OF A GOLDEN AGE

Let’s get one thing on the table: I love Barack Obama. Brilliant, educated at Harvard, a success story to rival any Horatio Alger hero — this is a man of presidential caliber.

I am almost equally excited and hopeful over the inevitable reform of the Republican party (Washington Post), which has experienced a humiliating faceplant culminating in the selection of the celebratory ignoramus Sarah Palin as the Great White Lady Hope.

McCain said in his concession speech that this was “an historic” moment or whatever, and it irritated my shit right up like always because there’s no need to say AN in this context. We aren’t British. What’s more awkward than N and H back to back? Anyway, Barbara Wallraff, language columnist for the Atlantic, agrees and goes a step further, describing the difference between historic (correct to describe an event the day of) and historical (correct to describe it forty years later).

Finally, Andrew Sullivan posts this simple, moving cartoon by the Washington Post‘s Tom Toles, known for the marginalia self-portrait he includes in the lower corner of each of his pieces.

Obama’s theme should be a song from one of Chicago’s own: “City of New Orleans” by Steve Goodman.

Good morning America how are you
Don’t you know me, I’m your native son

He is our native son, contrary to the xenophobia-mongering of various people in the opposition. Barack Obama represents the American dream, perhaps better than anyone. An Indian-American man called in to Chicago’s newsmagazine Eight Forty-Eight this morning and made a point I honestly didn’t think about before. We have now elected the son of an immigrant of another race to the most powerful leadership position on earth. My stars!

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