Thursday, October 16, 2008

I used to think Blink-182 was the name of a band prone to ridiculously titled albums, but after catching some footage from last night’s debate, it may very well be an accurate total of sorts. Picture it: you’re sitting at an economic roundtable overseas, Sarkozy on one side, Dmitry on the other, and damn it if it isn’t a challenge to deliver your points while in the throes of mild epilepsy. And who knows? Maybe excessive blinking is an affront to Russian sensibilities–is insultink to mother country, you might say.

If Pepperidge Farm kicks it during term, it may be only a matter of months before minivans are heavily subsidized, with a special model adorned with flags and flames available at Walmart for even deeper discount. Really, I’d feel a lot safer if Tina Fey were somehow on the ticket instead. Clearly I’ve made my decision for this election, but even now I feel that old-time apathy creeping up, eclipsing whatever blip of excitement I felt a few months ago.

Media and marketing overload is the primary source of burnout. When I checked the “Independent” box on the card, I didn’t know it was an invitation to flood my mailbox with poorly designed postcards from all parties, and even here the GOP effort manages to be slightly tasteless. It’s like someone suddenly realized that Photoshop wasn’t an actual store so much as an imaginary place hidden in the world of computers, but by then it was too late and the collateral had already left headquarters. Meanwhile, the ads from the Dems both online and off are exhorting me to vote early, as if the wheels on the car may fall off at any moment. I know I’m out of gas myself, and I’m just campaigning to give enough of a shit to make it to the polls.