Writers are getting it way too easy with this election.
Conan and Leno and Letterman have their shows chock full of sound bytes and video clips from debates, public appearances, rallies, conventions, interviews and anything else they can get their hands on. It helps when overweight, ignorant Americans, many with southern accents, get a hold of the microphone and tell McCain and the millions watching on Fox News at his rallies that they don’t trust Obama because “he’s a Muslim.” It also doesn’t hurt that Johnny Boy is running with the hottest non-Eskimo to ever step out of the frozen tundra of Alaska, which is, according to her in one of many humorous interviews, the country’s most global warming impacted state. Apparently she’s never visited New Orleans or, say, Florida. In recent developments, the Sunshine State’s Department of Public Works is manufacturing a new sign when crossing the state line: “[2] Days Without a Tropical Storm Catastrophe!”
So why write this? Truthfully I feel silly writing about politics; I think a majority of people who write about politics are ones who enjoy hearing themselves speak about how they can fix the economy, homeland security and our nation’s foreign policy initiatives. These are the kinds of people who start conversations about voting when in line at Dunkin’ Donuts. This actually happened to me a few weeks ago when I was in Logan Airport getting coffee. The woman behind me, I’d say she was around mid-40s, misheard the Latina workers and asked me whether they were out of coffee. I told her it was doubtful, but jokingly mentioned that in the state of the economy I guess it could happen. Mistake. There was a pause, which I took as the end of the conversation and turned around. She then thought of this as an opening and said: “So you’re voting for Obama, right?” She finished my sentence with a yes, and though it was moments later, I realized what I should have said: “I’m a convicted felon.” There were three or four people ahead of me in line so the awkwardness would have been so fantastically palpable. Hindsight is always 20/20.
I, on the other hand, try to avoid talking politics like a bad hangover. I would like to write about politics as much as I would like to take photographs of new syphilis strains for a medical journal. But I figured that since all McCalin and OBiden talk about is the same things, I should write about what everyone else is writing: what they’re talking about.
Miraculously I sat through an entire debate, the rubber match of the officially three contests, (unofficially, the number sits around 239). McCain and Obama sitting inches from each other. Such close quarters! The Commission On Presidential Debates pushing the limits of the electoral intensity. Their charm and charisma oozes through your TV (oozing also available in High Def), their pre- and post-talk pleasantries as caked on as their makeup and as canned as their rebuttals. The media titans are getting their airtime’s worth of material, droning on and on and on about the same thing: Nothing. Case in point, did you see the Newsweek close-up of Sarah Palin? Some things are better left far away. I wonder if McCain is next for an intimate photo shoot. You won’t even be able to see the title. The cover will just be one big, white wrinkle.
With the election being such a hotbed for ‘newsworthy’ material these media gluttons have determined there are pundits and experts and correspondents for virtually everything. “Now we’re going live to the debate floor with Republican Elderly White Male Speech, Dialect and Intonation Correspondent Col O. Stomy.”
McCain’s snarky attitude and sarcastic grin throughout the painful hour and a half made me think there are more mature fifth graders at my middle school. The question posed to both candidates about whether they would talk the talk that has been their smear ads to each other was great. Bring on the one-liners, the piercing adjectives, the “Did you know that Barack Obama was cavorting with (pause, pause) A TERRORIST?” loops and, of course, the McCain skin cancer references.
“Now John I’ll give you credit [turns to McCain], but Bob [turns back to face camera], Senator McCain…has not…employed the use of SPF 35! [Volume of voice crescendos at the end]. Now, folks, my record shows…that whenever I have been on a beach or outdoor event meeting Joe the Plumber or Suzanne the Librarian or Steve the Male Nurse…I have consistently [emphasizes with numerous finger gestures] and unequivocally…used…sunscreen…with at least a 30 or 35 SPF.” [Voice crescendos again].
Now I know McCain and Obama have both waivered on the issues. Anyone that hasn’t been living in their parent’s television-less basement has had some media-driven punch to the face of the candidates’ catty tit-for-tat. “Senator McCain 10 years ago voted for the execution of newborn kittens, as the record showed I voted against it.”
“My friends [both hands extended in karate chop fashion], not only does Senator Obama hobnob with domestic terrorists…but on May 5, 1995 he proposed a bill that would allow children aged 6 the right to drop out of school and purchase a firearm.”
* * *
Gone but never forgotten is the lone V.P. debate between Battlin’ Biden and Pontific Palin. As Big John from the UFC would say: “LET’S GET IT ON!”
The pundits would later say that Palin did a bang-up job, slapping Biden in the face with her eloquence, charisma and well-crafted responses. Take that Bootstrapping Joe Six Pack of Diet Coke Because You Don’t Drink Alcohol! Her loveable, working-class knockoff Canadian accent warmed the cockles of my gag reflex.
But who wins in a supposedly unscripted debate where responses are contrived, winks are cleverly juxtaposed and obvious campaign coaching was given to ensure, at the very least, a subpar showing?
Nobody wins. That’s who. Because we all turn off the TV thinking “Why the hell did I just watch that ENTIRE THING?” We could’ve simply flipped it over to playoff baseball, Law and Order reruns or Paris Hilton’s new reality show at any point in the debate.
But nay, we watched it, like the trying-to-be-informed Americans that we are, lest we enter into the coffee room discussion groups unprepared. “Oh Boy, the way Biden answered the third question definitely showed his weakness on some foreign policy issues.”
Oh and if I may digress for a minute, there is no way Sarah Palin is experienced in matters of foreign policy. Here are some important questions to ask:
You keep an eye on Russia and Canada to ensure it’s not up to anything fishy, right?
“That is correct.”
You realize that Moscow is hundreds and hundreds of miles from the Alaskan border?
“Well Russia is a foreign nation and we have conducted trade missions with them in the past.”
And you do realize that the other ‘foreign nation’ to your left (my right) is the Yukon Territory? And that 0.1% of Canada’s population resides there?
Mark these under ‘Notes To Maybe Consider Before Speaking In Public’.
Thankfully though the debates are now over. Unfortunately there are still ‘undecided’ voters vacillating between the two candidates. I’d give them credit if it was two months ago and they were undecided. I would have no problem with that. But this is mid-October, people. Time is a-wastin’. The decision is quite simple: you either decide on a candidate who seeks to reform a nation in economic collapse with severely limited international integrity or…uh…you decide on a candidate who seeks to reform a nation in economic collapse with severely limited international integrity who decided to pick an under-qualified Alaskan former sportscaster/mayor/beauty queen turned governor as his running mate.
What’s the Central Yup’ik translation for ‘Maverick’?
My solution for those still undecided in mid-October: revoke their right to vote. At this point if they’re too stupid to figure out which actor to cast in the role for president then they shouldn’t be allowed to take part in the decisions concerning America’s future. “Well, Clint Eastwood’s pretty old and now more of a behind-the-scenes directorial kind of guy, way too old and possibly senile to play the president. I think I’d like to see Denzel Washington here, I mean the guy’s still full of energy, charisma and sound ideology. Darn it, I just can’t decide…”
But By Golly Gosh, if the McCalin ticket gets punched into office, Americans will be able to shoot their moose and eat it too! Who the heck could ask for more?
So it shall be tomorrow, the Fourth of November in the year of our Lord two thousand and eight, set forth upon the masses to elect either the oldest president in history or the darkest-skinned one. Either way it will be epic; votes will be cast, states will be won, tears will be shed, moose will be shot—whether they like it or not—and Florida’s overwhelming elderly population will again wreak havoc on the electoral process. And just so the Governor is sure, there is no Miss Congeniality Award in this pageant.
Mark this under ‘Notes To Consider When Running In The Next Presidential Election’.
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