Tone Deaf Antoinette

 

Shepard Fairy

I been cheated

Been mistreated

When will I be loved?

--Linda Ronstadt (among others)

"I think the nouveaux riches Obamas are seriously tone-deaf," said the authority on opulence, Andre Leon Talley. "We all love Beyonce. But people have so many things to worry about with Covid, voting rights, climate warming. People are afraid of being evicted from their homes. And the Obamas are in Marie-Antoinette, tacky, let-them-eat-cake mode. They need to remember their humble roots."

--Maureen Dowd, quoting Talley, appreciatively

Oh, Maureen, I know just what you mean!

I worked SO hard getting Barack Obama elected! 

I stood on a "visibility" line, holding an "Obama for President" sign in the middle of Hampton, one Route 1, across from "The Old Salt" restaurant. And that wasn't the worst of it: I was new in town, still trying to figure out how tough this campaign was going to get, and chatting with a blue haired doyen (dressed in Ann Taylor from head to toe), and she was telling me Republicans in New Hampshire were misguided, but not unreasonable, when a pick up truck drove by and a goateed guy leaned out of the window and shouted, "Nigger lover!"

And I thought things were tough down home in Maryland. 

But I soldiered on, going canvassing with my neighbor, locally known as "The Madonna" (named not after the singer, but the less famous mother of God.) We knocked on door after door, braving dogs and hornets' nests and Madonna of Hampton connected with each dubious home owner who bothered answering the door; she quickly established some connection, either through Winnacunnet High School or The Academy or  some book club or library committee, through children and children's friends, and then she got on to why they should vote for Obama, and damned if it didn't seem to work, at least for thirty seconds, until they returned to their televisions, which we could hear or see back in the living rooms, tuned to Fox News.

And I bought that Shepard Fairy poster of Obama and framed and hung it in my hallway upstairs outside the guest bathroom. 

Oh, how I suffered and worked for that man.

But was I invited to the big bash for his 60th birthday?

And me just down the road in New Hampshire and across the ocean from Martha's Vineyard?

Not a peep.

I wasn't even briefly invited, not to mention disinvited.

I didn't even make the first cut!

And that left me home, worrying about Covid and global warming and voting rights and worrying about other people who might face all sorts of travails.

But not a sniff from the Obama people. Not so much as an engraved invitation I might frame, not to mention a photo op with the former President. (He will always be my President.)

My neighbors and I briefly considered holding our own birthday party for Obama and for the Queen (both August 4th, which must mean something in the cosmic realm) and we would have a cake and play on youtube his victory speech in Grant Park that glorious night in November, 2008, when he won and he walked out on stage and said, "If anyone here ever doubted that in this country, the United States of America, anything is possible, then this night will be your answer." And there was Oprah sobbing, tears running down her cheeks, and damned if there weren't some on mine. 

Obadiah Youngblood

But nobody so much as sent a limo to pick me up to take me to the ferry on August 4. And me just down the road in New Hampshire.

And I read Michelle's book, "Becoming" so I know she didn't come from money. And Barack himself, well, he was so poor his mother had to move to Indonesia, so enough said. And for him to forget his roots and fail to remain forever impoverished is just close to unforgivable.

I mean, if you're going to get rich and throw parties, you got to do the Gatsby thing and invite everyone, all the poor folks, like Lincoln and Andrew Jackson did at the White House. Really, I'm sure the Proud Boys would have swallowed a little pride and caught a boat to the shindig.

Alice & Martin Provensen

You know, I bet even Trump had a party at Mara Lago on August 4th, and you know he didn't let just anyone in, but then again, nobody expects him to allow the hoi polloi to cross his threshold, because he's from money, and when you're from money, you don't owe anything to anybody. But Obama owes everybody and he should not be allowed to have a good time and enjoy his money because that money doesn't belong to him; it belongs to everyone who ever helped him, which would include me for standing on Route 1 with that sign and listening to the blue haired lady.

Oh, Maureen, how you nailed it. You think they are your soul mates, your brothers in arms and then they get rich and forget all about you!

It's like that song: nobody needs you when you ain't got a penny, and all your friends you ain't got any.

So where is my invitation?