There's always been the little nattery nuggins things about the Cult of Obama that's rubbed me the wrong way. Nattery in that I felt some draw to it. I recalled the very meat of it today.
I was smitten, yes. But in my defense I was only 6 years old when the Beatlemania hit. My sisters were 9 and 13 respectively, however. And there is no more thrilling confluence of hormonia and excitability than young girls, lifted unto a higher plane, as the Senator fretfully knew.
I see the same vacuous, unintelligent gushing in that film clip that I saw at any number of Obama rallies.
I'm Down, sonnies.
UPDATE: I still don't get little kids dancing over an Obama speech. The only black man who got me out of my seat and buck dancing when I was 6 years old was James Fucking Brown. But I have a discriminating palate like that. I'm sorry for the inordinate number of addenda, but 1) I just learned how to convert antifreeze to grain alcohol, and 2) I'm not very good at it.