It was a season of ennui and loathing. Pundits exhausted their thesauruses in the search for new synonyms for doleful, dreary and vacuous. Ordinary folks made the classic finger-in-throat gesture, or pitched forward face first into their azalea beds. On the cover of the Nation, presidential history was depicted as a Darwinian descent from the triumphantly upright Franklin Roosevelt on down to an invertebrate Clinton-Dole level just above the primordial scum.
It was the first issue-free campaign, and without issues, we were left to ponder such pointless dichotomies as age vs. middle age, wounded right hand vs. groping one, brunet power...
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