Getting back to the root of blogging with uninterrupted, narcissistic rambling.
I recently took a series of 6 quizzes to find out what type of bird I am (long story). As it turns out, I’m a mallard duck and sometimes a crow, two of the most boring birds in the history of birds. I don’t know why it’s bothering me, but it is. Why can’t I be some sort of beautiful exotic bird? I’d give you an example, but I don’t know any beautiful exotic birds. This is probably why I’m only a mallard duck.
Truthfully I used to hate birds, mostly because of their vicious attacks while I mowed the lawn as a kid. (Have you ever been air bombed by a hungry robin? It’s terrifying). But now birds are on everything, somehow incepting themselves into my psyche and causing me to buy overpriced bags and hats with bird prints on them. I admit they are kind of cute despite being a symbol for hipster hearts full of wanderlust, but that’s not the point. (Obviously you’ve already seen Portlandia’s “Put A Bird On It.” I don’t even need to link to it).
I still don’t like bats, which is annoying because not liking bats is terribly unoriginal. I tried to explain to my friend why I don’t like bats with a story of when a swarm of them attacked me at 2am in the middle of a kibbutz, but she was unaffected. Mostly she wondered what a Kibbutz was and how this was relevant to my thoughts on birds. I tried to explain a Kibbutz is just like her house, except there are a lot of Jews and possibly a dog breeder, but that didn’t help because really it’s nothing like her house.
I received six robo-calls yesterday, two this morning, and a few while I was sleeping. Mitt Romney, specifically, left me 3 voicemails in the middle of the night asking for my vote. He should know I’m not into needy guys. If he wants my attention, he should ignore me and flirt with the other girl.
I didn’t learn this until recently, but apparently Pennsylvania is a swing state again. Yesterday I had the idea that of instead of calling, team Obama and team Romney should drop off baskets of assorted cheeses to win my favor, but I’ve changed my mind. Today I’m in the mood for cake.
In all seriousness, I don’t mind the phone calls. Putting my phone on silent and deleting an automated message wastes no more time than clicking another pin on Pinterest. What I do mind is not voting.
Here’s something: If one person from each voting booth had voted differently in 1960, Richard Nixon would have become President instead of JFK. In 2000, President George W. Bush beat out Vice President Al Gore by just 500 votes. Think of the number of people in your high school class; 500 of those people could have decided that election.
Here’s what political marketers learn from people who don’t vote: Nothing.
If you don’t vote because you’re disappointed with your choices, annoyed by political manipulation, or merely turned off by the process, you’ve opted out of the marketplace. Some people don’t vote because they don’t want to feel responsible for the person who wins. Others don’t want to live with the disappointment of voting for someone who loses. Both of these reasons ignore the marketing reality that not voting doesn’t make marketing or politics go away. It merely changes the person the marketers are trying to please.
Women, please vote. We’ve fought for this right. Men, you too. For every person in this world who can’t vote, who doesn’t have a voice–vote. It’s a privilege. It matters.
Vote, by Spook Handy