A political junkie in a world full of junk
For one worried about nation’s direction, extreme rhetoric proves to be addictive
After a pleasant weekday lunch with my unretired wife, I gave her a peck, dropped her at her workplace and, as soon as she turned her back, did what I promised her I wouldn’t.
With the push of a dashboard button, I entered the world of AM talk radio. After a rant interspersed with a couple of fawning callers, the host broke for a block of commercials about the importance of investing in gold, stockpiling food and keeping your powder dry for the coming Armageddon.
So I turned left. That end of the FM dial offers grim and condescending pundits blaming my country for most of the world’s ills. Or it presents Washington insiders less hysterical than their extremist counterparts, but often no more insightful.
At either end of the political spectrum or in the middle, if they’re talking about the 2016 presidential election, I’m listening. I’m hooked and have been since before the first debate nearly a year ago.
It’s dangerous to be a politics junkie when there’s so much junk around.
It’s unhealthy, too. After an hour of having my opinions reinforced — either by the Other Side’s vile invective or by some warm-feeling affirmation from My Side — I slip back into my default state of high anxiety, the fear that, come November, the Wrong Side might prevail.
Traditional escapism offers no relief. Watching the new movie about a guy with anger issues who takes a television anchor hostage during a live broadcast, I wondered which presidential candidate the gunman would support.
I frame much of the news I hear and read in terms of how it will affect the presidential election. Which candidate benefits from an international crisis? Who gets the blame for a bad monthly employment report?
My bedfellow shares my politics but finds it strange that I venture to the extremes of political commentary. And she’s right that visiting that unforgiving frontier distorts my view and makes me cynical.
My life is filled with kind and hard-working people of widely diverse political persuasions. But my media diet is full of fringe demons wielding pitchforks. They torment me with visions of a body politic strangling on its rage, incapable of the rational thought needed to exercise democracy’s franchise.
The energy I waste in political wallowing accrues to an outcome I can’t control.
My wife wants the same outcome I do and cares just as much. After each primary, we eagerly toss back shots of TV analysis. Where we differ is that she can quit after a few. I always crave more.