Maybe it's the early voting options. Time was, a body had one day to cast their vote. Now we get a three week window of opportunity. Kind of deflates the excitement of Election Day. "Eh, whenever." I can avoid the November 4 rush and vote starting next week. Hey. This is Chicago. Vote early, vote often. We've got half the equation legalized. I can't wait until we get to vote often, too.

Maybe it's the endless ridiculous television ads. I think it was Lifetime that pushed me over the edge. During my weekend of enlightenment watching Lifetime I gained some great insight. In these times of uncertainty and anxiety it's so comforting to know the two lead candidates can come together on one crucial issue: Army Wives. McCain's wife apparently pussywhips him into watching it while Obama apparently likes the portrayal of "real" American families. If we're to believe their campaign ads, that is. Somehow I doubt either one actually watches the show. (if they do that's reason enough to vote independent.) I'm concerned that McCain is forced to watch Lifetime (seriously, the man survived a Vietnamese POW torture camp, hasn't he suffered enough?) and I'm concerned that Obama believes the families on Army Wives are a legit "real" representation of military life. How gullible and stupid do these guys think we are? I realize the ads are meant to appeal to women voters and help boost Lifetime's ratings, but c'mon. Pandering to the lowest common denominator and offending female intelligence in the process is sooooo last century.

Maybe it's that the comedic satire has turned predictable and obvious. I love Tina Fey. Really. I do. Love her. Love her. Love her. And she does a great Palin. But. The "Ohmygosh HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!" responses have turned to "heh. That's funny. Any more of that spinach dip in the fridge?" Seriously, did anyone not expect a mock debate on SNL last week? The brilliance of it was the Queen Latifah cameo. (Well, okay, the Biden Scranton bit was unexpected and very funny. Poor old Scranton.) But. Great as Ms. Owens was as Gwen Ifil, let's be honest: It was jumping the shark. SNL brought in not one but two special guest stars. Fey and crowd pleaser Queen Latifah. What's next? The kid who played cousin Oliver on the Brady Bunch making a guest appearance as the most recent McCain adoptee? (Attention SNL writers: I'm willing to negotiate a fair price for that idea.) When even the comedic satire becomes predictable, when all the good jokes have already been written, when the mocking of funny accents and ticks are the expected norm, it's time for the election to end.

Or maybe it's the apparently limitless fervor people have for their candidates. Holy one hyperbole laced rally away from drinking the Kool-Aide, Batman. I'm concerned about some people I know who are so enraptured that their eyes glaze over and they fall into drooling lust when they talk about their candidate of choice. It's a bit, well, it's a bit much. A bit scary. Maybe I've got it wrong. Maybe we actually are electing a new Messiah. I missed that press release. I thought we were just voting for a president who will at most serve eight years.

Case in point: A young woman in my office got a new tattoo. On her boob. There, forever, on her boob as it seduces men, feeds her babies, gets mammograms, ages, sags and wrinkles, entwined in a heart, cross and a flag is the likeness of a famous Illinois senator running for president. No, not Paul Simon. (See, now that would be funny.) Talk about patriotic. I mean, I admire her devotion but um, huh. I dunno. I suppose it's no different than the ubiquitous GNR and Chili Pepper tattoos. But then, I have the same concerns about band name tattoos. Sure, I ♥ the Pixies enough to make a permanent lifetime declaration on my body. Sure. I'm certain of my love for their music. It's safe to assume I ♥ them as much as my co-worker ♥ Obama. But. Um. Call me crazy, call me old fashioned, call me fickle...I have no need or desire to advertise this on my body. Forever.

Guys, weigh in on this. You're dating a new girl. Things are going well and after a few dates things start heating up. You're making out. She leads you seductively, coyly, to the bedroom. She licks her lips and asks you if you want to see her tattoo. You think, "yeah baby!" but stammer out "yes please." She lowers her head, looks up at you, softly brushes her hand across her chest and bites her lip in mock innocence. You're all over the invitation. Off with the top, off with the bra and there, staring back at you perched just above her nipple is Barack Obama. Is this sexy? Is this a turn on? Is this some secret the other girls didn't tell me? Am I just one Obama boob tattoo away from a great sex life? I've always admired George Washington. Would a boob tattoo of him be sexy? What about Jefferson? I like Monticello a lot. How about Jefferson on one boob and Monticello on the other? Would that bring the men back to the bedroom again and again? How about an appropriately placed Clinton tattoo? Would that be a sexy surprise during intimate encounters? Would it be sexy to watch "him" smoke a cigar?

I'm going to use one of my overused slang passes and say: WTF???

And, interestingly (at least to me) the woman in my office with the new tattoo? Yeah. She can't decide what church she wants to attend, what bus or train to take to work, which workout DVD tones her butt best, what coffee flavor she likes, or what color shoes to buy. But boy oh boy, there forever emblazoned on her boob is decision which will last a lifetime. I dunno. It seems a bit, um, much. A bit too much.

There's just so much passion and zeal, so much chanting and getting caught up in rhetoric. So much anger, so much finger pointing. This election has people whipped up into a fervor. Passion is great. Devotion is good. Emotional decisions: Not so good.

Whatever. We're a month away from election day and I'm over it. The mudslinging has begun and all that's left are the defensive taunts and the pouty lipped whining.

In between big, bright, super white "let me assure you" smiles, that is.

I feel alone and tired and fed up with it all. And that can only mean one thing.


To the tune of Fever. And in an Ann Margret voice. You know. To set the mood.

Never know how much I love you
Never know how much I care
When you say your hyperbole
I give you fervor that’s beyond compare

You give me fervor
When you promise me
Fervor when you make it plain
Fervor
At the debate
Fervor all through the campaign

Media lights up the debate
Ink lights my new tattoo
I light up when you recriminate
And you know I’m gonna vote for you

You give me fervor
When you promise me
Fervor when you make it plain
Fervor
At the debate
Fervor all through the campaign

Everybody's got the fervor
That is somethin' you all know
Fervor isn't such a new thing
Fervor started long ago

The People loved Kennedy
Kennedy, he felt the same
When he said Ich bin ein Berliner
He soared in popularity and fame

Now give me fervor
When we’re votin’
Fervor sparks the game anew
Fervor
I’ve got fervor
Fervor, yeah I’ll vote for you

George Bush and Al Gore
Had a campaign without cred
When the chads were hanging
He said, “I’ll win the Oscar instead”

He gave good fervor
With his disses
Fervor with a Power Point
Fervor
He’s delicious
Nobel won’t you laud and anoint

Now you listened to my story
Here's the point that I have made
Candidates were born to give you fervor
Be it with humor or a mad tirade

They give you fervor
When you vote for them
Fervor if you went to a rally
Fervor
‘Til you're brainwashed
But what a lovely way to vote

But what a lovely way to vote
But what a lovely way to vote
But what a lovely way to vote

Labels: Delta Dawn Coldspurs, Election '08