“My bunk. I’ll be in my bunk.”
You knew it was going to be bad, there was no way to know just how bad. The media’s honeymoon has gone from the metaphoric period of relatively soft coverage granted a new administration to a full-on candlelight, Barry White playing in the background, slip on something sexy from Victoria’s Secret, scented massage oil lovefest. Deferential coverage of their guy is to be expected and the historical implications of Obama’s election are notable. But there’s a limit to all things. The media love affair has reached the point of self parody.
Between workouts during his Hawaii vacation this week, he was photographed looking like the paradigm of a new kind of presidential fitness, one geared less toward preventing heart attacks than winning swimsuit competitions. The sun glinted off chiseled pectorals sculpted during four weightlifting sessions each week, and a body toned by regular treadmill runs and basketball games.
The sun glinted off chiseled pectorals? Yeah, I’ll be in my bunk. Harlequin romance novel, Big Un’s, Washington Post, whatever it takes.
For the small group of reporters tasked with following Obama’s every move, his fitness has become a running joke repeated in the stories they file. They sit at McDonald’s while he exercises in Hawaii. They eat calorie-rich scones while he sweats at Regents Park. One reporter for the Christian Science Monitor, filing his report about one of the president-elect’s gym trips last month, noted: “While Mr. Obama worked at maintaining his lithe look, your pear-shaped pooler spent quality time at a local coffee shop.”
You’ll go insane viewing yourself through the same lens you use to gaze upon Obama’s god-like figure. Lord help them if they ever walk in on Dick Cheney when he’s taking a shower.
It’s not just that he’s an Adonis. He’s, like, sooooo bitchin’:
Barack Obama may be the first U.S. president who can successfully pull off the shaka, a Hawaiian greeting Hawaiians say has various meanings, from “hang loose” and “cool” to “thanks.”
The president-elect, looking uber-cool with his White Sox baseball cap on backwards, flipped the shaka to a crowd of about 30 people as he left a gym on a Marine Corps base on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, where he is vacationing.
The president-elect, looking uber-cool with his White Sox baseball cap on backwards, flipped the shaka to a crowd of about 30 people? I will so be in my bunk. He’s just dreamy AND he makes rudimentary hand gestures? It’s like Beatle-mania if The Beatles were hip, young, cool, and made witty remarks.
Let’s not forget about our glamorous soon-to-be-First Lady either:
“Michelle Obama radiates a powerful style all her own. So step aside, Angelina. You too, Madonna, not to mention the bevy of pop tarts, gossip girls, High School Musical grads and even potential Oscar divas, now all suddenly second-tier,” it says.
“The American fashion industry hasn’t had a catch this big since, well, since another icon of Democratic chic took up residency on Pennsylvania Avenue in 1961.”Since another icon of Democratic chic took up residency on Pennsylvania Avenue in 1961? Oh baby, I’ll be in my bunk.
I don’t know much about fashion and I don’t find Mrs. Obama to be all that compelling a figure. But I’ll wager she could wear a potato sack to the inauguration and the fashionistas would proclaim it the very height of elegance. The pampered socialite who happened to marry into a wealthy, politically connected family referenced in the story was before my time. So beyond my lack of desire to, I can draw no comparisons other than: Jackie O, Michelle O. What else do you need?
Ah, but Obama’s followers sometimes find him not feeling merciful but wrathful:
“OK, guys, come on,” Obama said last Sunday, looking toward photographers clicking away as he warmed up before a round of golf. “How many shots do you need?”
They can never get enough. Ask LiLo or Paris or Brittney. And they’re not even like the totally hot, super coolest, quasi-messianic most powerful man in the frickin’ world. Birds suddenly appear every time you are near. Thank heavens for your statuesque perfectly-sculpted physique! America needs your broad, sinewy shoulders now more than ever.
I knew the media liked Obama. I didn’t realize they like liked Obama. The tingle has quite clearly progressed up from the leg and is spreading to the nether regions.