In the last few weeks, I’ve been eyeing the political world like I eye the beef stroganoff at DeMattias cafeteria.

When our Student Government Association stocked the residence halls with voter registration forms a few weeks ago, I scribbled my name with no real commitment in mind. Taking this first step was like filling my plate with mystery meat; I wasn’t sure if I’d eat more than one bite, but was willing to give it a try; after all, the salad bar is always safe. So I held my breath and swallowed that first bite-and although the taste of politics usually makes me nauseated, I nibbled a bit more.

I watched the first and third presidential debates. Granted, I watched because it was a homework assignment, but I didn’t gag at the thought. Something about the debates piqued my interest; perhaps I could trust that beef stroganoff, after all.

Or not.

Although I poked and prodded-even finished a few bites-both debates reminded me that I should probably trust my instincts about politics. How did I miss the message burnt into the bottom of the pepperoni-filled lasagna that told me: “KEEP AWAY”?

I simply don’t see the world through political lenses. I instinctively trust most people, but I’ve never been able to trust politicians. They treat the public as their audience and the campaign as a stage upon which to act.

Pouring sauce on the pasta, the media feed on campaign propaganda as though it is news. During the debates, the candidates slipped Russell Stover’s in the form of political doctrine, trying to win the media’s approval. Whom can the public trust? Political “news” is subjective, by nature. How can journalists fulfill their role as objective messengers while reporting on party caucuses and the debates?

Political essayist Joan Didion writes: “American journalists ‘like’ covering a presidential campaign … [they overlook] the contradictions inherent in reporting that which occurs only in order to be reported.” The media are like salt in the political world, making everything taste better. As a result, it has become increasingly difficult for the public to find sources that explain the issues-minus the salty spin.

During the debates, I munched on the candidates’ favorite hors d’oeuvres. I couldn’t pass up Gore’s obsession with the wealthiest one percent. I chewed on Bush’s plea to trust his Texas accent. But my stomach churned in hunger; how could I be full on such snacks? I needed some protein, and the debates didn’t suffice. I salivated for a discussion on real issues. But I couldn’t find anything of substance, anything I could trust; real issues aren’t being addressed this election year.

I don’t know how much more mystery meat I can gulp down. If I hear any more talk about lock boxes, I’m going to-well, you can guess. I want to be able to digest what I’m being fed. Nothing ruins my appetite more than being forced to choose between two uninspiring candidates.

For now, I’ll take the salad.