By Daniel Dunaief
I’m getting messages every day and, often, several times a day. I must be really important.
As with snail mail, those messages could be delivering something extraordinary.
“We are writing to inform you that you’ve won a Pulitzer Prize, despite the fact that you haven’t entered anything and we haven’t yet created an extraordinarily average category.”
Or, perhaps, “we wanted to let you know that your cells are healthier than they’ve ever been and that you should keep up the good work. We’d like to study you to learn how your body is performing better than we’d expect for someone half your age.”
Then, of course, there are the realistic possibilities.
“Hey, want to go to dinner with us this weekend?”
That’s a nice message to receive from a friend or family member.
My son believes brevity is the soul of wit when it comes to messages so he’ll just write “Judge!!!!” or “Soto!!!!” or some combination of Yankee players who have performed well that day.
The most frequent messages I’m receiving are the ones from would-be political leaders, their pals, and other prominent supporters who not only want my vote, but also want me to contribute money.
I’d like to think these messages, with my name at the top, were written personally by these important people, who took the time out of their day to reach out to me.
“You know who I haven’t written to recently? Daniel Dunaief. I’ll just give him a holler to gauge his thoughts on one of the more important races.”
But, no, I know they’re not personal missives, just as I know Siri isn’t graciously saying “You’re welcome” even though she’s programmed to show appreciation in her chipper voice when I thank her.
Still, these messages have morphed from a nuisance into something else. In the frenzy and excitement of consequential races, these communiques are filled with fear and hope, often in that order. In a few short sentences, they tell me what’s at stake, what role I can play, and how these leaders will spend my money wisely.
Wouldn’t that be nice? If we donated to a campaign, wouldn’t it be great to see how our money, specifically, helped someone, as in, “this yard sign made possible by your moderately generous donation.”
If you’ve ever watched the show “Seinfeld,” George Costanza, played by Jason Alexander, suggests that he grows on people, the way ad jingles do. He is like an advertisement for Mennen deodorant. At first, you can’t stand the “byyyy Mennen” sound, but you find yourself singing it in the shower or humming it in the car.
Maybe, in some way, this unprecedented barrage of seemingly personal text messages has become like those jingles.
To be honest, I don’t read them carefully. I do, however, appreciate the earnestness with which someone sends them and I recognize that something consequential is about to happen.
Maybe it’s a bit like the December holidays. The anticipation of November 5th is exciting, even if the event itself might be lacking.
The reality of the election feels more like a gift certificate to a restaurant that serves a combination of my least favorite foods, all deep fried in a type of grease that triggers an allergic response. The election itself, as I see it, will likely have echoes from 2020, with lawyers and politicians exerting themselves, insisting that their candidate won for days or weeks after Nov. 5th.
An early riser, I grin when the message arrives an hour or so after I’ve gotten up and the person with the morning message apologizes for writing so early.
Really? Because you’re not actually sending the message and the machine that blasts them could pick any time in the day to release this particular text.
With all the money flowing into these campaigns, I wonder if the country invested all the cash both sides collected and put it in a certificate of deposit or a Treasury Bill and created scholarships, what kind of opportunities could we offer future students who one day might want to run for office.
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