John McCain doesn’t wind my clock, rev my engine, or make me want to be a better man. He doesn’t lift my spirit, give me wings, or even roll me out of bed. These statements may seem petty and fit into the usual categorization of a voter who cares more about style than substance, but you’d have to be a stone-cold melancholic or denial-huffing idiot to think that style and expression have nothing to do with the makings of an effective president. And as a member of the often-maligned and always coveted bloc of young voters, inspirational capacity matters quite a bit to me.

While I’m not as starry-eyed over Barack Obama as many of my voting demographic counterparts, I am far more apt to actually get off my ass and do something he encourages me to do should he become president than I would if one of his competitors comes out on top. After eight years of frustration in which George Bush has merely inspired me to pen cynical and self-satisfying tracts, it would be refreshing to have someone in the Oval Office to respect and dare I say, idolize. Unfortunately, neither Hillary Clinton nor John McCain exudes a capacity to move me. I have no qualms saying that a voter seeking inspiration is more important than a voter seeking answers. John McCain will never appeal to the former.

McCain’s style is that of an old Paul Harvey radiothon, with squeegee elf voice evocations of landmark events of the mid 20th century and constant references to “my friends.” John McCain is not my friend, and I find it patronizing that he address all Americans as such. A friend is someone I can kill a six of Mickey’s with as we shoot pixilated gun-toting ducks on Gamecube. Even if McCain could hold his own in such a compact, I wouldn’t want a president to possess those qualities. A president is meant to be someone better than you. He or she is supposed to be smarter, more tactful, more tenacious, more learned, more adaptive, and more able. As McCain crows that this generation might be the first one that has a worse lot than its parents, the reason might just be that the office of the presidency is now being offered pass-fail.

While I’m sure McCain possesses some worthy qualities, most get lost in the woodwork behind his constantly touted military service. One can hardly change a channel without hearing about McCain’s tenure in Vietnam. One of the most popular internet banner ads features a 30-years younger McCain striding in salute alongside a beaming admiral. Even recently on the House floor, the blandly partisan trifecta of John Boehner, Roy Blunt, and Duncan Hunter seemed to use the proposal of a Vietnam vet benefits bill to sing the praises of the senator and presumptive Republican nominee. Despite the constant flood of information cajoling me to do so, I don’t view John McCain as a war hero in the way I view Eisenhower or even Kennedy as such. I view him as a war survivor. While I cannot fathom the fortitude and courage it must have taken to endure years of systematic torture in a Vietnamese prison camp, McCain’s war experiences and subsequent drive for public service do not inspire me. They give me a cold, uncomfortable feeling, the kind you might get if a first date thrust up her sleeve to reveal a roadmap of cigar burns, track marks, and unsuccessful suicide attempts. Ultimately, McCain’s war experiences make me feel sorry for him more than anything else. One thing these past eight years have taught me is that it’s not a good sign if you feel an inclination of genuine pity for the leader of the free world.

While some bemoan Obama’s soaring rhetoric as a candy shell obscuring an empty center, the ability to orate is perhaps the most important tenet of the presidency alongside adherence to the Constitution. McCain’s rhetorical style is severely lacking. His talking points begin with the tenor of an 8th grade student council nominee promising a foosball table before petering out to a lower, reassuring tone that reminds octogenarians in rocking chairs of the good old days. Even McCain’s particularly-styled language of inspiration fails to hit any contemporary chords. A good example is when he touches on the need to address climate change. Although I’m happy McCain at least acknowledges the world is fucked if it ignores global warming (much more than I can say for many of his dimwitted colleagues), his constant use of the phrase “New Manhattan Project” doesn’t exactly inspire the youth of America to save future generations’ asses. While it’s true that Oppenheimer’s lovechild gave birth to countless technological advances, the image that most tend to associate with the original Manhattan Project is of thousands of blackened and irradiated Japanese. Not the best way to reach a generation perhaps indefinitely soured by conflict and unwilling to serve due to our latest Mesopotamian misadventure.

Ultimately, John McCain is an old man who appeals to old people and clamshell voters who would sooner castrate themselves than vote Democrat. Admittedly, these are significant portions of the electorate, but they’re not people who are going to make things better for America. As much as I hate to resign the future of America to iPod-toting, text-messaging leavers of disparaging YouTube comments, they will nonetheless determine the fate of our nation as it plows towards an incendiary future. And if you accept that fact, you damn well better believe that inspiration isn’t just a fad.