack and I love the Moody Blues,” I wailed.
And so we did. In the dream. Above is ”Minstrel’s Song,” from 1960-something. Happy Friday, reader.