Maybe Its Time to Start Reading Kevin Drum Again

Sadly, No! he's no Doghouse Riley. But still, this is good and reprinted here in its entirety.

THE TRAINS, THE TRAINS....How desperate are conservatives getting at the prospect of running against Barack Obama? Well, 25 years ago (!), while working in New York and wondering what to do with the rest of his life, Obama remarked that he wasn't interested in a humdrum office life. "He always talked about the New Rochelle train, the trains that took commuters to and from New York City, and he didn't want to be on one of those trains every day," said Jerry Kellman, the community organizer who recruited Obama to Chicago. NRO's Jim Geraghty is not amused: More...

[T]here's a fine line between rejecting that life and looking down at that life. Because some people are just fine with jobs that require them to take the New Rochelle train. Some people actually prefer it to the stress, the risk, the time away from family, the constant demands from strangers. And the world needs these people — who get up every morning, go to work to do jobs with no glamor and little or no prestige, wages modest or worse, and whose names never appear in the newspaper. These folks receive a round of applause when they dance at their wedding, and at their retirement party, and that's about it.

We can't all be touted as secular messiahs, surrounded by adoring throngs. Very few us get crowds chanting our name on a regular basis. Scarlett Johansson doesn't e-mail us, and Jennifer Lopez doesn't visit our offices.

Never mind the small towners who "cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment." Obama didn't want to be a suburban commuter.

That's right: Obama is not only a latte-sipping elitist who looks down his nose at God-fearing, salt-of-the-earth, heartland breadwinners, he's a Gucci-wearing elitist who looks down his nose at mortgage-paying, little-league-coaching, lawn-mowing B&Ters from Westchester. And so are you if reading Geraghty's misty-eyed ode to the man in the gray flannel suit didn't bring a lump to your throat.

Crikey. And there's still 143 days to go.

But the best part is Ezra's take on this

What's really hilarious about Jim Geraghty's mock-outrage on behalf of stolid, salt-of-the-earth, suburban commuters is that, until recently, Geraghty was living as an expatriate in Turkey while working, according to his Simon and Schuster biography, as a "foreign correspondent." That's what you do if you're a political writer and you decide national politics just isn't glamorous or exciting enough. Now he's writing odes to the common man...