Everyday on my walk to work, I pass a Blockbuster rental store struggling to fend off bankruptcy by placing seductive items in the window. Usual suspects: Sex and the City box sets for teh ladees, Guitar Hero for teh man-babees, and second-hand DVDs. You know, the crappy ones you regret permanently owning, but can’t shake off a good deal (Why NOT buy it for 7 bucks, when renting is $5.89?)
Already the Academy Award-winning There Will Be Blood was on sale, which doesn’t really surprise me. I can’t imagine wanting to re-watch that…
What surprised me was how great a title that would be for a health ed film directed towards pre-pubescent girls. Really ram home the solemn importance of the crimson wave.
Quite a brouhaha a-aboil over the New Yorker cover, which was the equivalent of a Girl Talk mix of our Top 40 fear-mongering cliches mashed-up with our beloved rock-solid Obama beatz. So, ok. A summarization of reactions:
Obama camp: Tasteless and offensive.
Remnick: Irony, anyone? Anyone?
Crazed liberal media bloggers: You FUCKING morons. Failed satire! WE get it, but what about the ‘tards in the middle of the country? YOU CRAY-CRAY? This is fuel to the fire!
Fox News: Eh…
I’m not going to hoist myself out onto a shaky little limb and hold up the cartoon as satire of Swiftian proportions. It’s fine, does the job neatly of illustrating the Obamas strapped into net of right-wing accusations.
But it defies logic to imply that the right-wing media would ever use the New Yorker as an illustrative guide of the Obamas’ odious ideals — his un-American activities captured in all their squiggly line detail. The most ridiculous criticism came from a dude at HuffPo who deconstructed the image and specifically pointed out the lack of a desk. This detail was one of the many, many reasons why the cover failed as satire. Because to be recognizable as the Oval Office, a big manly, banking desk was in order. Something with a leather cover and a ledger, maybe a red telephone, certainly a stapler. Where would our top official be without a means to attach individual pieces of paper to one another and call them a report that will definitely go unread and directly into the recycling bin (President Obama, terrorist that he is, believes two things: death to the West and a firm love of our big Blue Planet, except for that pesky West part). The fact that Blitt didn’t include a desk in his drawing meant he didn’t capture the Oval Office environment accurately. Ah! So, THAT’S what off here! I couldn’t tell where the Obamas were having their little anti-American pow-wow.
All these terrified liberal bloggers are afraid Rush Limbaugh will go on-air, squeeze out a manic diatribe damning liberal bias and abortion-loving feminazis and cite The New Yorker’s cover as proof. Look! There’s Michelle jabbing away, Barry eyeing the audience all Machiavelli-style. Rush will say, “FINALLY! The editors at the New Yorker have seen the light! Even those pansy-ass homos in New York can see that Barack Obama and his hellcat wife are terrorists.”
Well, actually… maybe this is just a stealthy way for the New Yorker to broaden its audience and increase its subscription base. Sort of like when Doris Lessing poses nude for the cover of Garden and Gun.