I May Not Like Politics, But I Like Voting

It was Election Day here in the United States, and election days are always a big deal. The period leading up to Election Day is a time when candidates for office and political parties spend enormous heaps of money to “get their name out there”.

Apparently, getting a candidate’s name out there means saying many bad things about the other candidate in the election. This year one of the candidates accused his opponent of thinking our senior citizens didn’t need teeth; another person accused his challenger of not wanting people to work and earn a living wage.

In spite of the spate of negative advertisements, this year’s election was “only” a mid-term election. This means we weren’t voting for who was going to be president, which, apparently, means many people didn’t think it was an important election and consequently, didn’t get out to vote.

Allow me to point out that no election is unimportant. That is like saying that lunch isn’t important since it is neither breakfast nor dinner. Lunch is very important-especially to me. I like sandwiches, and lunch is the one time each day when I can eat a sandwich without people condemning me.

In fact, mid-term elections are also like a sandwich. If you take the middle of a sandwich away, you are only left with a couple slices of bread and mustard, which is not a sandwich; it is simply boring.

Mid-term elections are also like those other mid-terms -- mid-term exams in school. No industrious and serious student, would say, “I am not going to take my mid-term exams this semester. They aren’t important. Now, final exams, they are important; I will take those.

And so I voted on Tuesday. I voted because I am industrious, serious, and not boring. I also voted to discharge my civic duty. To sweeten the deal after I voted, the nice people at the polling place gave me a sticker that proclaimed “I voted”. I wore that sticker with pride, until I went to work that evening. I work in a home for individuals who score lower on some tests of intelligence; lower than you or I might score. One of the residents, a dear friend I have worked with for over a decade, saw my sticker. His eyes got big and round. “A sticker!” he exclaimed, “I want it.” Since it was the day after his birthday, I let him take the sticker.

It was later that I noticed that it seemed to be the “thing” for people to post pictures of their polling place or their ballot on social media (Odd, I know, but some people really shared those pictures). Many, many, people posted pictures of their little sticker, proclaiming that they had voted.

Swept up in the passion for the democratic process, I grabbed my phone to take a picture of my sticker and share with the world that I had exercised my democratic right and responsibility to vote.

Then I realized I had given my sticker away. So, I took a picture of my shirt, where the sticker once hung, and I posted that on social media. 

At first I felt flaky for posting a picture of my shirt without the sticker, but then I realized it wasn’t a big deal. After all it was just a mid-term election.

How the Government has Ruined Voting.

Tuesday was Election Day here in the United States, in case you missed it. This election was for president of the country, along with some other open posts in the Senate, House of Representatives, various Judges, and dog catcher. A few weeks ago I wrote about the presidential debates. Today, I want to explore voting.


Voting is the way that Americans can voice their choice in politics. Although some believe that the number of signs you have in your yard, or the number of posts to Facebook, or perhaps even the number of times you retweet your preferred candidates tweets constitutes voting; it does not.



In years gone by, the voters in New York actually used machines to vote with. These machines were behemoth booths with a curtain. You went inside, pulled a large lever and the curtain closed behind you. There was a certain comfort in shutting out the world outside knowing that what was done in that booth was kept private and secret.  Once that curtain was closed the voter was presented with a choice. He or she could select the candidates they felt were most qualified for the job, or they could break out singing an Italian operetta and take a shower. If the election inspector heard someone breaking out into song, they were instructed to immediately turn off the hot water to the booths, thereby cutting short any shower activity.



For those citizens who voted in these machines, they simply flipped a number of smaller levers corresponding to the names of the people for whom they wanted to vote. This physical act of flipping levers was both concrete and comforting. Once the voter finished selecting who was going to receive his votes, he pulled the large heavy lever back the other direction. This was a magical moment, for not only did the curtain open, releasing the voter to his native habitat, but all those levers that indicated which candidates were voted for, miraculously rose to their upright position. All of this occurred with reassuring clicks and clacks of gears and levers moving and the gentle swoosh of the curtain opening. As if some industrial wizard were reassuring the voter that indeed, his vote mattered.



Now, when I go to vote, the election inspector hands me a sheet of paper with fill-in-the-bubble spots for each candidate. This is a horrific predicament. As soon as I see those bubbles, nightmarish memories of past standardized tests rush through my brain. My heart races, palms get sweaty, and my stomach gets all knotted up. It is a moment of panic. I worry I am not going to select the right answers. I worry I am not going to correctly fill in the bubbles. I worry I am going to have to pee badly and the teacher won’t let me use the rest room for “security reasons.”



I finally finish filling in the right bubbles and walk up to the new-fangled voting machine; which is simply a black box. No curtain, no levers, no Italian operetta. I slide the paper into the black box. And, nothing. I stand there, aching for the familiar clack and swooshes. Still nothing. Finally, a small click. Thats all. Just a small click and I am done.



Somehow the government has been able to tax me to death, regulate me to being unable to do anything, and now they have sucked the joy out of voting too.

Presidential Debates, a Primer

“Tis the season for elections, fa-la-la-la-la-ugh.” This is the beginning line of the “Election Carol for Voters”. Written quite some time ago, this delightful song echoes the frustration of the average voter when it comes to the pre-electionbrouhaha.  This is the time of the year when otherwise well-adjusted adults of the human species unleash their innerchild. Remember the days when the teacher would ask the class of second graders a question and each child’s hand would shoot into the air and each child would gleefully squeal, “Ooh ooh, pick me, pick me.” Politicians do the same thing ate lection time, but instead of teachers, it is voters, but the chant is the same, “Ooh ooh, pick me, pick me.”

We have endured months of candidates stumping in the primaries and now for the general election. Stumping is the word that is used to describe the manner in which candidates travel throughout the country and give speeches outlining their stands on the issues and what they are going to do about whatever impending crisis the country faces, real or imagined. The politician claims to be on the average working American’s side, and then uses words like: obfuscation, misappropriation, cronyism, and pontificabsolutionism. This leaves the average American to run for a dictionary (or a nearby English teacher), in a haze of confusion. They are simply stumped.

Now that we are getting within a few weeks of the election, the candidates are debating. This is just like the Wild West shoot out, except without the guns. In a Wild West shoot out there are two enemies who are going to shoot each other dead. On one side of the street, there is a Dalton, on the other is a Clanton, and hiding somewhere, is a sheriff.

The opponents face each other, under the bright light of the noonday sun, and begin to verbally assault each other. They yell things like, “You are a no good, low down, varmint.” or “You’re a lying weasel.” The two opponents continue hurling insults at each other until they run out of insults and then they draw guns on each other and shoot. The loser dies.

In a presidential debate, the scenario is remarkably similar. The two opponents face each other, under the bright lights of TV coverage. They answer questions, asked by a moderator, who is hiding behind the TV cameras, and begin to verbally assault each other by saying things like, “My esteemed opponent doesn’t know his asset from his deficit.” or “The only thing my opponent knows about foreign policy is how to make french fries.”  This continues until the questions run out, the TV stations run out of commercials,or until the first pitch of the Yankees game. At this point the candidates, instead of shooting each other, shake hands like best of friends. This leaves the American voters stumped once again, wondering, “Who won?”