'Tis the Season...

...no, not football season. Sadly, not baseball season. Not any particular holiday season. And definitely not watermelon season, despite what's in the grocery store.

'Tis the season for political ads, endless polling, and vicious backstabbing.

I just thought I was sick of the mushy, tear-jerking Olympic-themed commercials. I was ready to throw something at the television every time that little girl started bragging about all the things her mom does (where is her mom, anyway...not in any of the pictures with the girl...but I digress). Determined to walk out if I saw another adorable home movie of future Olympians skiing/skating/sliding backwards. Looking for the "mute Bob Costas" button on my remote (until he got pink eye, then I felt bad about that). And don't get me started on the Sonic guys and their stupid pretzel dog...take that whichever way you like.

And then all of that was eclipsed by a sudden torrent of political ads. Everyone has his sleeves rolled up, looks eager to make sure he represents ME (I'm betting he doesn't) and takes credit for all kinds of stuff (last time I checked, one guy cannot pass a law). The attack ads are so ugly...enough to make me check the perpetrator (not the object of the ad) off my list before learning anything more about him. An awful lot of them are using God as a campaign partner, and how can we determine if their comments are genuine or just crafted to appeal to a specific voter demographic?

And now, in addition to interrupting figure skating, these people are calling me on the phone. Some call for themselves and others call on behalf of a very qualified buddy who is running for office. Some want me to push buttons even though they are talking to my answering machine, and I'm hearing them 8 hours later. It's like junk mail, with voices. This is an actual transcript (almost) of what was on my machine one day this week:

"You have eight new messages...

• Message 1. Pause. (booming, confident voice) HELLO! This is Bob Somebody, and I want to be your DELETE
• Message 2. (female computer voice, starting in the middle of a sentence) you will not vote, press 1. If you might vote, press 2. If you didn't know there was an election, press DELETE
• Message 3. (voice of school principal) Parents, this is just a reminder that DELETE (I have already gotten this call on my cell phone. Twice.)
• Message 4. (background noise from an overcrowded loud place, presumably a bustling campaign headquarters...people talking, but not to me) DELETE
• Message 5. Pause. (cheerful, pleasant woman) Do not be alarmed. Several recent break-ins in your neighborhood have prompted us to bring you this special DELETE
• Message 6. (man who sounds like he is wearing a tightly knotted tie) Good afternoon. I'm someone whose name sounds vaguely familiar, and this is not about me. My good friend Jim Guy is running for district judge and DELETE
• Message 7. (computerized voice of my city, which calls often with alerts) Kennedale residents, several streets will be closed today between 9am and 4pm for water main repairs. We apologize for any inconven DELETE (I am hearing this at 5:30)
• Message 8. (same female computer voice that called earlier, starting again in the middle of a sentence) take less than 60 seconds of your time. If you will not vote, press 1. If you might DELETE

End of messages."

Why, I wonder, do I even have this phone? No actual people have called it -- just computers or robots or phone systems. Most of the time when it rings and I'm home, I don't answer...especially when the caller ID reads "POLITICAL CALL." That one has called several times and, oddly, doesn't leave a message. Are they really surprised that I don't pick up? No, wait...it's a machine. Now if my caller ID said Jimmy Fallon was calling, that might get my attention.

Have you driven past an early voting place? Talk about ground clutter! The signs are so packed in that I couldn't read them if I tried. If I'm ever stopped long enough to read a few, I'm really just looking to see if anyone I used to go to school with -- or any facebook friend -- is running.

Back to the Olympics, I turn on the television and am stunned to see that young polar bears drink Coke. That can't be good. Nor can the soda machine that mysteriously operates in the middle of an otherwise pristine snowy landscape. And if I scream in that woods, will anyone hear me?