Beware Minnesotans, as you
look hungrily toward the weekend of various and sundry
dips, lowest common denominator
too hot for TV sales pitches,
and an incidental football game. For this weekend marks the opening
of the Black Gates of Democracy, unleashing the unwashed hordes of political
punditry upon our fair state.
Now that political heavyweights
such as Iowa, Rhode Island and South Carolina have made their voices
heard, clearly announcing that no, they just can’t see a man who lacquers his hair and happens to be named after a German
side dish as presidential material, it is Minnesota’s turn to make
our voices heard on the national scene.
Make no mistake, our time in
the primary limelight will be intense as presidential candidates arrive in town with media entourage in tow and a
lemony-fresh whiff o’ change in the air that gamely attempts to cover
the sharp bracing tang of broken campaign promises carried on the wind.
The compliments will come fast and furious, detailing our importance
to the electoral process, how beautiful our state is, how hardy we are
to survive in this frozen wasteland, our obvious work ethic. We’ll be dazzled by the flashbulbs
and wit of made-for-TV political
pundits displaying
their assets, intellectual and otherwise. We’ll be coddled and aroused into
heart-pounding complacency by pillow talk topics like health care reform,
economic stimulus, and sex education (at least on the Republican side). We’ll be convinced that our vote,
our choice will be what makes or breaks our chosen candidates.
But don’t be fooled. Sadly,
even Super Tuesday and Minnesota’s small part in this orgy of punditry
and promises isn’t going to bring this year’s primary season to
a close. Given the amount of money flowing and the polarization of the
electorate, this one will go to the wire.
So make no mistake — it’s
prom night for Minnesota, people. The glitz and glamour are fleeting.
And while the quarterback asked us to the dance, we all know he just
wants in to our sensibly warm, yet still quite sexy, panties. But despite
that, we suck in our winter padding, bare our collective cleavage and
make it known that for a flash of the pearly whites, our virtue up for
grabs. But similar to the prom night experiences of adolescent women
throughout the land, these first few precious
sweaty fumbling moments
quickly fade in the cold light of Super Tuesday, giving way to a cold hollow
feeling as the candidates move on to other states with bigger racks
or tighter asses. Or that slut, California, who puts out for any Austrian
with nice biceps.
Then the guilt settles in,
because how could we be so stupid? Oh my god! We’re such whores! How
could we have given it up for a few simple talking points, a flashy green pantsuit, and some vague promises to make our
dreams come true? And after a few desperate phone
calls, we’ll
settle in for the rest of the long Minnesota winter with an appletini
and DVDs of The Wire, our innocence lost, but secure in the knowledge
that they’ll be back for more next fall.