Mystery candi-date

Every now and again, I need to see this to know I'm still alive.

This is a TV commercial from 1965 for the Mystery Date board game. In my childhood, I would have given my eye teeth (it's a Southern thing) to have owned this game, let alone played it.

I could argue that I was fascinated by the technology--turn the door knob, get a new picture!--or just loved the music ("Or a dance!"). But, come on, even I'm not that disingenuous.

The fact is I wanted to meet my own dreamboat, not something little boys in the North America of the mid-'60s could own up to. And come to think of it, even now, 50 (gulp) years later, it isn't easy for many to admit and embrace these thoughts and feelings.

But at this moment in time, that's neither here nor there, neither a complaint nor a lament, neither pride nor shame. Rather, in this era of non-stop politics, I would like to make the point that playing Mystery Date is akin to picking a Democrat for U.S. president.

Except even Milton Bradley and young girls in the '60s had enough sense to know you don't give the people 20+ candidates to choose from and expect them to sort our their dreamboat over two nights in late June while discussing health care and immigration policy. In Spanish, ferchrissakes.

So maybe we could install a big door at every polling both and let the people spin the door knob and take a chance. Or maybe we could just have each candidate pimp themselves out by sharing their best photos and musing over their ideal date, sort of a Bachelor or Bachelorette for the Age of Wonk.

And while I know all the good gay money's on Pete Boot-edge-edge and Beto O'Rourke, I've still got my eye on that thinking man's bit o' crumpet, Eric Swalwell.

But then I did always prefer the dud over the dream.

(Sorry, Eric. I actually think you're a dream in every way, but a punchline is a punchline is a punchline.)

I think this very non-scientific method could work. And chances are in your favor that you would indeed get that dream candidate and four fabulous years of dancing--or bowling!

Just don't blame me if you open the door and staring back at you is Oprah's spiritual advisor Marianne Williamson or, the gods help us all, New York Mayor Bill de Blasio.