It has become clear to me that there are vital differences between my presidential candidate and yours. Let me list a few of the ways in which they differ:

Your candidate routinely flip-flops on issues, cravenly changing his positions in response to every minor shift in public opinion. My candidate stands firm on his positions, but will courageously change course if new information arises and an intelligent adjustment in policy is warranted.

Your candidate will say anything to get elected, slinging mud with abandon and sending his henchman out to spread vile slanders from the safety of the shadows. My candidate speaks forthrightly and honestly about his opponent, and if it hurts that’s only because the truth can be a painful thing for some people.

Your candidate has surrounded himself with party hacks, promoters of special interests, political thugs, incompetent boobs and extremist nutcases. My candidate benefits from the wise counsel of trusted, capable people who — whatever their backgrounds — always put the nation first.

Your candidate is a creature of politics, an insider whose alleged empathy for the common man is as laughably transparent as a Halloween costume. My candidate is a political outsider, who is never happier than when he’s meeting citizens far away from Washington — which, regrettably, doesn’t happen often enough as he tends to the nation’s business.

Your candidate ducks issues and instead wallows in personal innuendo and half-truth. My candidate prefers to debate issues, but understands that character should also be carefully examined.

Your candidate’s policies are a tired rehash of the same failed approaches his party has tried for years. My candidate’s policies are fundamentally sound and will bring America back to greatness unless the partisan vote-hustlers on the other side get in the way.

Your candidate is a shameless fear-monger, spreading unfounded alarm about his opponent’s visionary thinking. My candidate understands that people need to understand the consequences of their votes, and feels the need to explain those consequences to them.

Clearly, my candidate is the better man, as any intelligent, thoughtful, caring citizen can plainly see. I’m sure you’ll agree, 100 percent.

You’ve probably seen the Web site called Stuff White People Like, because at this point not having some familiarity with it is a flashing, neon sign signaling your total unhipness. The site’s popularity skyrocketed earlier this year, with readership increasing tenfold in the space of a single month. It’s easy to see why: SWPL is a straight-faced, gentle but unmistakably mocking look at white culture (although it’s clear after just a few minutes on the site that in this case, “white” is more of a cultural mindset than actual skin color). A book by the same name was quickly rushed into print a few months ago, and as this review from The Atlantic explains, there are more layers to the essays than are readily apparent at first. In fact, the review says, it’s impossible to not notice the smug intolerance of the well-educated elite on whom SWPL focuses. For all the attention paid to what white people like, there’s no mistaking what they don’t much like: mainstream, middle-class America.

There has been much media attention paid to the recent economic meltdown, and that’s appropriate because it’s important. But it quickly starts to become white noise, with the result being that many details get ignored. It was alarming, then, that only yesterday did I learn, via this piece, exactly how close the financial system came to doomsday. Reading it left me with the sensation of waking up one morning and learning that during the night a civilization-ending meteor had brushed by Earth so closely that tall buildings swayed in its wake. (Yeah, I know that at such proximity Earth’s gravity would actually cause it to collide, but work with me here.)

You may have tuned into the minor flap that erupted in recent days when it was revealed that U.S. Senate candidate Al Franken had generated the idea for this skit on “Saturday Night Live.” The skit makes fun of John McCain, and Franken is stridently liberal, of course, and that was all it took for it to become an issue. What was lost in the discussion was the fact that the skit was pretty damn funny.

Boy, this presidential election is splitting families and tearing friendships asunder. At a social event Saturday night, for instance, I witnessed a heated political argument between the host and his wife over Sarah Palin.

Weird thing is, the husband didn’t actually participate in the argument. He was in another part of the house, happily knocking back drinks and spreading bonhomie. Instead, I became his unwilling stand-in as his wife assailed him/me for not appreciating the depth of her unhappiness with Palin — who apparently is going to not only singlehandedly engineer a reversal of Roe v. Wade, but also then somehow arrange for the couple’s three daughters to become pregnant. (OK, I’d had some wine by that point, so it’s possible that I haven’t represented the details of her argument accurately, but I’m certain about the vehemence behind it.)

I’m guilty as charged in one regard: I hadn’t appreciated the depth of her unhappiness with Palin. But at the risk of repeating myself, remember that I’m not her husband. I was hearing it all for the first time.

As her monologue unfolded, I offered a series of bland, non-confrontational responses along the lines of “My, you’re quite passionate about this” and “Well, I can see why you feel that way.” But that effort at maintaining domestic tranquility didn’t do him/me much good. It didn’t even slow her down. She had her teeth into this topic like a lipstick-wearing pit bull. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

Then I made a huge mistake. I suggested that if the Supreme Court had a do-over, maybe it should decide that abortion is an issue best left for states to hash out as they see fit — as has become the case with the similarly incendiary issue of gay marriage. You can imagine how that went over.

I’m happy to say that I got out of there alive. But I’m pretty sure that my buddy the party host is still wondering what he said wrong — and how he ended up on the couch for the night.