Here is a Fun Fact about Mitt Romney.
Mitt Romney is good at math. Mitt Romney is so good at math that it’s the angle from which he approaches almost all of his decision making. If it seems like Mitt Romney is saying something that he might not entirely believe in, it is because The Math has told him that this is a good thing to say to the people who are listening at this moment. If every problem is a nail, The Math is Mitt Romney’s hammer and he swings it firmly and decisively. He is, above all, a methodical pragmatist with an almost religious respect for data. He is not delusional, or an idealist, or whatever Sarah Palin was. He is—as he is quick to remind you—a businessman, and a clearly successful one. But these are not the fun facts, this is the fun fact:
It means he knows.
He knows, because The Math has told him, how far behind he is with African-American voters. With the exploding Latino community. With women. With young people. With Medicare recipients. Possibly with you. He lives in a cage of data, and no matter what he says publicly, every second of every day for the next two months he will be painfully—exposed nerve painfully—aware that there may not be enough tweaks, pivots, promises or platitudes to get The Math back on his side. He knows he may very well lose this prize that he’s felt entitled to his entire life, and that he may never get another chance, because he no longer lives in a country where The Math would’ve had to buckle under his transparently obvious inherited importance. Helplessly facing down his encroaching and inevitable irrelevance is his full-time job, every moment he’s awake, until he goes to sleep, if he goes to sleep. Part of him knows that for all he’s been able to do, he can not, will not ever, do this.
And I think that is a very fun fact.

Here is a Fun Fact about Mitt Romney.

Mitt Romney is good at math. Mitt Romney is so good at math that it’s the angle from which he approaches almost all of his decision making. If it seems like Mitt Romney is saying something that he might not entirely believe in, it is because The Math has told him that this is a good thing to say to the people who are listening at this moment. If every problem is a nail, The Math is Mitt Romney’s hammer and he swings it firmly and decisively. He is, above all, a methodical pragmatist with an almost religious respect for data. He is not delusional, or an idealist, or whatever Sarah Palin was. He is—as he is quick to remind you—a businessman, and a clearly successful one. But these are not the fun facts, this is the fun fact:

It means he knows.

He knows, because The Math has told him, how far behind he is with African-American voters. With the exploding Latino community. With women. With young people. With Medicare recipients. Possibly with you. He lives in a cage of data, and no matter what he says publicly, every second of every day for the next two months he will be painfully—exposed nerve painfully—aware that there may not be enough tweaks, pivots, promises or platitudes to get The Math back on his side. He knows he may very well lose this prize that he’s felt entitled to his entire life, and that he may never get another chance, because he no longer lives in a country where The Math would’ve had to buckle under his transparently obvious inherited importance. Helplessly facing down his encroaching and inevitable irrelevance is his full-time job, every moment he’s awake, until he goes to sleep, if he goes to sleep. Part of him knows that for all he’s been able to do, he can not, will not ever, do this.

And I think that is a very fun fact.

No one has a more pervasive and familiar brand than Garfield—he loves lasagna, hates Monday, and kicks Odie. He has infinite resources at his disposal to push this message and plaster his face onto everything in sight. But—this is part of the problem. The usually-sassy Garfield also pops up in posters and merchandise alongside slogans speaking out against littering and bullying, and in support of causes like studying and being a good friend—hardly in step with the Garfield brand.
When you flip open your daily funny pages tomorrow—which Garfield will you be reading?

No one has a more pervasive and familiar brand than Garfield—he loves lasagna, hates Monday, and kicks Odie. He has infinite resources at his disposal to push this message and plaster his face onto everything in sight. But—this is part of the problem. The usually-sassy Garfield also pops up in posters and merchandise alongside slogans speaking out against littering and bullying, and in support of causes like studying and being a good friend—hardly in step with the Garfield brand.

When you flip open your daily funny pages tomorrow—which Garfield will you be reading?