Obama-Biden '08: Wherein I lose a nickel By: Ara

I owe Miss Julie a nickel.

Friday afternoon, I had told her (and emailed Mark and Shep) saying I didn't think it was going to be Joe Biden.

"He's gotten awfully quiet and his friends always said he gets that way when he loses. No smilin' Joe, no coffee and bagels for the camped out reporters. And I read that Obama had notified the losers already. So -- no Joe."

"Wanna make it interesting?" she says.

"I hate looking into the crystal ball. I hate the taste of broken glass. [crickets] I'll bet you a nickel." So it goes.

We went to Friday night services at the synagogue where the rabbi asked everyone to turn off their cell phones. It's like the announcement before the movie starts, but I think it was also a pre-emptive move to keep the congregation from getting up, en masse, to phone their friends and family. You know, the sound of crickets during your sermon...not so good.

I kept my phone on vibrate.

Sure enough, 30 minutes later, my cell phone goes off. Even on vibrate it's pretty loud.

I work my way out into the aisle. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me." I avoided Miss Julie's glance. It was my son, Michael.

"The press is saying Kaine and Bayh are out."

"Yeah? Well, I saw the Obama-Bayh bumper sticker on Drudge."

"Bogus. No union label."

"[Pause] It did look pretty crappy. Like they picked it out of a sample catalog from 1975. I gotta go."

I whispered myself back into my seat in the sanctuary. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me." Miss Julie caught my eye, eyebrow raised. I shook my head.

Ten minutes later, during the rabbi's sermon, my phone goes off again. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me." I avoid everyone's eyes. It's Michael again.

"Musarreff. Pervez Mushareff. Obama's picking Mushareff."

"Shut. Up."

"It's why Mushareff had to resign. You can't be the vice-president if you're the head of a foreign government."

I hung up and headed back to the synagogue. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me." Miss Julie's widened eyes are slightly menacing. I shake my head again. The services end and, during the reception afterwards, I explained the whole story.

"You so owe me on that bet."

"No way."

"Way! So when are they going send the message? Watch -- they'll send it in the middle of the night."

"What? During the one time when NO ONE is watching for it? No way."

Way.

In the end, Obama had to pull the trigger when he got scooped by the press. No sense in being the last one with the story -- it kind of negates the whole idea of the text message to begin with.

Obama-Biden '08! On to Denver.

P.S. Somehow this reminds me of a story about Zero Mostel. When he was younger, Mostel's leg was badly injured in an accident. For a time, the doctors thought they might have to amputate his leg, but after multiple surgeries they saved it. His doctor was rightly proud of his work and asked Zero to appear at a medical conference where he (the doctor) was presenting a paper on the operation. Zero appeared and sat on stage next to the doctor. After a long, technical presentation on the techniques he used in the operations, he turned to Mostel.

"Zero, show them your leg." Mostel slowly rolled up his pant leg and raised his foot in the air for the audience of doctors to see. Thunderous applause. After it dies down, his doctor clears his throat.

"Zero. The other leg."

With a sly look, Zero displays the other leg.

Crickets.

That's the last thing Obama wanted: the other leg.

[cross posted at E Pluribus Unum]