Singing for Obama

January 21, 2009

barack-bookLast night I went to the East Dulwich Tavern for a Barack Obama Party. I’d watched the Inauguration earlier. Heck, those vows! When, moments away from officially being the President, Barack stumbled and came to a halt on “I will execute-“… a whole world waited with baited breath.  Who? He kept us dangling, but then, phew, picked himself up and became  the 44th President of the United States. Hooray, one and all! *

The pub had their big screens on, showing us the journey from Capitol Hill to the White House. That’s a journey of 1.7 miles. It took him bloomin’ ages! You’re the President now, so you can be a bit cheeky. First thing you should do, before you do any of this “sorting out the country/world” type of stuff, is demand a faster car.

I’ve called this post Singing for Obama because they then had a pub quiz, an American Quiz, and our team was led and created by Vicky, the big cheese behind Note-Orious, East Dulwich’s best choir (I don’t know if East Dulwich has any more choirs; I bet it has, and they may be better. but I don’t care… we’re the best). And we were called Singing for Obama. There were four of us; Vicky, Mark, Emily and me. And we did ok. Here’s some randon answers:

Nixon.

Barry.

Atomic.

Daisy.

False.

The winning team got 31 out of 44… Ah, I’ve just got it! There were 40 questions, but one was in four parts. 44. Fancy not noticing at the time.

Anyways, they got 31. We got 26. Now that works out at 59%. May not sound too great. But, looked at another way, Barack Obama became President of the United States- that’s PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!!!… with 53% of all votes.  So now I say pretty pretty good!

* Aha! A bit of research reveals all. Lookee here. If Barack stumbled it was only because he was thrown by the daft old chief justice of the U.S.Supreme Court getting it wrong. Duh! Well done, Michelle K.

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On Christmas Day Tom Cruise will attempt to assassinate Adolf Hitler. Plot spoiler coming up… he fails. I know this and I haven’t even seen the film yet. Yes, dopey, it’s a film, not real life.

Valkyrie, the Bryan Singer directed thriller, is one of eight films opening stateside on Christmas Day. Others include Gran Torino with Clint as a racist Korean War veteran; Doubt with Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman arguing the toss over child abuse in the Catholic church, and The Reader, starring Kate Winslet as a Nazi war criminal. Happy Christmas everyone.

But back to the point of this post. Will our Tom get the right Adolf? We all know Tom can have his off days (jumping up and down on Oprah’s sofa, telling his wife to shush as she pushes out their little baby etc.), so let’s just hope he doesn’t get confused and take it upon himself to assassinate the new Adolf Hitler.

Yes, there’s a new Adolf Hitler in town and he’s only three years old. In yesterday’s San Jose Mercury News this headline caught my attention; “Dad who named his son after Hitler pleads for tolerance.” Yes, come on folks, leave poor little Adolf alone. Be tolerant. You know? Tolerance? That thing the Nazis were overflowing with?

Heck, his dad, Heath Campbell, didn’t expect all of this fuss. Well, how on earth could he have seen it coming? It all blew up when ShopRite refused to make a birthday cake with “Happy Birthday Adolf Hitler” iced on it. Thank the nazis above that Wal-Mart stepped in, saw sense, and saved the day.

Dad Heath invoked President-elect Barack Obama in a bid to get us over-sensitive idiots to calm down; “There’s a new president and he says it’s time for a change. They need to accept a name. A name’s a name. The kid isn’t going to grow up and do what (Hitler) did.” Phew, that’s a relief. Step down Tom, at ease. No need to kill a three year old. This kid is no mass murderer in the making. Who knows, he may even turn out to be a half-decent painter.

12 kids attended little Hitler’s birthday party, including, according to Hitler’s daddy, several children who were of mixed race. I wonder what their names were; Little Pol Pot, Mussolini, Pinochet, Dave?

A final word from Heath on his three year old Hitler; “Say he grows up and hangs out with black people. That’s fine, I don’t really care. That’s his choice.” And to think, initially I thought you were a nutter.

I haven’t an appropriate photo to accompany this story. I’ve not seen many Nazis in Sunnyvale. So here’s a pic of a sweet little dog I saw last Christmas, down on Pier 39 in San Francisco.
dog

Oh, incidentally, Adolf Hitler Campbell has a two year old sister. Her name? Prepare yourself. I swear I am not making this up. She’s called JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell. Unbelievable isn’t it? I mean, JoyceLynn, it’s so 1990’s.

Barack bedtime stories.

December 17, 2008

barackI’ve just arrived in America. I may be tired. After our choir’s Christmas party… that’s Note-orious by the way… I got to bed at 2am. Up at 5am. Finish my packing. Ha! It’s just throwing undies into a suitcase! Leave the house at 6am. Get to Heathrow at 7.30am. Fly away at 9.30am. Arrive at 12.25pm (that’ll be 8.25pm to you lot in England). So now it’s 5.30pm here… 1.30am for you. So, I’ve been awake for 19 and a half hours. I’ll stay awake til about 10pm, that’ll be 6am for you and by then I’ll have been awake 25 hours. Have you kept up with that? I’m not sure I have. And I’m assuming you are in England when you could be in Yugoslavia or Stoke (yes, I know! Stoke’s in England… it’s late, or early, I’m tired).

If I were a child, I might be lulled into sleep with the above Barack books. $16.19 and $15.29. Ok, I’m tired, but they seem funny prices. Barack books for the kids! You don’t get that kind of thing in England. There’s no Where the Gordon Brown Things Are, or We’re going on a WMD hunt.

Tomorrow, more news of the childrens books of America, including a review of the no.1 bestseller, Hey Mr President, Catch My Shoe!

Goodnight. Or as they say in America, goodnight.

coach

Christmas time, misteltoe and wine, children singing Christian rhyme
Unless they happen to be the children of Muslims, or Jews, or Rastafarians, or some bizarre syncretic sect… or atheists, even nihilists (and they’re scary because they believe in NOTHING!)

Ok, it doesn’t scan like Cliff’s effort, but you can’t have everything.

I’m off to California next week to be with my family over the Christmas period. Not that it really exists over there. We have Happy Holidays. And there is no Boxing Day. Just everything back to normal.

I didn’t think I’d get there. I have no money. But I do have credit cards. Credit Crunch? Ha! I’ve got at least 6 months of interest free something or other before I come crashing down. And last night I foolishly went on one of the slot machines at my pool club, JFK’s. Tony, our team captain, nickname The Sniper… because he used to be an assassin for hire… sorry, because his aim is so true… had just spent a few quid on the machine. I said I was going to get all of his money. I put in about £5 and hit a jackpot of sorts. I don’t know how these machines work, but suddenly it flashed like mad, wheels whirred, over and over, and after about five minutes of flashing, buzzing, spinning, shaking, the box spat out £65 in pound coins. Drinks all round and the rest, today, has gone on travel insurance. And the team won too! 8-4 against Nolans. Happy Christmas everyone.

I’m staying over on the West coast for nearly a month. Why not? I have no work to come back to. I might try and get a job in the local Starbucks. Failing that I’ll go for something in the Obama administration. I could be in charge of… pens? Or maybe I could be a dog finder for his kids. Or dog walker. Or pool tutor. Or Secret Service bodyguard. I’ll keep you up to date with my progression through the corridors of power here on this blog. Hey, just realised. I’m in California. I could get a job working with Arnie. Or I could understudy Jack Black as Jesus in the Prop 8 musical. There’s got to be something I can do. Oh yes, got it, help my sister take my niece and nephew to school each day. Phew! For a moment there I thought I was useless.

If any media moguls are reading this and they want me to write anything whilst I’m out there, or make a film, romping around America like Stephen Fry (but in a different class) please let me know. You can contact me here or through my agent, Debi Allen at RDF Management.