democracy in action. uh, inaction.

Hello.

This morning, I got up in the earliest of the am’s to go get in line to vote. I figured I’d get a jump on my democracy and still get to work early and make me some extra cash. But no! I walked in the school over on 64th and Sheridan, and in some vast administrative error, the entire state of Minnesota had been assigned to my polling place. No, really. So I left. Who needs a new president, anyway?

I went back this afternoon and all the suckers who had to work were still at work, so I snuck in and got my vote on. Three times! Ok, no. But I could have, as they weren’t checking IDs. They asked for last name, and to verify the address, which was very easily legible upside down on the giant roster. I asked the election-frau why they didn’t ask for identification, and she was instantly flustered. Since she had pointed out that I lived two blocks up the street from her, she tried to play it like she didn’t because we were neighbors. Only I didn’t know her at all. Then she said they did check sometimes, but not always, and something about how it slowed things down and mumblemumblepleasegoaway.

This kind of question is one usually answered tacitly with ‘because you’re white’. Not that I’m jumping to conclusions or anything.

So I went and filled in my ovals completely, which was really easy because hardly anyone is up for re-election in this district. Also, I want to confess that I voted for a judge because his name made me giggle. Sorry.

I have a lot of faith in the democratic process.

Today means two things. First of all, Dick Cheney’s recorded voice will finally stop prank-calling my mother, and she’ll be able to stop yelling ‘GO TO HELL, DICK CHENEY!’ She expressed a great deal of fear that her behavior would land her in jail, or at least on some kind of Patriot Act watchlist. I informed her that it was her constitutional right as an American to tell Dick Cheney to go to hell, although if W gets re-elected, that’s a civil liberty she can surely kiss goodbye.

Second, for me at least, it’ll be proof of whether I can ever trust this whole process again. Sure, I’ll vote until I die, because P Diddy threatened to kill me if I didn’t. But, no, I don’t really believe my vote counts for shit. How can my filling in little ovals in a collapsible plastic booth stand up to unlimited amounts of ill-gotten cash? I dunno. We’ll see how it goes.

Fingers crossed for the old, rich, Christian white guy with less blood on his hands.
Jenni