digital clock shows there’s one minute to go till the ninety minute debate begins. “You ready?” asks Frank.
I crack my knuckles. “Absolutely.”
And then something happens that has never, ever happened to me on television.
My heart starts pounding.
Talking live in front of millions, I’ve never had a problem. Seated in a room with one guy ready to launch barbs at a bunch of sleazeballs with no souls, and for some reason I’m nervous as a virgin on prom night.
Probably because there’s more at stake here. Let’s face it, television news aint gonna cure cancer and if you screw up on the network no one is going to die. But what I’m doing could conceivably affect the future of the country. If you look back at previous presidential races, you’ll often find one sentence that defines a campaign. The famous headline in the New York tabloid (“Ford to City: Drop Dead”) during the race between Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford is widely accepted as having had a huge influence on the outcome. “Read my lips” sank the first George Bush like a stone. A few words, history changed. Just like that. And if I end up providing what turns out to be the key words of the campaign, that’s a potentially large gorilla on my back.
Luckily Frank is here to act as a filter in the unlikely event that I need one. (Oh, stop laughing.)
The monitor fills with a red, white and blue graphic and Frank says, “Here we go.”
The music fades as the face of the moderator, public television anchor Jarvis Jones, greets the audience. Jones, who is probably in his mid sixties with a personality as dry as a rice cake, shows no emotion at all as he announces the names of the candidates.
“Hey, Frank, why do they always have these public TV bores as moderators?”
“Yeah, I hate it. Supposedly they’re unbiased, but that’s a bunch of bullshit. They’re liberal as hell.” He cocks his head at my laptop. “Go ahead. Fire away.”
“The debate hasn’t started yet.”
“I meant throw a zinger at the moderator.”
“Really?”
“Sure. His eleven fans probably won’t mind.”
I lick my lips as my eyebrows do a quick jump and I begin to type.
#IowaDebates
@TwitterGirl
Jarvis Jones died in 2011, but hasn’t gotten the memo yet.
I look at Frank for permission before I post it. “Do it,” he says, laughing. “It’s funny as hell. And probably true.”
I post the tweet and watch the LOL and ROFL responses fly by at blinding speed.
“See, they love that kind of stuff,” says Frank. “And regardless of who people are supporting, you’ve said something they all can appreciate.”
The moderator pulls an index card from a stack and says, “So, let’s begin the first debate on the road to the 2010 election.” Snickers fill the room and Jones doesn’t react, clueless that he hasn’t changed refrigerator calendars in awhile.
“Good God, he doesn’t even know what year it is,” says Frank. He points at the laptop. “Hit him again.”
#IowaDebates
@TwitterGirl
Re: Jarvis Jones death in 2011. I rest my case.
“Damn, you’re quick,” says Frank, wearing a big smile. Again, the responses fly by, and within seconds someone has created a new hashtag:
#RIPJarvisJones.
“Jump on it,” says Frank. I start typing again.
#RIPJarvisJones
@TwitterGirl
In lieu of flowers, mourners are asked to donate a personality to the Public Broadcasting System.
“You think he’ll be upset?” I ask.
“You really think he even knows what Twitter is?”
“Good point.”
***
The debate begins, with six other challengers flanking Becker, who, as the front-runner in the polls, is at the center podium. Nothing “tweet worthy” happens as the first four candidates answer a question about foreign aid. But then we come to Marvin Hensler, a sixty year old extreme whack job with an extreme following. The walking definition of “lunatic fringe.”
“Stand by,” says Frank. “He’s bound to say something stupid.”
Hensler, a wealthy private citizen who made his millions the old fashioned way (by inheriting it), has the classic look of a good ole boy politician; bloated, bulbous nose, grey hair styled in a helmet. He starts off rambling about cutting foreign aid completely. “If third world countries like England can’t get by without help, well, that’s not America’s problem.”
“Go!” says Frank.
@TwitterGirl #IowaDebates
Please give to the United Kingdom indoor plumbing fund, Hensler has designated the UK as a third world country.
“You’re on a roll tonight,” says Frank.
“Honey, I’m just gettin’ started.
***
The phone rings just as I hit my hotel room at midnight. I’m tired but exhilarated, and when I see it’s Ripley I take the call. “You’ve reached Twitter Girl. For sarcasm, press one—”
Beep. “Damn, Cassidy, you were hilarious tonight.”
“I guess a few days off from being snarky will pay dividends.”
“It must have built up while you were out of a job. God, that tweet about the moderator… I couldn’t stop laughing.”
“Well, the campaign people were very pleased.”
“Okay, enough about your new job. You turned Becker’s head yet?”
“It might already be spoken for.”
“You’re kidding me! Say it aint so! Who is it?”
“The drop dead gorgeous twenty year old flight attendant on our plane. She disappeared into his office for twenty minutes then came out needing lip gloss. Don’t think she was inflating his life jacket for use as a flotation device.”
“Well, shit,
