Election Day

My polling place changed this year. I voted this morning at the Senior Suites of Bridgeport on Halsted. I used to vote at the St. Joseph's Men's Club at 28th and Lowe, one of those "sport and social" clubs Mike Royko wrote about in "Boss", where the only sport they engaged in was street fights with other white ethnics. The atmosphere isn't the same. At the men's club I always felt like I was entering some forbidden place, like Dad's liquor and gun cabinet. At the senior housing it felt like I was walking into a potential future: not at all bleak, but not what I want. I'm still shooting for that house in Kentucky, and a pot still in the woods.

Here's a bit of fallout from Florida 2000: my ballot was one-quarter the size of me. The only thing missing was someone at the voting booth to tell me who to vote for. "No, sweetie. Rich Whitney's not a nice man. You want to vote for Rod. Okay, straight line; make the arrow connect. Gooood. You get a gold star."

Speaking of, if you vote for Todd Stroger, you probably hate democracy. I don't know who came up with the "Stroger as Urkel" web site, but if you listened to him speak on the news or in his campaign commercials, it's an apt comparison. I almost expect him to look dirctly into the camera and whine, "Did I do thaaaaattt?"

As always, if you don't vote, don't bitch.