From my new London Review of Books, here's an intriguing snippet from an article summarized on the cover as, "The Obama Letdown", written by a Yale professor and Huffington Post contributor, no less.
Long before he became president, there were signs in Barack Obama of a tendency to promise things easily and compromise often. He broke a campaign vow to filibuster a bill that immunised telecom outlets against prosecution for the assistance they gave to domestic spying. He kept his promise from October 2007 until July 2008, then voted for the compromise that spared the telecoms. As president, he has continued to support their amnesty. It was always clear that Obama, a moderate by temperament, would move to the middle once elected. But there was something odd about the quickness with which his website mounted a slogan to the effect that his administration would look to the future and not the past. We all do. Then again, we don't: the past is part of the present. Reduced to a practice, the slogan meant that Obama would rather not bring to light many illegal actions of the Bush administration. The value of conciliation outweighed the imperative of truth. He stood for "the things that unite us not divide us". An unpleasant writing of wrongs could be portrayed as retribution, and Obama would not allow such a misunderstanding to get in the way of his ecumenical goals.
Wouldn't it be something, and not necessarily a bad thing, if Obama the man and politician turned out to be as much "ordinary" as "extraordinary"? Or has he been a letdown, as the title suggested?
Now on to "Spot The Fake". One of the following personal ads is penned by me to fool you: the rest are genuine personals from LRB love-seekers. Who can find the ringer?
42 year old clinically depressed transvestite and father of two seeks jaded but intellectual supermodels to share misery, bills, and alcoholic blackouts. Costume desired but not essential. I am hugely attractive and overwhelmingly charismatic.
Carl at the Toyota dealership told me I should probably put an ad in somewhere. So here goes. M, 37.
Pulchritudinous Geordie F, 39, looking for love in all the right places, such as the grammar school where I teach. Why don't we do it in the bog?
If we fail to hit it off on our first date, you will at least appreciate the brutal efficiency with which I let you know. No hidden meanings with often terrifying, publishing F, 43, using Ming the Merciless rather than Anna Wintour as her benchmark of forthrightness.
I have two great talents. One is writing superb adverts like this; the other is cage-free chicken farming. If either of those appeal, please write. F, 32, Shropshire.
A graveyard in the dead of night. A spade. A curse. Then we turn the sods. Just a sneak peek into some of my dating habits, but we could start with dinner and a movie (something from the Dario Argento canon, perhaps?). Ghoulish M, 57.
Many people carry scars from previous relationships. Not me: mine come from Chinese buffets. Clumsy, argumentative dim sum enthusiast (M, 45). Not good with children or animals. Or anything else that isn't a fork.
In my bedroom, "tension" is a word from the past. Although "dermatitis" is very much of the moment. "Exfoliate" is probably the choice for tomorrow. Allergy-suffering idiot (M, 40).
There are 289 species of octopus. I can, and will, name them all during the act of love. M, 58.
When I was married, Saturday night was our date night. More often than not it became "complain about the macrobiotic diet the doctor has me on" night. Anything was better than "re-enact scenes from Lord Of The Flies" night. What I'd really like it to be is "play Scrabble then snuggle" night. Just so long as it doesn't eventually become "wear this leather gimp mask and don't let go of ther chains" night. Nervous M, 54, WLTM woman who isn't mental or prone to candidiasis.