You Deride 2007

For obvious reasons, the California recall election was a trash cultural goldmine. With stringent qualification standards replaced by the "Hobo Criterion" (does the prospective candidate gots change?), the election became an irresistible magnet for Z-list celebrities, the emotionally needy and the generally illucid. As these three categories describe nearly 97 percent of California residents, the field grew quite large. Eventually, it included such lesser lights as Gary Coleman, Gallagher, some porn star, Eugene V. Debs and, I am not making this up, a representative from the Ferret Legalization Party of California who was castigated by Rudy Giuliani as having "a mentally twisted concern with little weasels" and being "in need of professional help." In related news, Giuliani believes we should stay the course in Iraq, lest the ferrets follow us home or ally with stingrays to form an unstoppable amphibious anti-freedom force.

Anyway, the recall was fascinating because without the normal barriers to participation, the election was equal parts "Baywatch Nights" and Powerball. Everyone knew one thing about everybody running; no one knew anything about anyone running, which gave Arnold Schwarzenegger the winning edge when he revealed his primary vehicle was a gilded chariot drawn by 12 thoroughbred Lipizzaner Hummers. And while the California recall, like the Arch Deluxe, was a onetime only event, Princeton is fortunate enough to have an analogous election every fall.

Every year, two dozen ambitious freshmen — one of whom is secretly in the employ of Lyndon LaRouche — inflate their nascent Q scores by plastering their names all over campus. And, every year, like the swallows to Capistrano, these posters conform to one of four morphologies: pandering, my boring resume, terrible puns and just plain lazy. With pandering, the King Cotton of poster tropes, the candidate makes apocryphal, unreasonable promises that only an idiot would believe. (Memo to Josh Weinstein '09: we're still waiting on that mini-golf course.) Bad puns typically jam the author's surname in an awkward catchphrase, my boring resume recounts the candidate's success as third vice treasurer for Future Farmers of America, and lazy is for those who don't care. Anyway, we have a bountiful harvest this year, and it would be a shame to let them rot, unskewered, on Princeton's lampposts and bike racks. That's where I come in.

Richie Huynh/Ryan Huynh: I'm grading these as a pair because these two guys are either the same person running twice or identical twins. I'd like to think they discovered each other's existence "Sister, Sister"-style, because I miss the WB. Anyway, Richie's campy cowboy hat/Rubik's Cube picture only partially makes up for the Honor Society laundry list. May have a future in calculatedly wacky used-car advertisements. Resume, 5.3.

Jayden Zeilger: It's not that I object to the Kelly reference, but did we need every Kelly joke ever? Also, 10-point Times New Roman has no place on a poster. Pandering, 4.2.

Jacob Lowenstein: While promising to "keep it together for you," pasting his head onto J. Lo's body sends a "lifts and separates" message. Still, I respect a man who still uses Paint as his primary photo editing software. Pun, 7.1.

Brian Jeong: Sorry, Dick Cheney jokes are only allowed if you're running for vice president. Looks like you flew too close to the sun, Icarus. Pandering, 2.4.