No vote left behind
It’s been a quiet Election Day here in Lake Wobegon. . . Oh, wait, wrong state. Part of me still hopes I will wake up one day to discover that Paul Wellstone is alive and well in his Senate chambers. Then the past four years inside the Beltway would all just be a bad dream, an episode of “Dallas” consumed with one too many super-rich foods just before bedtime.
I went to the polls twice today. Fear not, gentle readers — I only voted once. (Philly-style fraud doesn’t limit itself to a few measly days a year behind drawn curtains; it dances in the street 24/7 and sticks you with the bill.) The Feds contend that the Philadelphia polls are too monolingual, and they might have a point. The voting machine in my neighborhood stubbornly refused to respond to any language other than body English.
After several aggressive jabs, I was almost finished. Then I tried to place a write-in vote. Since there were no writing instruments in or near the booth, I had to ask an election official to pass me a pen through the drawn curtain. When I emerged, another voter was waiting at the sign-in table, delayed until I returned the One True Pen.
Everybody talks about a big tent, but should you try something a even a little kinky, be prepared to flap in the wind. And bring your own writing instruments.
