Jon Stewart, Will You Be My Sponsor?

I don’t drink. No big reason, no rehab ghosts, no vows of temperance, just not a fan. I guess I don’t like feeling loopy, although I used to sip an occasional glass of wine or, in my college waitressing days, a ladylike apricot sour or tequila sunrise. Maybe it’s another one of those control things, I’m not sure.

Instead, I’m addicted to politics, and my life has become unmanageable. For the past ten days, it’s been CNN and MSNBC and NYT, slate.com and the huffington post, and even Fox News for a peek behind enemy lines. It started with The Royal Clintons, Michelle’s sassy glam and Barack and Biden’s gleaming smiles, mile-high fireworks, tears and historic exhilaration, red-white-and-blue hope. Then came Sarah Barracuda and the Beehive, Bristolgate and moose, Gustav and vetting and sex-lies-and-videotape. Hype and hyperbole and hypocrisy. I feel sick.

Finally, during McCain’s Thursday speech, I nearly blacked out from the excess brain activity involved in debunking falsehoods and resisting the powerful forces of Rovian manipulation. All of a sudden, I felt dreamy. Yes, bipartisanship, what a lovely thought. Let’s stop shouting. How nice. Strength and honor. What’s not to love? The surge? Sure, a tidy success. Oh my God, I’ve hit bottom. Take away the keys to the remote. I am not safe to watch.

OK, I realize I could turn off the TV or ignore the newspapers and blogs but I consider myself an informed person and, as the child of a news junkie, I am genetically programmed for current-events immersion. Growing up, it was multiple daily papers and the TV plus one, if not two, radios going all day and sometimes into the night. That would be Dad. A relentless media barrage, sometimes in different languages. I respect my father’s curiosity and knowledge and multitasking, but now I’m hooked too.

I wake up in the morning and even if I have a channel-changing hangover, I need to know what’s going on in the world. Drag me to the Situation Room. Give me a Keith Olbermann rant with a Campbell Brown chaser. Not good enough. Larry King, hit me up. Anderson Cooper, spin me around on the 360. I really should stop. But I’ve tried. I can’t. I am powerless over my disease.

That’s where Jon Stewart comes in. Nauseous and vibrating by 11:00 at night, I need detox. The Daily Show detox. My 30 minutes of cold, hard truth—the fake news. Tell me really what’s going on in the world, not what they want me to think is going on. Give me a dose of those video clips. Like last night, I came to during a jaw-dropping juxtaposition of the Bush 2000 and McCain 2008 acceptance speeches. Or earlier in the week, I sobered up watching Karl and Bill O’s double-talking rhetoric. Better than any slap on the face or jolt of espresso. Jon Stewart, you restore me to sanity! Will you be my sponsor? I’m ready to quit real news, I promise.

On second thought, cold turkey sounds tough. The withdrawal could be painful. What about cutting back? No, not before the debates. Oh, I know! I’ll find a substitute, something to take the edge off, just temporarily. That’s fair, isn’t it? Yes. First thing tomorrow, I will get down on bended knee and pray: Dear God, please guide the Red Sox to the playoffs. Bring me Soxtober. If you do, I swear I’ll kick politics for good, on November 5.