Where Was My Pandering?

This past election season is just that: past. So I hate to dredge it up again, especially since I was so looking forward to it finally being over, but something really stood out from the past year’s election cycle other than the billions of dollars spent campaigning. To me it was the way percentages were used to describe so much of the population. Not the percentage in favor of Obama or Romney, or the percentage of women likely to vote one way compared to the percentage of Hispanics likely to vote the other way. We get those statistics every voting year. I’m talking about the way that percentages were used in place of words to describe who we are and how we live our lives.

The 1%, the 99%, the 47%, etc…

Even though mathematically speaking I have to be in there somewhere, I don’t feel like anybody was talking about me when they threw these figures around. I don’t feel like pundits are really speaking about me when they talk about white males, even though that’s what I am. I don’t feel addressed when they narrow it down to my specific age rage or income level or family size or really any demographic yet to be discussed during a typical election year.

That’s probably because I’m of a generation where we all feel like our specific wants and needs should be catered to personally. Or because I and the rest of my peers know that it’s lazy to think that people of the same race, age, family size and income level are going to necessarily think the same. (Lazy like the way I say my entire generation thinks that its needs should be catered to personally.  See what I did there? J)

Selfish or unselfish as my reasons may be, I don’t care. I only care about how it would feel to be personally pandered to in the press. I also wonder what kind of percentages would have to be used before I felt the pandering. Weirdly specific ones, no doubt.

“With the presidential race appearing so close in the polls, both candidates know that in the coming months they’ll need to gain a foothold among…

“The 13% who routinely injure themselves sleeping.”
“The 37% who have physically accosted someone for using the middle stall in a public restroom. (You expect me to use one right next to you, jackass?!)”
“The 89% that can’t believe there are people still not on Facebook.”
“The 20% of that 89% who hate everyone on Facebook.”
“The 4% that doesn’t think college athletes should be forced to play games that start at 9 p.m. or later because that’s too late for them to stay up.”
“The 45% that have texted at least three photos of their genitals.”
“The 10% of men who can’t grow a mustache quite as well as the rest of their beard.”
“The 16% who, during a story, ask questions that aren’t pertinent to the story.”
“The 27% who, despite their best efforts, are terrible at hiding the fact that they can’t remember your name.”
“The 12% who apply sunscreen just to check the mail.”
“The 42% who believe Apple wants to see the end of all human-to-human contact and convince us to use our electronic devices to fill the emotional, and probably even sexual, gaps in our lives.”
“The 2% who don’t play fantasy sports but still listen to fantasy sports-related podcasts.”
“The 6% who are confused by the notion that using our phones to type somehow makes our lives simpler and more convenient.”
“The 72% who’ve used the baggy shirt of a stranger in the grocery store to wipe off a particularly stubborn booger from their finger.”

Actually, I think I do know what it would feel like if some of these percentages became the target audience of our candidates. It would feel awesome because then I would know I was being talked to directly.

Hail to the Unlucky Bastard

Well, this is it. Today is the day. After a year of campaigning, constantly traveling, endless debating on one side of the aisle to ultimately pare down the nominee, both parties spending millions of dollars, answering millions of interviewers’ questions, shaking millions of hands, hosting conventions, more debating, and finding new ways to look foolish on the internet (which isn’t easy to do at this point), by the end of today one man will earn what has got to be the absolute worst job on the planet – President of the United States.

I really can’t fathom why anyone would want the job at this point, and it’s obvious by looking at those who do campaign for it that most normal people don’t want it. In the last few years, we’ve been treated to presidential hopefuls who father children with a mistress while their wife is dying from cancer, address campaign supporters by opening a speech with “Awww, shuckey duckey!” and express their desire to colonize the moon. These people genuinely believe that we want them to represent us. At least until they have no choice but to accept that we don’t.

And no wonder the average citizen isn’t interested in the job. What’s the upside? The constant criticism? The twisting of your words on every media station that has ever devoted two minutes to talking about politics? The threats? Good Lord, how many jobs do you know that involve the holder of that job having to accept the fact that he or she will receive regular death threats? So far it has nearly a 10% assassination rate. Ten percent! ‘Death row inmate’ doesn’t have a 10% kill rate.

And have you ever noticed the horrible aging? If you are president, you can count on aging faster than the guy who picked the wrong cup at the end of Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade. It’s probably because they know their job comes with a 10% assassination rate.

Not to mention the number of things you’re considered responsible for is fairly overwhelming: jobs, the economy, taxes, the price of gas, the price of homes, the price of milk, the price of Yankees tickets, the nation’s security, immigration, the war on drugs, the war on women, the war on Christmas, actual war, health care, birth control, gun control, no gun control, the deficit, the debt, imports, exports, the Cubs sucking every year, the quality of our education, China owning us in six months, other countries getting nuclear weapons, the fact that parts of Canada still speak French, the environment, federal disaster relief, children getting fat, gays getting married, cows getting mad, birds and pigs getting the flu, your vice president going on TV, affirmative action, equal pay for men and women, what you have stuck in your teeth, what you might have said near a live microphone, how many times your administration says “God,” and if your flag pin is big enough.

 If I took every job I ever had going back to high school, including internships (which totals 13 places where I’ve reported for work), and added together all the things I was responsible for, I could list three things I was responsible for. The point is the president oversees a lot. That person gets a lot of credit, but also catches a lot of grief.

I guess the accommodations aren’t bad and the parties are probably pretty nice. Still. If the guy I voted for wins, I don’t know if I should feel happy for him or send my condolences.

A Scientist Dictates His Findings of a Squirrel That Is Possibly Carrying the Plague

From the CNN Wire Staff on CNN.com (Oct. 9, 2012) - Authorities in Riverside County, California, said Tuesday that a ground squirrel has tested positive for exposure to fleas infected with the bacteria that can cause plague.

A Scientist Dictates His Findings of a Squirrel That Is Possibly Carrying the Plague

Click. “Ok, the date is October 15, 2012. The time – 2:04 p.m. Eastern Standard. Today’s study will investigate the likelihood that a North American mammal of the order rodentia has been exposed to the bacteria Yersinia pestis. The subject is a ground squirrel infested with Ctenocephalides felis, also known as fleas, thought to be carrying said bacteria.

“My early hypothesis is that, unlike what was historically found in rats, this squirrel is not carrying the strain of Yersinia pestis that leads to the disease known as the plague. The first factor leading me to form this hypothesis is the rarity of that particular bacterium today. It has not been a widespread threat to any population for over 100 years. The second basis for my hypothesis comes from the fact that the squirrel is adorable. I realize this is not medically-sound evidence, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

“The squirrel has a furry coat, dapper ears and large, deep-set eyes. His paws are soft and capable of grasping not only large acorns, but also my thumb when I manipulate them to do so. I have named him ‘Wally’. Isn’t that right, Wally? Oh wes it is! Wes it is! Wub wub wub wub wub!

“Wally’s physical state is ‘deceased’, but his soul lives on in all of us. Today’s dissection will likely prove there is little to fear from Wally.

“The initial passover of Wally’s coat reveals legions around the stomach and groin, and red splotches covering his tail. A brief scan of the mouth turns up a number of newly-missing teeth and stained gums. The skin abrasions do indicate some sort of infection, but the dental damage is likely due to consuming items of trash or animal remains. I bet you got into all kinds of yummy little morsels didn’t you, fella? Who’s a good boy?

“Now for the internal review. The first incision indicates that Wally’s muscle fibers are strained and weak. His bones appear brittle. His blood smells particularly of barium and appears green in color. The blood findings are somewhat disconcerting, but the weakened skeleton is not uncommon in mammals of similar size and age.

“While certain to be unrelated, it should be noted that my eyes have started to itch and I am having trouble breathing. I remain unconcerned, though, as I am following the proper procedure of wearing protective goggles and a mask. I’m sure the irritation is due to my sinuses, which are always a nightmare this time of year. I bet you didn’t have to worry about silly little sinuses, did you Walrus? Nooooooo.

“Continuing with the autopsy, it appears that most of the subject’s organs have turned black. This is a tad worrisome, but can certainly be caused by other factors. Rodents are known to regularly suffer from kidney disease, they are susceptible to liver failure thanks to their poor diet, and their lungs are naturally grey. Typically light grey, whereas Wally’s are more of a midnight, but still.

“A quick glance at my forearms reveals a previously-unseen rash and numerous boils, but I’m sure that’s what I get for scrubbing my hands with that generic, so-called ‘anti-bacterial’ soap that Carol bought. She never gets the good stuff, does she Waldo? No matter how many times we tell her.

“A look at my hands will likely show similar findings, particularly since the burning is quite intense, but it’s safer to keep my gloves on until the examination is over.

“A gentle grazing with my scalpel unintentionally pierces the subject’s left lung. Like the bones, it is unusually weak. And like the other organs, both lungs are black in color. You must have picked up a nasty smoking habit, huh?”

The doctor chuckles at his joke and then violently coughs up a handful of phlegm.

“In addition, puss is escaping from the lung. I must admit that this is rather disturbing. Furthermore, the physical decay seems to be increasing at a rapid rate. The subject’s fur is falling out in clumps. However, I’m less inclined to think he is carrying the plague and more inclined to think the loss of hair is due to the fumes from my cologne. Again, bought by Carol. Always cheaping out, isn’t she Waldorf?

“Huh. Well, this is interesting. While doing nothing but recording my findings, poor Wally’s head popped off. Just detached from his body and rolled to the edge of the table.

“I’m going to pause here for a visit to the restroom.” Click.

Click. “I have revised my earlier inclination that the subject’s fur loss is due to my cologne. It seems that between now and when I emerged from the shower this morning, I too have lost a significant amount of body hair, including that which resided on my testicles. I don’t know what compelled me to mention this particular finding, other than to point out that it may prove beneficial to my social activities. I feel it is a welcome development, as opposed to one I should be concerned about.

“What is concerning is the amount of blood contained in my vomit and stool. And perhaps the fact that I produced vomit at all prompts a bit of an eyebrow raise. Better to be safe than sorry, so I’ll call my doctor when I wrap up here, but I’m sure it’s nothing.

“You think it’s nothing, don’t you Wally Wally Washington? Wes you do! Wes you do!”

Doing the Twist (and Squirm)

So my daughter is taking a dance class. A combination of tap and ballet. That’s not really pertinent, I just thought it would add a little more description and answer any questions you might have about the career path I’m putting her on. Shame on you.

Anyway, despite it being an innocent tap/ballet class for 3-5 year olds, involving no tawdry moves whatsoever, it’s still awkward. The waiting part, that is. The class is 45 minutes and, for me, finding something to do while she dances is awkward.

The lobby of the dance studio is small, particularly when it fills up with teen and pre-teen girls waiting for another class to start or waiting for rides after a class has ended. When these moments converge, which is every week, I become keenly aware that I’m the only member of the male population in sight. I don’t just stick out like a sore thumb, but more like a hand that is missing its thumb. Or an actual thumb, unattached to anything, lying on the ground. Possibly bloody. Yeah, come to think of it, the dismembered thumb is probably bloody because I really stick out.

Besides that, there aren’t many places to look. All the teenage girls are dressed as if they just finished an outdoor yoga class. As a father, all I can think is they need to have more clothes on (my daughter is covered head-to-toe with only her arms exposed, and I’m not totally cool with that either). I used to wonder if any of them were uncomfortable with me being there while they walked around in little more than beach attire, but based on the amount of giggling, it’s just me. The girls, as if you don’t know already, giggle in quantities that can’t be duplicated without large amounts of pot. “Look at the thumb in the corner,” they must be saying.

Fortunately there is a window in the lobby that looks into my daughter’s dance room, but it’s not very big and the other four parents gather around it to watch as well. During the few times I’ve gone to the class instead of my wife, I have squeezed alongside the other parents, all moms, for a few minutes at a time, but the little ones get distracted from seeing us. Not to mention I get claustrophobic. Not in the “I can’t catch my breath” sort of way, but more in the “Oh, there are other people here?” sort of way.

Since one of the walls of the dance room is a full window looking out into the parking lot, I can always stand outside in the parking lot and look in through the giant window wall. But the problem with that is, standing outside by myself staring into a room full of dancing four-year-old girls, I wouldn’t look so much like a thumb as I would a giant pervert. Particularly since there’s a window inside that I can look through without appearing pervy. The only person who would choose to stand outside and look in is someone who doesn’t have the option of going inside to watch. Someone who is on a list that the police might pass around your neighborhood, for instance.

I’m not sure what my options are at this point, but standing around the lobby full of giggling tweeners is out of the question. I might look through the window wall from the parking lot just for the joy of making other people uncomfortable, but that could lead to phone calls. Plus winter is coming.

(Sigh) Soccer season can’t get here fast enough.

Bending Bad. Or Just a Little to the Left

Given the immense popularity of the show for the last 4 – 5 years this certainly isn’t unexplored territory, but I can’t help but wonder if I have it in me to “break bad.” I came into the show late, so I haven’t seen the progression of the character of Walter White from beginning to end, but I’ve seen enough and heard enough to get a good feel for how far he’s come.

Knowing what I know about me, about my personality, about what I’m capable of, about my feelings toward my family and their well being, and imagining the desperation I would feel given the same circumstances, I can almost assuredly say no, I don’t have it in me.

For one thing, the reason I only recently started watching the show is because it’s on too late. I think that alone says everything I or you need to know when figuring if I’m capable of killing dozens of people (I’ve lost count of the actual number), including a well-respected drug kingpin who’s proven he’s capable of the same, all while running the most successful meth operation in the Southwestern United States.

Even for something I like and am not morally opposed to, like watching the show, I draw the line at staying up until 11 p.m. The only reason I’ve seen the last two seasons is because I now have a DVR. Come to think of it, the fact that I’ve only recently had a DVR is probably enough of an indicator that I couldn’t even stay ahead of the cops as long as Walter has.

I don’t appear to have the resources or the faculties to drain a train of its load of methylamine, even with four buddies helping me out. I’m also fairly confident that I couldn’t convince a room full of Nazis to simultaneously kill ten inmates scattered across three prisons, even if Nazis don’t need a lot of convincing to do that sort of thing. And I seriously doubt I could talk an old man into blowing himself up even if it means the explosion would kill his sworn enemy. I used to be in sales and based on my track record, I wasn’t very good at it.

I think the only thing we have in common is that I could pull off looking like Walter, at least when he has hair, but even still I couldn’t pull off the Heisenberg hat (and I’m not convinced he can either).

But I’m sure that’s a huge reason why I watch. I’m totally intrigued by everyone on the show because none of them are like me and their lives are nothing like mine. Searching for shows that have no similarities to my own daily routine is probably the same reason I don’t watch Ultimate Fighting competitions, “The Mentalist” or “Honey Boo Boo.”

Even with a full year before the next “Breaking Bad” season starts, I still don’t think I’ll fill the time watching those other options. Or cooking meth.

It’s going to be a long winter.

A NASA Engineer Tests Out New Pick-Up Lines After Curiosity’s Recent Mars Landing

“How would you like to have a potential carbon-based life form named after you?”

“Aren’t you… (comedic pause coupled with single eyebrow raise)… curious to see my moon rock?”

“I can stream the live images of red, swirling dust straight to the PC in my apartment. Pardon? No, they won’t give us Macs.”

“Without the sonic parachutes and reverse jet propulsion to slow your descent, it must have hurt when you fell from Heaven.”

“I don’t know about Mars, but I think I’m looking at the building blocks for life right here.”

“Hi, what’s your name? Well, Red Rover, Red Rover, send Tonya right over! Wait, wait. Don’t you get it? ‘Cause Mars is the red planet. And we have a rover on it. Whatever. Your loss.”

“Ride with me and I can send you on a galactic trip that lasts hundreds of millions of miles. Uh, well, Mars specifically. Yeah, it’s approximately 350 million miles away. Huh? Uh, about eight months, but I can have you make that trip in just one night (winks). No, I guess there’s not really a reason you’d want to visit the actual Mars, but you’re taking that too literally. Nevermind.”

“What do you say we have my valence electrons chemically bond with your valence electrons to create our own molecular life form back at my place?”

“Excuse me, I don’t usually do this, but I saw you sitting here and I was so captivated by your beauty that I wrote you a poem. Would you be so kind as to indulge me? Wonderful. ‘Man is not from Mars, but we are there now/The distances we have traveled surely do wow/Women, though mysterious, aren’t technically from Venus/But how would you like to end up on my…’ (gets drink thrown in face)

“Hi, what’s your name? Gale?! Are you serious?! That’s perfect! Say, Gale, how would you like my rover to explore Gale’s crater? Wait, wait! That’s one of the rover’s main goals – to send back images and samples from the Gale Crater! Damnit! Don’t any of you watch the news?!”

Enter Marsman

A lot of alien talk in the news lately. First it was who would be the better leader if Earth faced an alien invasion, and now we’re the ones doing the invading (again).

NASA, understandably, is fairly excited about successfully landing its rover Curiosity on Mars, but has anyone considered the potential consequences of introducing our technology into a potential lion’s den? We sent the rover to Mars to see if the planet has the basic building blocks for life or if its environment has ever been capable of supporting life. Nothing too threatening.

But what if this thing stumbles across more than just indications of past or current life-forming “blocks” and simple cell amoeba? What if Curiosity rolls right into the Mars’ version of Sturgis, with millions of 10-foot-tall, green, mean-spirited, highly intelligent badasses riding inter-galactic Harleys? What if these badasses, despite their high IQs, have lived a kabillion years without knowing a thing about us, but can’t help notice the robot on wheels taking a bunch of pictures of them? So, they pick up the latest creation sent by NASA, turn it upside down, see that the label says, “Made in China,” then Google the word “China,” learn all about where China is located – Earth – and ride their alien Harleys here to obliterate us and take all of our resources?

Am I the only one worried about this? Does no one else think we’re playing with fire here? You see how upset some celebrities get when the paparazzi take one too many photographs of them. What if angry, destructive aliens do exist on Mars and all they want is to be left alone, but now their privacy has been disturbed, so they’re even angrier and yet, since they are so destructive, they’re also giddy over the thought of kicking some Earth ass? Will we then be giddy about learning that life does in fact exist on Mars? Hmmmm?

Way to go, NASA. Way to go indeed.