Obamacadabra! Part One.
I recently had the opportunity to travel to Washington, D.C. on some personal business. While it was not a particularly interesting trip, one event stood out in my mind above all others: The Magic Show at The DNC Theater. Prior to my trip, I had seen ads all over the major media networks, all implying that the illusionist there was second-to-none, and I have to say I was a bit disappointed. What follows is an account of the show I witnessed and a stern warning to anyone who considers attending in the future: The Great Husseinni is not worth the cost of the ticket.
The first peculiarity that night was the purchase of said ticket. I stepped up to the ticket window, and a pimply faced carnie, who ironically went by the name Carney, asked me for $4.00. This was puzzling, since the purple SEIU sandwich board on the sidewalk said tickets to the show cost $6.00. I asked him why this was, and Carney could not respond. I then asked where he got the rest of the money for the ticket, but he said it was best if he didn’t answer that, either. Finally, I asked him who the well-dressed, and clearly wealthy, man behind him was. I was stonewalled a third time. I remember observing that I was never going to get a straight answer out of Carney. When I paid the $4.00, Carney turned around to the well-dressed man in the booth behind him, and took the remainder out of his pocket. He then printed my ticket with the words “Subsidized Seating” across the top in bold letters. I thanked Mr. Carney, and then proceeded into the theater.
The woman taking the tickets was a most odd sort. She had blond, wavy locks, and spoke with a strange Jewish accent. Her eyes wandered independent of one another and she never looked at the ticket she was taking nor addressed anyone directly. It was as if she was having her own internal debate, and was in the process of losing badly to herself. I thrust my ticket at her but she just kept rambling. I looked at her name tag and tried to call her by the moniker there indicated: Debbie. But that seemed only to make it worse. Finally, I grabbed one of her hands and forcibly fed my ticket into it, which she proceeded to eat. Upon completing the consumption of my ticket, she pointed toward the entrance, all the while maintaining what had metamorphosed into a crowd gathering in her head. However many conversations were going on in there, that sucker was at capacity. In retrospect, I hope they never let that poor
woman run anything.
The inside of the DNC was lined in an opulent and liberal covering of rich blue. There were a group of college-aged kids in first few rows, although according to the picture in the program, there were far fewer than in years past. It seemed the Great Husseinni had lost some of his appeal with them. But it was still a packed house. There were working-age men and women in purple SEIU sweatshirts scattered through the crowd. They were thanking patrons for attending and slipping them small denominations of cash. There were large, burly men with union symbols on their jackets gathered in a cluster around each other. They were constantly, and unnecessarily, shouting over the rather quiet crowd about how much they worked, but they never moved from their spot, and never actually did anything. According the program, they had been attending this show for years, even when the featured act was Bill and his Big Cuban Wand. Also, one of the principal assistants from that show would be featured in this one. This troupe seemed to recycle characters quite a bit.
But not The Great Husseinni. His show was new and different! Never in the history of political theater had these tricks been attempted! Excited and nervous with anticipation, I waited for the curtain to rise. Shortly thereafter, the lights dimmed and one of the college age students promptly fainted. I overheard one of her cohorts tell her that this was not the time, and she miraculously revived herself and continued to scream out loud in joyous ovation and rapturous applause. Finally, the curtain rose, the announcer announced the lead act, the college girl feinted fainting, and the show began. From stage left emerged a wiry man with disproportionately large ears and a sonorous, soothing voice. As he strode confidently toward center stage he waved his wand at the front row. The victim of the fainting syndrome rose on cue. The Great Husseinni shot her a very disappointed look. He faintly whispered under his breath, “That better be a Fluke, Sandra”. As he went around greeting the front row, shaking hands and kissing babies, his four assistants emerged from behind the stage left curtain. They danced their way out like a row of Rockettes, each of them clearly happy to be under the spell of The Great Husseinni. My God, three of these four women were beautiful, and polished. All but the last in line had great legs, and proudly displayed their gams in their tight leotards. But the last was clearly the ugly duckling. It was impossible to see her legs to know what they looked like, because she was wearing a pair of loose jeans over a frumpy pair of Birkenstocks. Her flannel shirt successfully disguised any femininity she had. Each of the girls, including her, had a major news network symbol on the front of their getup. They read: ABC, CBS, NBC, and finally the ugly duckling, MSNBC. During the whole show, I remember they never looked away from The Great Husseinni, no matter what it might have cost them. These dames were committed.
Next Post: On with the show…
-Joseph Kurt is going to have some fun with this one