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OK, I Can Recycle It Now
By the time The New Yorker
landed in my mail slot today, I'd seen the cover so many times already
it was like, "You, finally!'' As if it had stopped off for a couple of
drinks on the way over here and lost all track of time. So, allow me to
be the last to tell Jack
why I totally hate this image of the Obamas: It would be funnier if
half the country didn't actually think of this hardworking,
high-achieving woman—remind me again what Michelle Obama has not done right?—as
Angela Davis in a sheath. I don't know whether to cry or spit for every
morning she got up before it was light outside to make sure she
got every single thing on the do-list done, only to be looked at like
this. But I am not tempted to laugh.
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