Aside from a blistering headache, the only thing I took away from the first presidential debate was a heaping mound of frustration.
True to my OCD, I began the night with a sharpened pencil, marble notebook, and the hope one candidate would prevail as the kind of leader the American people so desperately need to pull our drowning economy out of the fiscal toilet.
By ten after 9, the notebook resembled an obscene ransom note; three pages of shore-leave language and an unsettling image of Muppets awaiting the guillotine – I was not off to a good start.
Two scoops of Chubby Hubby later I tossed the notebook, and any hopes of direct answers into the trash and focused on the questions. Surely, Jim Lehrer, one of the most regarded moderators of all-time could yank this sideshow back on track.
I am a Lehrer fan, a PBS fan, an NPR fan – heck, anything public except restrooms, but I found his lack of control over the prattling monologues extremely aggravating. Moderators must have the skill and tact to control off-topic, extraneous rants; a time limit is a time limit. Man-up, Jim! Put on your big-boy pants and cut the mike at the two-minute mark. On the other hand, if he did resort to muting all we had left were highly inappropriate anniversary shout-outs and a steaming pile of name-droppings.
As for the candidates overall performances, Governor Romney’s preparedness gave him my nod for top spot, no argument. Will I vote for him? No. Until I see where his plan cinches the loopholes, I am not convinced the necks of the middle class are safe. Campaign promises are speculation; I do not vote on spec. Show me.
Despite leaning toward liberal, I am not pitching tent in the Obama camp either. While I applaud the President’s support of same-sex marriage and environmental issues, his GPS recalculated from the intersection of Hope & Change to Hollywood & Vine a bit too quickly for my taste – more bipartisanship, less Beyoncé.
Lehrer’s announcement of closing remarks made him my pick for 2012’s sexiest man alive, never have I wanted to kiss someone more. The moment evoked a similar euphoria to the last mile of spinning class, the end was near – all I had to do was bear down, push through, and a hot shower would scrub away the stink.
Voter limbo is not where I pictured myself thirty days before the election, but until a clear choice emerges, I’ll hang out here and talk to the invisible guy in the chair next to me – he’s a good listener.