Obama, you rascal! Who knew? And he recruited his catch with no help from any state trooper, even with Bill Clinton nearby. And to think he did it all right in front of the missus. Certainly a cowering Bill never tried anything funny if Madam Hillary was in the vicinity.
The rest of it was rather predictable. From David Maraniss’s biography we knew that pre-Michelle the Lothario liked his girlfriends to be composites. One look at the dirty flirty Danish PM and you have the spitting image mix of Cameron Diaz and Laura Linney. Mrs. O won’t forgive us this, but we must say Mr. O has a good taste in composites. The only mystery is what the ever weird David Cameron was thinking trying to make it a threesome. Those British Tories, at least less of the male variety, seem forever ripe for Scandal. Must be what comes from the lack of school choice in British public schools, regardless of when they were chartered.
A tip of the hat, by the way, to former President Jimmy Carter, who also traveled to the Mandela Memorial and remained a model of decorum. If there was lust in his heart, that’s where it remained, per usual.
It was a good week for startlets. Charlize Theron, a South African by nature, carried on at the Mandela event as if she were the blonde from Copenhagen, except at a safer remove from any American president, past, present, or to come. RGIII, the interestingly haired quarterback for a Washington team to be renamed later, has been “shut down,” and albeit an essential employee he wasn’t even on the government payroll. Meanwhile, his counterpart in Chicago, one Jay Cutler, whom injury had shut down for the good of humanity, has been named to start Sunday’s game in Cleveland. Disaster lurks. Lastly, America’s yenta, the boisterous Shirley MacLaine, was among the honored at the Kennedy Center last Sunday. President Obama sang their praises. “Despite all their success, all their fame,” he said, “they’ve remained true to themselves — and inspired the rest of us to do the same.” If that’s the case, if Ms. MacLaine is to be our inspiration, we’re all scheduled to write countless memoirs, most of them of the talking to spirits and our deceased pets variety. In her family, little brother Warren Beatty is the normal one. Unless there’s a Danish PM within filming distance.
In happier days, Dan Rather would have been at the Kennedy Center. Instead he visited Dr. Piers Morgan for his annual checkup. He remains in non compos mentis condition, insisting yet again that the forged documents that did him in were as genuine as the accent lilting from Morgan’s tongue. More happily, the target of the Rather forgeries, one G.W. Bush, regaled the women aboard South Africa-bound Air Force One with a show of his recent paintings — all of them forgeries, in Mr. Rather’s discerning view.
One other sad sack earned our sympathy — EOW regular John Kerry, pleading, begging, crawling on the floor and kicking up his feet and pounding the floor with his little fists before the House Foreign Affairs Committee, hoping to sway Congress from reissuing sanctions against the brave little Iran. He’d hate to see “a very delicate diplomatic moment” spoiled, he said, as if referring back to negotiations at the Danish prime ministerial level.
Then we have the censors at the New York Times, which paper of record failed on the morning after to report on the cheesy Danish matter. Instead it delayed things a day and then relegated the story to one of its online blogs — and only a bit of the story, at that, focusing in this case almost entirely on the regrets expressed by the Agence France Press photographer who had captured our president and the composite Dane in flagrante.
Roberto Schmidt is the snapper’s name, and he now complains the famous “selfie” photo has been “misinterpreted.” We understand. That wasn’t President Obama in the picture. It was President Putin. And if snapped for Time magazine, it was the Person of the Year. Or rather, to fix the typo, the Pope of the Year (with Francis edging out Benedict). As if Mr. Schmidt hadn’t sown enough confusion, it turns out that Madam Danish Prime Minister is surnamed Thorning-Schmidt. What’s their deal? Was Schmidt spying on Schmidt? Stalking her? Working for the NSA? Even better, her first name is Helle. As in, Helle hath no fury. (Wanna bet?) Luckily we don’t play favorites. So it’s a tie. Roberto and Helle will have to share this week’s prize. Now that’s kinky.