They're annoying me again
I SUSPECT I've watched too much political coverage when, from the next room, I not only recognize the voices of occasional pundits, but also think of them as my friends. Their dulcet tones register, and a part of my brain signals, "Gene Robinson,
The price of that partnership - mine with television - is delight tempered by chronic annoyance due to redundancy on everyone else's part and overexposure on mine.
Thus, my first booby prize addresses the category of verbal tics and exhausted slogans, specifically John McCain's. Perhaps he can't help himself; perhaps "my friends" is his personal "um," and "uh," his favorite hesitation phenomenon, as the folks at filledpause.org would say.
But then I watch him straining at the teleprompter, dutifully reading every prepared word, and I sadly realize that his speechwriters have jumped on the "my friends" bandwagon.
On the other side of the aisle, chained to my set, I have to endure Hillary Clinton's bludgeoning me with her "35 years of experience." Who suggested the number 35? That would be 1973, her graduation from Yale Law School, followed by her first job, her second job, and so on.
I think she means, "I have 35 years accounted for on my resume, not all of which give me bragging rights. It's math, not necessarily service to my country." Not unrelated: "Ready on Day One." Is this not by now a punch line? After all, we have our own personal histories with Day One, those Jan. 20 snow days of our youth, watching the parades, the swearings-in, the fashion, the black tie inaugural balls.
And from all sides we get the dog-tired "hope" and "change" and "Washington insider." Are we deaf? Does anyone own a thesaurus? And what bigger semantic annoyance than that Republican idiom, "Democrat" used as an adjective, as in "Democrat Congress," "Democrat Party," coined in a cloakroom by Tom DeLay, I suspect?
When Chris Matthews drops the last syllable of "Democratic," I fire off an e-mail.
Also getting under my skin is the population explosion of strategists and consultants. They're everywhere, on every channel, all ages, genders, and regional accents. Could the host amplify: Credentials? Campaigns? Wins? Losses? Currently employed by? So-called? Self-style? Could I be one? I am suspicious.
And must we hear about candidates' religion and/or religious fervor? I don't care if Hillary is Methodist, Mitt Romney is Mormon or Joe Biden is Catholic; I especially don't need to know that Barack Obama prays to Jesus every night. I wouldn't have minded Mike Huckabee's other job as a Baptist minister if he had taken a leave of absence to run for office.
I remember hearing Joe Lieberman address a union meeting in New Haven, only minutes after Al Gore asked him to be his running mate. The Connecticut senator seemed deeply touched by that invitation; his answers to the audience's questions were unwritten and from the heart. There was no mention of religion, no God-spin.
Several weeks later, speaking at the ticket's official kickoff in Tennessee, he sprinkled quotes from Old Testament prophets as though they were jimmies. I could hear the strategic subtext and the reach: See how we're all religious brothers and sisters under the skin, even if I'm an Orthodox Jew and you out there in the red states worry that I'm not your cup of faith-brewed tea.
Wouldn't it represent true change if candidates followed the brave example of former senator Bill Bradley who, when running in 2000, kept his faith to himself? Alexander Hamilton, when asked why "God" didn't appear in the Constitution answered, "The subject never came up."
Also getting on my nerves: Those handpicked crowds on the podium, standing behind the candidates, walking ads for photogenic diversity, gender balance, and robotic responses to cues. A blind person could tell you who's in those crowds.
And those signs they hold! Homogeny gone mad.
Sure, campaign-furnished signs could be a last resort, a courtesy to the noncreative rallygoers who come empty-handed. But everyone in television land knows that one of the best parts of a sporting event is the zooming in on homemade signs - the bigger, the cheesier, the cleverer, the better. So where's the fun in that sea of blue and white Stepford signs advertising change, hope, AFSCME, SEIU, and earnestness?
Remember the white towels swirling in utterly annoying fashion above the heads of Cleveland Indians fans? My point exactly: Without the individuality of bad artwork, there's no opportunity to feel a grudging admiration for our rivals' way with words or Sharpies.
As long as I'm conflating my national pastimes, how about a seventh-inning stretch? Time, perhaps, to go read a book.
Elinor Lipman, a guest columnist, has written eight novels. Her most recent is "My Latest Grievance." 