Too close to call

And you thought the presidential race was a nail-biter

By Kris Frieswick

The collective insanity known as our most recent presidential election has finally come to an ignominious end, and we are stuck with another relic of a bygone white, male, middle-aged era, here to lead us into yet another economic cycle for which he will �ake all the credit (or for which he will lay all the blame on his predecessor). To quote the Who: “Meet the new boss/Same as the old boss.”

Whatever. Did the outcome really make all that much difference? And was anyone all that surprised about how things turned out? Frankly, this was one of the more tepid cliffhangers of the past two months, despite the media’s insistence that we were unable to go about our business, that our day-to-day lives could be summed up with the dramatic locution “A Nation Waits.”

Were you waiting? I wasn’t. Ignoring the foregone conclusion that was the presidential election, I turned my attention to other, much more pressing matters— real-life cliffhangers. Waiting for the answers to these questions has had me riveted to my seat.

Cliffhanger #1: Will the pipes burst? A Household Waits. Back in the balmy month of October, my landlord decided to re-side our house with vinyl. An army of workmen spent two weeks stripping off the old siding. The excitement of living in a newly vinyled home gripped all its occupants. But once the siding was off, the workmen left. They haven’t been back. At first, our hope for a speedy outcome continued. It waned when the first snowstorm hit. We queried the landlord as to when the project might be completed. “Before the holidays,” he assured us.

Several weeks later, it seemed “the holidays” might be a long shot. My home now looks like a tar-paper shack, which makes it easy to find, but hard to live in. In fact, now that the truly heinous winter weather is upon us, my home is much like a sieve. Each morning, I gingerly approach the kitchen tap to see if, indeed, this is the day that the pipes will explode. So far, so good. But each day that the house remains unsided, I am faced with this unfolding drama, one that challenges the integrity of my plumbing and stands to undermine the very fabric of my ability to take a shower. A Household Waits. It is a crisis that shows no sign of abatement.

Cliffhanger #2: Which date will show? A Hostess Waits. Imagine a scenario in which a woman, not unlike myself, is very casually dating several men. As this woman plans the guest list for her big annual holiday party, she faces a quandary. Should she select one gentleman to join in the holiday merriment, and then face the unenviable task of explaining to the others why they weren’t invited? Or should she just, to paraphrase the Special Forces motto, “invite ’em all and let God sort ’em out”?

Expediency (and the tantalizing prospect of having several suitors attend simultaneously) wins out over common sense, and all are invited. Soon, the full weight of her actions begins to hang like the sword of Damocles over her head. What if one suitor emerges as a clear front-runner between the day invitations are extended and party night? What if they talk to each other? Would it necessarily be a bad thing for them to know that others are in the game? Or would it be a disaster? The scenario threatens to compromise the integrity of her social life and undermine the very fabric of the holiday season. As party night looms, A Hostess Waits — horrified by the complicated scenario she has wrought. The party-planning process will be forever altered by the result.

Cliffhanger #3: Will Calista Flockhart disappear completely? A Viewer Waits. I keep tuning in to Ally McBeal, albeit only briefly, waiting for the body of Calista Flockhart to vanish, starved into nonexistence. When it happens — and it will — all that remains will be her voice, an airy, raspy twitter that used to have a body. This disembodied voice will be forced to strike out on its own as an actress. Hollywood media apologists will probably still insist that Flockhart doesn’t look “all that thin” and will encourage the nation to just leave her alone, which won’t be hard since we won’t be able to see her.

This harrowing “Pound Watch” rivets me to the television for those brief moments when there’s a commercial running on the other channel. This Flockhart woman, and the network that broadcasts her anorexic profile to millions each week, is compromising the integrity of my body-consciousness and threatens to undermine the very concept of food. A Viewer Waits, mindful that when the day comes that Calista has disappeared, and the network continues to air her show, it will be proof positive that being thin is more important than being there.

Makes the whole Bush/Gore thing pale in comparison, doesn’t it?

Kris Frieswick can be reached at krisf1@gte.net.