This story first appeared on the TomDispatch website.
Obesity is an American plague—and no, I'm not talking about overweight Americans. I'm talking about our overweight, supersized presidential campaign. I'm talking about Big Election, the thing that's moved into our homes and, especially if you live in a "swing state," is now hogging your television almost 24/7.
There's a wonderful old American postcard tradition of gigantism, a mixture of (and gentle mocking of) a national, but especially Western, urge toward bravado, braggadocio, and pride when it comes to this country. The imagery on those cards once ranged from giant navel oranges on railroad flatcars to saddled jackalopes (rabbits with antlers) mounted by cowboy riders on the range. Think of the 2012 election season as just such a postcard—without the charm.
Though no one's bothered to say it, the most striking aspect of this election is its gigantism. American politics is being supersized. Everything—everything—is bigger. There are now scores of super PACs and "social welfare" organizations, hundreds of focus groups, thousands upon thousands of polls, hundreds of thousands of TV ads, copious multi-million dollar contributions to the dark side by the .001%, billions of ad dollars flooding the media, up to $3 billion pouring into the coffers of political consultants, and oh yes, though it's seldom mentioned, trillions of words.
It's as if no one can stop talking about what might otherwise be one of the least energizing elections in recent history: the most vulnerable president in memory versus a candidate who somehow threatens not to beat him, two men about as inspired as a couple of old beanbag chairs. And yet the words about the thrill of it all just keep on pouring out. They stagger (or perhaps stun) the imagination. They are almost all horse race- and performance-oriented. Who is ahead and why? Who is preparing for what and how? Who has the most momentary of advantages and why? Who looked better, talked tougher, or out-maneuvered whom?
It never seems to end, and why should it? After all, it's the profit-center of the ages, pure money on a stick. And there's just so much to say about what is surely an event for the record books. The only question (and it's not one to be taken lightly) is: What is it?
The Jumbotron Election
It started earlier and lasted longer than any election in our history, and every number associated with it is bigger and better and more striking than the last. If you happen to have the TV on, every one of its moments is The Moment. I even heard one prime-time news anchor call the vice-presidential head-to-head "an epic generational debate."
Such hyperbole is the daily norm. Before the first presidential debate, another TV talking head assured his audience, "the Republicans were crawling out onto the 33rd floor ledge looking into the abyss." Then, for a while, that abyss belonged to Barack Obama and he was falling, falling, falling.
That was, of course, before the second of the three presidential debates, which arrived with enough fanfare to put the Thrilla in Manila or the Rumble in the Jungle to shame. It was, according to the logos I jotted down, "The Showdown," "The Rematch," "The Comeback," or simply "High Stakes"—but what wasn't in this election season? Of course, Romney and Obama weren't doing something as mundane as simply debating each other for an hour and a half. They were preparing to head "into the arena" to demonstrate "the power of one night," and not just any night but "the most crucial single night of the campaign." All of this to be followed, of course, by debate number three ("The Last Face-Off," "The Final Showdown").
Everything about this year was, in fact, crucial and record-making, including the 73,000 (mainly attack) ads that saturated Las Vegas by October 12th, making it "the place with the most televised campaign advertisements in a single year." (Cleveland came in second and Denver third.) And talk about obesity: for the two campaigns, which long ago busted out of their public-financing election togs, the sky's now the limit on contributions and there's no place in the country, however faintly competitive, at which dollars can't be thrown.