The Washington Post’s gossips can look like putty in the hands of the Obama administration. On Monday morning, columnist Emily Heil oozed that the Obamas have made the Easter Egg Roll “way cooler” during their tenure than the hidebound Bushies, what with “Lynn Cheney” reading her “Patriotic Primer.” There was “definitely no hip-hop.” (Read: the last administration was hopelessly white.)
Heil allowed that it became slightly hipper when the Bush White House started using Disney Channel stars like “pre-twerking” Miley Cyrus:
The White House’s annual spring celebration didn’t always rock quite as hard; but under the Obama administration, music — particularly because of acts with youngster-skewing fan bases— has become a big part of the event.
The current state of affairs is certainly way cooler than it was in 2003, when entertainment highlights included Lynn [sic] Cheney reading America: A Patriotic Primer and Commerce Secretary Don Evans’ rocking rendition of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. The 2006 egg roll program featured a Norman Rockwellian image, and definitely no hip hop.
Things started changing in 2007, when Miley Cyrus played the event, though just for a rendition of the national anthem — and remember, this was the pre-twerking “Hannah Montana” Miley. In 2008, the tween-favorite Jonas Brothers performed.
But the Obamas turned up the volume on the annual affair, christening the “Rockin’ Egg Roll Stage” and booking acts including Fergie, Justin Bieber, Willow Smith, Jordin Sparks and Ariana Grande.
That’s a welcome development, says radio host Tommy McFly, the event’s emcee for the past five years, who says music brings an “energy” that no amount of egg-rolling can. And his hat is off to the bookers who identify musicians with crossover appeal. “They do a great job of finding performers that the under-9 set really love and that parents can appreciate,” he says.
“Hats Off to the Obamas” could have been the headline. The actual headline in the paper was close: "Hottest concert ticket in town: An Easter Egg roll?"
Online, the piece linked to another Obama-hailing Egg Roll piece: "Healthy cooking (and yoga!) are in, and candy eggs are out at the White House Easter Egg roll." Heil began that article:
No longer is a kids’ Easter party about a bunch of children jacked up on chocolate bunnies and Peeps — at least not the most famous egg roll of them all, the annual White House extravaganza, which is being transformed from an excuse to inhale pastel-colored sugar while posing with a terrifying rabbit into a celebration of healthy living.
A few days ago, Democrat-enabling Heil also insisted that Washington needed to stop saying “the most dangerous place in Washington is between Chuck Schumer and a TV camera.”
A Nexis search turned up 234 mentions of the phrase “most dangerous place” in proximity to “Schumer.” (Confession: At least one of those comes courtesy of the Reliable Source, so it’s not like we’re not part of the problem.)
Sometimes, it’s not a camera, it’s a microphone. But the meaning of the saying, the rustiest old saw in the feature-writer’s tool shed, is clear. Schumer is a ham, a publicity hound, a quote machine. (Though as far as we know, Schumer’s never actually plowed down an unsuspecting tourist or staffer unfortunate enough to block his good side from a CNN lensman.)
True, truth-y or false, here’s a radical proposal: Let’s just stop saying that. Let’s stick a collective fork in the cliche and call it done.
PS: Right next to the Egg Roll ooze on B-3 was an article by freelancer Ally Schweitzer on the “lousy” singing of Kickstarter sensation Amanda Palmer. This passage seemed a little rough for Monday morning: “Palmer is entitled to nothing, of course, but her supporters seem giddy to help her anyway. The truth is, she could bottle her urine and sell it to her fans for airfare, so enamored they are of her work. But are they rubes or allies?”
This line stood out as well:
To an outsider, a haircut by tweezers would have been more enjoyable than many of Palmer’s songs Saturday. They sounded lyrically overwritten and musically unfinished, more like essays set to piano battery — or worse, ukulele strumming. But the audience members awarded the songs with whoops and hollers. They’re not suckers. They’re just like anybody in love: a little crazy.
