If the Roof on Fire, Man, Just Let it Burn
As if he hasn’t made enough of a spectacle of himself already…
I have a lot of feelings about this, none of which have very much to do with how much money was spent entertaining a man who had the unmitigated gall to hold the floor of the Congress for the sole purpose of flaming America, its (legal) citizens, and its fundamental way of life.
Anyway, the money thing I can get over, because one must not host foreign leaders looking like one outfitted one’s State Dinner with the help of the fine people over at The Party Tree. I can even handle the big tent, with its date rape lighting and politically insensitive-yet-ironic Monarch (snort) butterflies; it was pretty, in a gay-bar-meets-garden-party sort of way. The thing I can’t get over, though, is the utter spectacle of it all. Beyonce? Really, O? You host a zillion dollar State Dinner and invite the be-Spandexed Single Lady to wiggle her butt around for what is purported to be the world’s elite, in a makeshift nightclub on the White House lawn? Hell, I’m in! Pass the Hpnotiq, Rahm!
I mean, really? I love Beyonce, and I love going out dancing with my single ladies, but I try to keep the booty-poppin’ separate from my professional life, which at this point exists solely within the realm of the law building, where sweatpants are sanctioned and professors spot the post-lecture libations. The point is, ONE DOES NOT POP, LOCK, AND DROP IT IN THE PRESENCE OF DISTINGUISHED GUESTS. I think it’s a rule, and besides, does this not look awkward as hell?
You know what this reminds me of? It reminds me of what happens when you get to the bar way too early, and are forced to watch the creepy people who are already two-stepping to “Sweet Child of Mine,” which is not even a song you can dance to, but they’ll be damned if they’re not going to try really hard to make it happen.
To put it succinctly, this whole soiree was just a big pile of classless inappropriateness. I know that Obama is supposed to be all cool and hip and down with the hot new Jay-Z tracks (speaking of which, I’m seriously disappointed in the lack of hot new Jay-Z tracks…), but there is a huge difference between hosting a town hall meeting in shirtsleeves and inviting a foreign leader (however classless and inappropriate and reprehensible he may be) to sit in your tent with you and ogle a pop star.
This isn’t even about my dislike for Obama and his policies. This is a different sort of issue; he’s changing the way the world looks at America with regards to even the most superficial little things. If President Bush had done this, I’d feel the same way. This feels so Marie Antoinette—let them eat mole! I would rather America be perceived as fat and lazy and obsessed with Ryan Seacrest than as a titillated, decadent joke.
But, alas. After all that this man has done, from endorsing Beyonce’s Spanx to presenting the English Prime Minister with plastic helicopters, I am convinced that nothing will change until the White House is occupied by someone who embodies a sense of propriety beyond that of a frat boy planning the next kegger.