I'M MITT ROMNEY AND I
PROMISE TO MAKE IT RAIN!
It took me a while to figure out what Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney looked like. Then it hit me.
The meticulously groomed former governor of Massachusetts, whose chin and cheekbones are as square as his religion, is tall and handsome with perfect hair. Romney’s got a smile that feels forced and his jokes usually suck. Hmm, what profession rings a bell? Ah ha, bingo is the name-o: A meteorologist.
If Mitt isn’t a natural fit for telling Channel 4 viewers what the weekend forecast is going to be, then I am out of touch with the modern day weatherman. With the “I-look-like-I-have-trouble-flagellating” appearance and the required cheese-dick personality to boot, Romney has all the quintessential characteristics of those chosen few sent to deliver the news of when “the golf course will be calling again.”
And the Sunday punch of the whole comparison: One trip to Wikipedia and I found out Romney’s real name is – wait for it - Willard! Yes, Willard. It’s as if Mitt, a name which already reeks of local newscast, missed his true calling. I can just see some frustrated producer trying to get the Pre-Modanna into his seat for the upcoming weather tease. “Where in the hell is Willard?”
Comparing Romney to Willard Scott is probably unfair. However, think of all the meteorologists who are household names, and try to make the argument that there isn’t irony in the fact that a dude who looks like a weatherman happens to be named Willard. Maybe it’s a stretch but the dots are there for the connecting.
What scares a lot of people about Romney, though, is his Mormonism. This frankly doesn’t bother me in the least. Although I don’t know a whole lot about the religion beyond the basic tenants, I can’t believe Romney’s faith could be any worse than the current crop’s. The Bush Klan continually finds new ways to elevate religious perversion to old perverse levels. Whether it’s proselytizing against Islam or talking to the Man Himself or ostracizing a lifestyle that some in their ranks are practicing, a Mormon couldn’t hurt. And neither could a Tom Cruise-ologist.
Polygamy is often cited as what makes the religion queer. However, the practice is no longer widespread (with only small percentages – some studies show roughly 2 or 3% - of practicing Mormons who have multiple wives) and Romney himself is the only top-tier G.O.P. candidate with wife number one still by his side.
And Willard R. certainly isn’t the only presidential candidate guilty of having weathermen idiosyncrasies. Hacks from both camps deliver scripted lines that seem meant for those goofy clowns wearing short shorts under the anchor desk. “It’s going to be sunny from here on out.”
They tend to think a smile mixed with emphatic talk and lots of hand gestures will make us believe they know what they’re talking about. As if we’ll be more focused on their patterned ties and tailored suits rather than their voices, which just told us invading the entire Middle East would be a good idea and that rain shouldn’t visit Seattle for the next month.
A nexus of colossal failure exists as well. The only people who are worse than weathermen at what they do are politicians. And the two professions are linked in a variety of other ways - mainly job security. Nowhere will one find employers so untouchable.
Politicians authorize foreign policy blunders that a first-year grad student wouldn’t contemplate and are safe, depending on their office, for multiple years before they have to face constituents again. Meteorologists, on the other hand, get it wrong day in and day out and know the paycheck is in the mail.
Also, these two trades offer a limitless excuse for esoteric language to be barfed in ways that baffle even coastal dwelling highbrows well versed in snobbery-lathered haughtiness? Case in point, the last sentence.
But if you know the definition of quorum or why the jet stream affects the dew point, you’re most likely either dry humping a marble dais or politicking for chief meteorologist. Or both.
Either way, the rest of us aren’t buying what you’re selling. Which sucks because I thought the golf course was finally calling.
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