Nina In New York: Sometimes A Weiner Is Just A Weiner
A young professional’s take on the trials and tribulations of everyday life in New York City.
By Nina Pajak
It is done. While I thought it might go on for another few years and there would be all sorts of investigations and news scoops and polygraph tests, Rep. Weiner’s demise was both brisk and amazingly self-inflicted.
Okay, so he’s a creep. He’s a weird, weird dude who, in spite of his recent marriage and burgeoning powerful career (or perhaps because of them), feels compelled to send odd, semi-nude self-portraits of various body parts to girls he’s never met. On the bright side, he is very social media savvy, which is becoming increasingly important for today’s successful politician. On the downside, he’s… well… he’s a bit of a freak. And now we all know that he waxes his chest. Back on the bright side, we can now confirm with certitude that there is, in fact, no man alive who would not recognize a picture of his own crotch.
But none of that is what makes me want to cross Weiner off my ballot henceforth. No, I’ve long been fairly certain that most politicians are assorted sexual deviants, perverts, addicts, lotharios, rakes, swingers, philanderers and lechers. Honestly, I think those who go into politics are a rare breed who are truly able to compartmentalize the twisted parts of their brains that lead them to hang out in airport bathrooms and have tickle fights with interns. In fact, men in power have been pulling off depraved and adulterous stuff for centuries. It’s only now in the information age that they’re most easily caught red-handed (and most bizarrely tempted). I mean, they’re still down with it in Europe. Just ask Berlusconi! It’s cool. Whatever. That’s amore! It doesn’t have to be a thing. Of course, it’s all a bit more palatable when the guilty party doesn’t talk out of one side of his mouth about morality and decency while smoking meth with a hooker out of the other, but you know. Feelings are confusing.
No, what separates a good politician from a bad one is not whether he finds himself at the center of a sex scandal. That’s pretty much a given. What matters is how he handles said scandal. And Weiner failed. Miserably!
Photo Slideshow: 12 Infamous ‘I’m Sorry’ Speeches
Hasn’t he watched enough of these Greek tragedies play out with those great
creeps men who came before him? You can’t lie! At least, not blatantly. And also, if you do lie, you must keep lying. Just commit to one or the other, or the Internet’s flying monkeys will find you where you sleep and drag you out into the street and kick you very hard and quite a lot. Weiner did it all wrong. First he lied, then he arbitrarily decided to stop lying, and so the new half-truths began to cast some seriously dubious light on the initial lies.
In one inept swoop, he made his enemies look smart, himself look terrible, and his political party look frowny and mad. I don’t care how many more webcam photos he takes of his icky chest or his kitty cats, really. That’s between him and whichever lonely women want to engage in inappropriate online relationships with him. But we can’t have a mayor who pulls this idiotic crap and then bumbles around like a dope who just fell off the degenerate turnip truck. It all makes me think fondly back on the Bill Clinton days. At least he knew how to manage his ish.
Frankly, it’s all a little sad. Here’s a guy who had potential to be a good candidate for the Democratic party, and he went and tanked it all because the draw of his webcam to his dong was overpowering. He’s not resigning, nor do I think he needs to. But boy, does he have an uphill battle ahead of him. If he still wants to run for mayor, he’s not only going to have to run an excellent political campaign, but now he has to focus on proving that he isn’t just a pathetic weasel in boxer-briefs. He had a shot, and now all he has are bad weiner jokes which he probably thought he’d outrun after middle school.
On the other hand, when I give it a bit more thought, I can see how it would be nice and novel to have a politician whose lying is so unskilled that we could always call his bluff. It would become a joke, like when a little boy is standing with a baseball bat and a broken vase and he tries to blame his baby sister. He’d coyly announce untruths to our faces and we’d be like, “Oooh, Anthony, are you lying? You are so lying!” And he’d be like, “Aah you guys, I can’t lie to you! I am so busted. How do you always know?” And we would just always know.
Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I’m always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions.
Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.
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