SWC (Single White Constituent) Seeking NPP (Non-Philandering Politician)

So what’s with all the big ol’ sluts in congress?  And sprinkled in governors’ mansions around the country and (not occasionally) occupying the White House?  Much as I’d like to blame this one on “our society” – or my other favorite gross generalization, “my generation” – the cliché combination of power and infidelity is old as dirt (lying, cheating dirt, if we’re speaking specifically).  Don’t believe me?  Here are a few factoids that would have made Social Studies class just a little more interesting:

• Thomas Jefferson (or possibly one of his relatives, but let’s go with the big man himself, in the spirit of supporting evidence) was confirmed in 1998 to have fathered the children of Sally Hemings, one of his slaves.  Yup, they DNA’d that shit.  Maybe we should be saving those supercool sciency resources for more… pertinent cases?  Like the 400 people currently on Death Row in Texas?  But I digress.

• In 1920, the GOP paid Carrie Phillips (Warren Harding’s mistress) over $20,000 ($215,736.66 today, adjusted for inflation) to agree to a lifetime gag order so they could get ol’ Warren elected president.  She took it – smart girl.

• Eleanor caught FDR red-handed during his 20-year affair with her secretary, Lucy Mercer, and actually offered to give him a divorce so the lovers could be together.  Sadly for Frankie, though, Lucy ain’t want no part o’ that baby mama drama.

• JFK – need I say more?  His infidelity was about as subtle as a gun.

What’s the difference, you ask, between these scumbags and the men who grace today’s tabloid covers, whose illegitimate children we stalk on Myspace and whose wives we superficially pity while secretly wondering how they could have been so blind?  Well, to quote Martin Sheen as AJ in The American President (one of my desert-island movies – if you haven’t seen it, I’m giving you full permission: navigate away from this blog and over to Netflix, put that shit on Watch Instantly, and do not come back until Michael Douglas has made you swoon): They didn’t have to be president on television.  (Abridged version, since the film came out in 1995: They didn’t have to be president on the interwebz.)

This is a perfectly fair distinction, but it provokes an important question: shouldn’t our politicians be adjusting their actions accordingly?  I don’t doubt that being in the public eye is a challenge – the pressure to always be “on,” the knowledge that every move will be scrutinized, and the constant cyber-speculation can’t be easy.  But to think that in a nation of 307 million people (give or take, because people die sometimes), we can’t collectively elect a group of about 500,000 people (a number that comprises every elected official in the country) who can keep it in their pants for a period of two-to-six years?  That’s embarrassing.  Let’s review:

• Bill Clinton (arguably my favorite president, despite his douchebaggery in this particular scenario) gave up a pretty solid public opinion track record, every last shred of personal credibility, and countless taxpayer-funded hours for a girl who – please pardon the crassness of this expression – didn’t even swallow.  And he’s not even the worst of them.

• Arnold Schwarzenegger (who would continue to be among my least favorite human beings even if he found a cure for AIDS and invented zero-calorie Haagen-Dazs chocolate chocolate chip ice cream) did the deed with his maid – such a porn cliché that I have to wonder whether we should suspect his pizza delivery man as well.  And have you seen her?  I’m sure she has redeeming qualities – most people do – but I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you can convince me that she’s in any way more awesome than Maria Shriver.

• Eliot Spitzer paid over 80 GRAND for sex at various points in his political career.  And Silda Spitzer is HOT.  I understand the appeal of gettin’ some strange, but really, Eliot? Did you have to go there?  Did you really think that the mysterious displacement of funds would go unnoticed?  Idiot.

• Saving the best for last – this guy’s name is WEINER!!! – Anthony Weiner Tweeted a picture of his junk to a lovely young coed and then backtracked like it was his job to cover it up.  Weiner strikes me as even more ridiculous than any of these other clowns  – at least for the rest of them, there was sex involved.  Men like the penis-touching, and sometimes that gets in the way of logical thought.  But a picture?  Really, dude?  You couldn’t have lived without doing that?

I’m stupid.

Maybe I’m missing something here – the God complex that often comes with great responsibility, or perhaps the allure of power-horny young ladies to whom these men are not bound in holy matrimony – I don’t know.  But it seems to me that if we can be picky enough to choose a very specific group of people with a very specific skill-set to do a so-so job at running the country, we should be a little bit more careful about including self-control as a qualifier.

I’m not sure exactly how to enforce this; maybe undercover temptations?  Yes, that sounds good.  We’ll just send in pretty young things during election years and see which candidates  succumb to their wiles (and oh, they will be wily).  Yes, that sounds like a fine idea indeed.  Next election year?  Hookers for everyone!

She’s Baaaaaack!

Hello, dear readers.  I guess I should acknowledge my prolonged absence.  I really don’t have that much to say about it except that I was fucking busy and thinking up analogies is hard work.  In my sincerest effort yet to get back into this blogging nonsense, I’ve decided to rework this space a little bit.  Mostly in the interest of making it easier for all of us.  Well, really just for me.  So I’ll still do a silly politics-cum-pop-culture post every once in awhile, but (for now at least) I’m going to try and keep the content limited to shorter, more frequent posts.  So, let’s catch up, shall we?

Things that have happened in the six months since I’ve contributed anything to cyberspace:

1.  I discovered self-help books.  After the heartrending end of a three-year romance – it happened last month, it was my decision, yes, I’m still hurting, I’ll write more on this sometime, or maybe I won’t – I decided to seek advice from those obviously more stable, mature, and generally figured-out than I.  I devoured both of Greg Behrendt’s tough love chefs-d’oeuvre: It’s Called a Breakup Because It’s Broken and He’s Just Not That Into You (preemptively, of course).  Add in a third reading day, and I covered Bethenny Frankel’s A Place of Yes.  Perhaps because of my recent love-yourself-self-helpy-I-am-woman-hear-me-roar kick, I am able to admit to you (all one of you – thanks, Mom) that I actually LOVE self-help books.  (*Stream of consciousness sidebar: Being single is lonely and sad and shitty, but it has freed me to admit – to myself and everyone else – that I am not, nor ever have been, a sports fan.  Revelations all around.)  I like to consider myself an optimist.  I think I can honestly lay claim to being a glass-half-full person, but damn! these self help people put me to shame.  They’re all There is a wonderful man out there who is not gay and loves to do laundry and cook for you! and You are a beautiful, sexy beast, and you will rule the world!.  It’s doing wonders for my confidence – both in myself and in the universe.  *Disclaimer – I still feel lame when people at the gym ask me what it is I’m reading so intently on my iPad and I have to tell them it’s something called This is Why You’re Fat (or any of the above titles, for that matter.)  No one ever asks me that when I’m reading Kerouac.  Harumph.

2.  In a delectably satisfying moment of something between poetic justice and irony, a man named Weiner resigned after Tweeting a picture of his wiener.  It’s too good.  It makes me giggle every time I think about it. Uncontrollably.  I’m not even sure there’s any valuable commentary I can add to this.  It’s that good.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about, crawl out from under that fucking rock and Google it.  

3. I got all Eat Pray Love-y and decided to embrace spontaneity.  I abandoned my control-freak ways (if control freaks were messy and forgetful to begin with) and took risks!  I lived with abandon!  This is a gross exaggeration, actually.  But I did go to my first professional soccer game with the 12 people in DC who watch pro soccer (*Stream of consciousness sidebar addendum: I still love going to games.  Where else can you have beer, pizza, and cotton candy for dinner?  Maybe I’ll try a state fair next.); I went to a bar with a mini-golf course in it (highly recommend this for anyone who panics at the idea of any recreational activity that doesn’t include drinking – here’s another place you should check out); I went to my first Dubstep show (after which, I must confess, I still don’t know exactly who or what Dubstep is); and I went two whole weeks without eating a single meal at McDonalds.  And then I got extra Eat Pray Love-y and bought a ticket to go to Europe next month.  No plan or premeditation, just because.  I can’t wait.

4. Michele Bachmann decided to run for president. I’m reluctant to even say anything on the subject because this idea scares the motherfucking piss out of me.  Maybe, like the Boogeyman, if I ignore it, it won’t exist.  Oh, Conspiracy Theorist Nut Job (read: Tea) Party.  What are we going to do with you?

5.  I’m aware other, more important things have happened in the six months since I’ve published anything.  I will never forgive myself for being on hiatus when Donald Trump pretended to run for president, or when The Situation roasted him:

or when Obama picked up where Sitch (as I’m told his friends call him) left off:

But such is life.  I just hope The Donald’s ratings drop enough in the future that we’ll have the privilege of watching him fake run for president next election season as well.

Okay, I’m tired and bored with myself.  And dammit, I’m going to take a nap.