In Berlin, the tabloid Bild sent an attractive blonde reporter to stalk Obama at the Ritz-Carlton gym as he exercised with his body man, Reggie Love. She then wrote a tell-all, enthusing, “I’m getting hot, and not from the workout,” and concluding, “What a man.”

Obama marveled: “I’m just realizing what I’ve got to become accustomed to. The fact that I was played like that at the gym. Do you remember ‘The Color of Money’ with Paul Newman? And Forest Whitaker is sort of sitting there, acting like he doesn’t know how to play pool. And then he hustles the hustler. She hustled us. We walk into the gym. She’s already on the treadmill. She looks like just an ordinary German girl. She smiles and sort of waves, shyly, but doesn’t go out of her way to say anything. As I’m walking out, she says: ‘Oh, can I have a picture? I’m a big fan.’ Reggie takes the picture.”

I ask him if he found it a bit creepy that she described his T-shirt as smelling like “fabric softener with spring scent.”

He looked nonplused: “Did she describe what my T-shirt smelled like?”

Yeah...I guess she did. I don't know why it matters. And I don't know how it is any different from Dowd calling Obama 'a smooth ride'. If female columnists want to engage their forbidden fantasies in the news columns of our most prestigious newspapers, what are you going to do? I find it distasteful. Look at this bit about Sarkozy's man-love for Obama:

After 200,000 people thronged to see Obama at the Victory Column in Berlin, christening him “Redeemer” and “Savior,” it turned out Sarko was also Obamarized, as the Germans were calling the mesmerizing effect.

“You must want a cigarette after that,” I teased the candidate after the amorous joint press conference, as he flew from Paris to London for the finale of his grand tour.

“I think we could work well together,” he said of Sarko, smiling broadly.

Even if we succeed in electing Obama with large new Congressional majorities, we'll still be saddled with the sad old press corp. It's depressing. New Blood Please!!