Obama: You’re a dummy.
Romney: No, you’re a dummy.
The president was also more vigorous in taking credit for stuff. An hour into the debate, you’d have sworn that Obama alone was responsible for saving the US economy, the auto industry, the entire middle class, Medicare, Harrison Ford’s wife in Frantic, and the last dance for me.
And did you know Osama bin Laden had passed away? Obama mentioned that once or twice (twice). He even managed to shoehorn it into his answer to a question from a man who was lamenting that things sure are expensive these days. Clearly, at this point there’s really no line of conversation into which Obama can’t squeeze that factoid.
Michelle: Barack, honey, could you help with the girls’ homework?
Barack: Killed bin Laden. [Continues watching Wheel of Fortune.]
There were odd moments during the debate. Mitt Romney fought for like twenty minutes with the moderator to get a chance to say something—something he URGENTLY needed to say—and when she finally gave in he declared, “I appreciate wind jobs in Iowa.” Um, okay.
Later, Romney revealed that his solution to Americans killing numerous other Americans with semi-automatic weapons is not to ban or limit semi-automatic weapons but to make sure more people get married. Because apparently nothing stops you from gunning down strangers quite like having to be home for supper by 5:30.
But it was Romney’s answer on pay equity that was especially memorable. It began with Mitt bragging about how as Massachusetts governor he ordered up “binders full of women” when selecting his cabinet (I too amassed binders full of women as a younger man, but for a very different reason). He then boasted about how he let his employees with lady parts work flexible hours so they could hustle out to the suburbs to cook dinner. The whole thing gave off a vibe of “I am totally sealing the deal to win the 1956 presidential election.”
Yet questions remain unanswered. Where is Mitt Romney’s binder of women today? And would he consider publishing it so that all American men can find within its pages a woman who will work for 73 cents on the dollar and scurry home to whip up a meat loaf? I’m asking for a friend (Don Draper).
—October 18, 2012
It’s hard to believe the US election campaign is almost over—it feels like it began only two or three eons ago. In the time since Mitt Romney launched his 2012 candidacy, the seasons have changed, toddlers have reached puberty, gases and dark matter have come together to form the seeds of untold future galaxies and Lady Gaga has had, like, three different hairstyles. Most people now can’t wait for November 6, which will mark the final day of this campaign and the only day Wolf Blitzer won’t talk about the next one.
By this point in the process, Mitt and Barack are like in-laws who’ve come to town, done the tourist thing, doted on the grandkids and now you desire nothing more than for them to get the hell out of your house. We just want our bathroom back, guys.
But before that glorious day could come, we needed to get through the third and final presidential debate.
This one was about foreign policy, a topic so grave that the candidates apparently could not address it while standing. Alas, the table-and-chairs format robbed the debate of some of its intensity, most of its macho posturing and all of its aggressive striding. This was a real loss because the striding was far and away the highlight of the town-hall debate, which pretty much became a contest of which candidate could approach the questioner using the fewest steps.
Still, Monday’s event afforded Americans one last chance to ponder the big questions: Who is better qualified to lead the US in a changing world? And what else does Mitt Romney have binders full of? Is it menus from his favourite takeout food places? It probably is.
There were a couple of curious moments for Romney. First, the Republican nominee put a precise figure to the number of allies that America has in the world: forty-two. It was a savvy move. If this whole “president” thing doesn’t pan out, it gives Romney a great fallback gig: reality-show contestant. “Allies of America, you’re all beautiful but there are forty-two of you and I’ve got only these nine roses … ”
Second, Romney—perhaps scolded by advisers to focus less on billions and millions—opted to use hand gestures to convey the disparity of American trade with China. “They sell us about this much stuff [makes “tall guy” gesture] every year. And we sell them about this much stuff [makes “Tom Cruise-height” gesture] every year.” I, for one, hope this catches on as a debating tactic. That way, candidates in 2016 can differentiate themselves by declaring: “I love Israel thiiiiiis much.”
Toward the end of the final debate, both men were coasting on rhetorical fumes. Obama mentioned Osama bin Laden by name six times. Romney’s interventions began to be dominated by odd declaratives: “Research is great … I like American cars … I love teachers.” He also started but never finished a number of anecdotes: “I’ve met [the unemployed] in Appleton, Wisconsin. I met a young woman in Philadelphia.” He pointed out that his wife, Ann, had also met various people in various places. And then came this actual exchange:
Romney: You’re wrong, Mr. President.
Obama: I am not wrong.
Romney: You’re wrong.
Obama: I am not wrong.
Romney: People can look it up.
Obama: People will look it up.
Romney: Good.
It was like the Lincoln–Douglas debates but with more double-stamped-it, no erasies.
Perhaps the weirdest twist was that Romney spent a good part of the debate not debating: “I couldn’t agree more … I felt the same as the president did … That was the right thing to do.” With election day finally approaching, it was an odd time for Mitt to basically change his slogan to Just Like the Current Guy, But Mormonier.
—October 25, 2012
Election night, USA, 2012: Democracy? Check. Hyperbole? CHECK! But where, oh where, were the dazzling technological innovations in broadcast coverage?
Four years ago, the guy from the Black Eyed Peas appeared via hologram for an interview on CNN. Surely this election season would produce nothing less than a trio of Anderson Cooper clones being attended to by a robot butler? Surely by now the technology would exist to beam up an actual live person from a spaceship or, at minimum, make James Carville not look like he just wandered in from the set of The Walking Dead?
Or maybe CNN spent all its money this time around on a robust supply of exclamation marks for Wolf Blitzer: “We are about to make a really major projection! … These are ACTUAL numbers coming in! … WOW, THE NUMBERS JUST CHANGED AS WE! WERE! LOOKING! AT! THEM!!!!” Believe me, if Election Night 2012 proved nothing else, it proved that Wolf Blitzer is amazed by numbers suddenly becoming other numbers. “Wow,” he said, more than once. “WOW!”
Remember when anchors used to sit down to report stuff? Cronkite sat down. Jennings sat down. Brokaw? I bet that guy peed sitting down. Wolf Blitzer does not sit down. Wolf Blitzer is always moving. For Blitzer, anchoring an election broadcast is about celebrating the sanctity of the democratic process, sure, but it’s also about getting in some cardio.
By 7:30, the polls were closed in Florida, Ohio and Herman Cain’s basement, where by a slim margin the former Republican contender lost his hard-fought campaign to switch the channel over to “something with maybe a little boob action.” Michigan went early for Obama despite Mitt Romney having repeatedly travelled to the state to flatter its plant life. (“The trees here are just the right height,” he said several times, apparently unaware that the role of trees in the electoral process is limited to that of ballot, not voter.) Then Pennsylvania was called for Obama—and that one hurt Romney. As bad omens go, it ranked up there with glimpsing a movie’s opening credits and seeing the words “Van” and “Damme.”
By the time meaningful vote tallies started pouring in, CNN was entering what felt like its fifty-third consecutive hour of live
political coverage. David Gergen was passed out. James Carville was shirtless and skinning a possum. Wolf Blitzer was describing as “historic” the fact that he hadn’t taken a leak for a day and a half. The planet’s longest, most gruelling reality show was at long last near an end. The courting was over. It was time for America to reveal which fella she’d chosen.
You knew things had turned sharply for Obama when broadcasters began speaking of Romney’s chances in certain states the way over-supportive parents speak of their children: He’s trying really hard and he could still totally pull it out in Nevada! HE COULD TOO!! It wasn’t quite over for Romney—but when the news hit that Florida was looking good for Obama, you could pretty much hear Bill O’Reilly explode from four channels over.
The victory and concession speeches took their usual form: “My spouse is so supportive … my kids mean everything to me … my opponent is a great American even though mere hours ago I’d have alleged that he’d fondled a ferret if I thought there was even a single vote in it.”
And then the token biennial nod to working together, uttered by victors on both sides—the predictable late-night sext to bipartisanship: We are really going to try to make it work this time, honey. We completely mean it and are totally serious, girl. This time it’s going to be different. This time we’re going to give you the love and respect you deserve, bipartisanship. Love and respect and lots of cuddling. PS: We’re going out drinking with the guys now. Don’t wait up.
It didn’t sound sincere. It was as though both sides had come to peace with the polarized state of the land. It was as though they’d accepted that maybe it’s best that red and blue America never come together, because that would make purple America and that would just look weird.
—November 8, 2012
In the aftermath of the 2012 election, commentators were quick to tell us that the jockeying had already begun for next time. But forecasting the 2016 campaign is for wusses. Now that the US presidential race has become a non-stop, all-encompassing industry unto itself, big-league pundits and political operatives need to focus waaay further into the future.
Let’s examine the leading contenders for the 2056 race for the White House:
Hannah Andrews, five (Fort Lauderdale, FL): Active in politics since her first birthday, when she received from her grandma the gift of an exploratory committee, Hannah is a rising star in the Democratic Party. She was conceived by her politically savvy parents on the state line between Michigan and Ohio, giving her roots in two crucial swing states. One wild card remains: how the voting public will react to her unorthodox choice for running mate—a stuffed pink unicorn. Could play well in the Northwest and Clay Aiken’s house.
Isaac Brooks, eight (Bloomington, IN): A Republican upstart from the Midwest, Isaac is showing experience beyond his years with aggressive and effective political tactics—foremost among them: a series of robocalls to Fort Lauderdale residents alleging that rival Hannah Andrews’s work on a papier mâché alligator makes her “too French” for Middle America.
Donald “Donny” Harris, fifteen (Scranton, PA): Considered the early Democratic front-runner for ’56 after his masterful leadership role in Philadelphia’s cafeteria uprising of 2007, Donny’s chances have faded amid revelations that he was for Salisbury steak before he was against it. More troubling, Republicans have successfully swiftboated claims that he made it to the end of Gears of War. But Donny insists he still has the support of “real” Americans like his friends Amir the Television Watcher and Doug the Guy Whose Father Can Do Some Plumbing If Need Be.
Bristol Palin, twenty-four (Juneau, AK): First she was pregnant with child—now she’s pregnant with political possibility! Many Republicans see Bristol as the only candidate with the bona fides to unite the party’s fractious pro-life and pro-mullet wings and carry on the Palin family dynasty, following President Sarah Palin’s first term in office (2016–20), her second term in office (2020–24) and her armed refusal to leave office (2024–31).
Deep Blue 7.0, in beta (IBM HQ, Armonk, NY): The original chess-playing computer is being reprogrammed as America’s perfect Democratic candidate: compassionate without being wimpy, charismatic without being effete, and technically incapable of undergoing a $400 haircut. Deep Blue comes installed with a proprietary Pain Feeling simulator and a database of achingly sentimental references to its three photogenic children (“Deep Blue 7.1,” “Deep Blue 7.2” and “Greg”). Its handlers are still working out the kinks in its Inspirational Political Slogan generator, which is currently stuck on “Bishop to Queen Three. Check.”
Zombie Hillary Clinton, undead (Chappaqua, NY): Hillary Clinton will be poised to surprise the pundits yet again—by trading in the pleasures of mortal life for the persuasive ability that comes with picking, and subsequently devouring, the best political minds in the country. After roaming the countryside for decades, terrorizing hapless villagers and amassing a huge army of the walking dead, Clinton will be well-positioned to capture the Democratic nomination and coax her reanimated followers—raised from the grave without the power of speech or free will—to cast a ballot for America’s first zombie president since Gerald Ford. Keen observers predict subtle changes to Clinton’s strategy, foremost among them a migration from a campaign based on “the strength of experience” to a campaign based on “brraaaaaaaainzzzzzz.”
Samuel Eppich, zero (Nashville, TN): The first one hundred days of a presidency are considered crucial—and so too, for a potential presidential candidate, are the first one hundred days of life. Sam has impressed pundits on both sides of the partisan divide with his formidable list of accomplishments, including the movement of fecal matter, which garnered great praise among focus groups comprised of his mom. At times crabby and irritable, at other times confused and prone to sudden napping, Sam has demonstrated a keen ability to mimic the campaign demeanour of John McCain. But can he mount a counterattack to those who accurately contend that he neither supported nor opposed the war in Iraq?
Tough Question: In the glorous future, when time travel opens history to us all, will Jesus Christ actually be a good dinner guest?
It’s been asked of us all: Which three people, living or dead, would you invite to a dinner party? “I’d invite Jesus,” most people automatically say, as though the resurrected scion of an omnipotent deity didn’t have any better options on a Friday night than cheese fondue and Scattergories.
Don’t get me wrong: Jesus has a lot going for him as a potential guest. He’d be wise, inspiring and eloquent. Plus, imagine the look on your neighbours’ faces when the son of God squeals into your driveway in a chariot pulled by winged horses. Suddenly your new BMW doesn’t seem so impressive, does it, Brian?
(My neighbour’s name is Brian.)
Jesus’s presence would also help keep costs down. Oh no, we’re out of wine and bread and—whoa, no we’re not! And look: now we’ve got thousands of fish for dessert. Thanks, Jesus! I mean, don’t worry about the mess or the smell or anything. But wow, cool, fish. Fish everywhere.
[Doorbell rings.]
I wonder who that could—oh, lepers. Jesus, it’s for you.
Let’s be honest—Jesus is great and tall and everything but this is supposed to be my dinner and there he is, hogging the limelight with his stories of dying for our sins and pioneering the sandals-without-socks look. I wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise with my other guests, Ace Frehley and Batman.
The key to a successful imaginary dinner party is not to overreach. You want a trio of guests who are much less interesting than yourself so you can be the centre of attention. That’s why Jesus’s dad created for us three Kardashian sisters.
The Future and Why We Should Avoid It
Reason No. 9: Science and Space
For almost a half century now, humanity has been on a noble quest to probe the deepest reaches of space, make contact with alien life forms … and confuse the living shit out of them.
The heyday of Earth’s efforts to bafflingly announce its presence was in the 1970s. Early that decade, the spacecrafts Pioneer 10 and 11 were fitted with gold plaques that featured anatomically accurate renderings of a male and female human. The man, smiling and pantless, was waving in a friendly manner. So, yeah, we pretty much asked for all that anal probing.
The pursuit of contact continued in 1974, when the Arecibo radio telescope was used to broadcast a signal that displayed a human stick figure crudely made from huge, chunky pixels. The message was clear: cower, alien creatures, and stand in awe of a civilization that stands on the very cusp of inventing Pong.
Four years later, Voyager 1 and 2 were dispatched into space. Inside each probe: a golden record album. That’s right, one full-length golden LP—the theory being that any alien race worth contacting would be able to supply its own turntable and bong. Earlier this year, these probes finally became the fourth and fifth human artifacts to exit the solar system, after Pioneer 10, Pioneer 11 and John Travolta, who had for years been desperately fleeing gay thoughts.
It was shortly after the Voyager launches that the people of Earth realized they might be coming on a little strong. Humanity was acting like a desperate guy at last call—sending out signals in every direction. Wisely, we took a planetary chill pill.
But suddenly things are worse than ever. In the age of the internet, the ability to embarrass our civilization in alien eyes has been democratized. All it takes to beam a message into space these days is a computer, a credit card and the belief that because no one on Earth cares what you think, then the Moon men might.
Consider Bebo.com, a social-networking site popular among teenagers, which recently arranged to have more than five hundred images and text messages transmitted into deep space. The signal was aimed at a planet known as Gliese 581c, which was selected because scientists believe it is capable of supporting life, though probably not the kind that cares about your favourite band, dude.
The Future and Why We Should Avoid It Page 22
