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.