Or My Short Response to Barack Obama
Tuesday night, arriving home at the un-G-dly hour of ten forty eight pm, after a relatively uneventful day at work and a very enjoyable evening spent with beloved sibling and munchkins, I came to a strange conclusion: the night is young, and going to sleep just to be refreshed for the next workday is passé.
So, in accordance with this plan, I spent about half an hour playing America's favorite sport: flipping the channels on my TV remote. On the thirty fourth minute I realized that I will probably not see anything even remotely worthwhile, so I decided to finish my latest Netflix arrival. That was "Music and Lyrics", and I highly recommend it as a very sweet, light-hearted, feel-good with happy ending romantic comedy; plus, it had very enjoyable musical numbers in the style of the 80s music (OK, I am getting on in years).
After finishing the movie, I decided to play a bit on the Youtube; another very pleasant and time consuming activity, during which I found a music video of Sara Brightman singing "Harem". Sue me, but, despite the objectionable words due to the objectionable subject matter of this song, I actually enjoy the music and the beat (hey, nobody said that I was sane).
Next morning, while trying to wake up in the shower after half the night spent on those home entertainments, I was suddenly struck by this freaky connection: the movie and the song represented something diametrically opposed.
Now, a lot of people more gifted than yours truly already wrote brilliant summaries and responses to Obama's latest round of Muslim bootlicking, excuse me, attempts at diplomacy. But here is my short and not humble two cents worth of personal opinion.
Despite the fact that our non-esteemed supposed President went to Ivy League schools, and yours truly went to "Dura" college, I am firmly convinced that I am more knowledgeable in history than he is, even though I majored in psychology. All his claims to Muslim achievements are in error; whatever they supposed to have brought to civilization was brought by other nations and other religions. And even though thousand years ago they were better at medicine than the Europeans, come on! Even I am better at medical knowledge than the people who were convinced that you can heal wounds by the means of a fried field mouse. And they, by the way, made significant advancements since then; as apposes to the supposed beacons of civilization who only know how to torture and kill practically with their bare hands, but not to heal.
But Muslims always were, are, and will be famous (or infamous) for their elaborate harems and the entire culture attached to it (although that also was invented before their time).
Americans, on the other hand, are famous for their constant and almost unwavering hope for a better tomorrow. The Kenyan bastard stole that concept, trivialized and cheapened it in his campaign. But the concept is alive and well.
Other countries also make movies that have a happy ending, and that extol the healing power of love, friendship, art, and hope; but somehow, American movies are still the best and mostly unique in that regard.
And that, my friends, is the ironic connection that my head made when it was trying to wake up while being shampooed.