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The languid faint praise we now hear for Obama is in sharp contrast to the lauding acclamation of 2008. The screaming was so vociferous then that stooges were paid to faint on command, while real sycophants were in need of a lung aid to facilitate proper breathing. The Messiah’s voice and inflections, so soothing to the mesmerized masses, are, to me, like a nail dug into a chalkboard, like the sound Hillary Clinton produces when she’s dropping her “g’s” while “talkin” to the regular folk. Barack still has union support, the guild an anachronism left over from the days of Karl Marx (or, perhaps, Groucho) but I can only take Obama in small doses, with a dual gin on the rocks, with, perhaps, a very small dash of vermouth.