Listen to your mother

I don't have children.

But if I did, I would tell them the usual stuff, I guess. Stay in school. Drink your milk. Don't smoke crack naked in alligator-infested waters.

Not too little, but alas, too late

Nevada Thunder featured this editorial on Iraq by Senator Chuck Hagel (R-NE). Read it. It pretty much says it all.

Too bad he wasn't this sensible when he voted to authorize giving BushCo the keys to our nation's treasury (300 BILLION so far) and putting the lives of our service men and women into their greedy, corrupted, self-serving hands.

I'm putting my money where my big fucking mouth is

And you can too.

Send a care package to a soldier in harm's way, via AnySoldier.com.

You can choose a serviceman or woman randomly, or choose one from the town where you live.

Go to their page at the above site, and find out what their unit needs. Portable snack foods, candy, DVDs, toiletries, and articles of clothing are all frequently requested items. Plus, you can get rid of those old Beanie Babies you have hanging around your house (you know you have them) because they are a popular item with Iraqi children, and the soldiers like handing them out when they can.

Isn't that awesome?

You could even organize your coworkers to take up a collection of items.

What better way to walk the walk this holiday season than to put some time and just a little bit of money into a care package for those men and women who are risking their lives for our country?

And then next year, let's bring them home.

Bells On brings you the inside scoop on that Hobbit film

Apparently, Peter Jackson, director of the Lord of the Rings trilogy is feuding with New Line, and as it stands now, he will NOT be asked to direct the upcoming LOTR prequel The Hobbit.

LOTR fans everywhere are distraught, in a kind of predictably hilarious way.

New Line has not yet announced who will now direct The Hobbit, but they have been taking a lot of meetings. Bells On has gotten a hold of their short list, which I will now share with you, dear readers:

Quentin Tarantino – Thinks the chronological plotline is too straightforward. Would tell the story backward (jump cuts!) from a high camera angle that would suggest that the real protagonist of the story is the goblin assassin. Wants Sam Jackson for Bilbo, and Uma Thurman for the goblin. And surf music. Lots of surf music.

Martin Scorsese – Envisions Middle Earth in the sewers of New York City, with the Hobbits as working class Italian immigrants, and the dwarves as a brutal crime syndicate. Wants to lose the actor who played Golum in LOTR and bring in DeNiro.

Ron Howard – Thinks struggle between good and evil in the book is WAY too ambiguous – would simplify, simplify, simplify. Wants Russell Crowe for Bilbo. Would write in two Hobbit love interests (Kate Beckinsale and Kirsten Dunst) representing the hero’s internal struggle. Of course the usual deal for Ron’s brother – maybe third lead dwarf?

Woody Allen – Not really interested in the film unless he can play Bilbo. Will only shoot on location in NYC. Would punch up verbal sparring between Bilbo and Golum. Wants Scarlett Johansson for Golum.

Tim Burton – Thinks the story is short on kitsch, and would set the film in 50’s suburbia: bright colors, manicured lawns, elves as Tupperware ladies, dwarves living in bowling alleys, that kind of thing. Will only direct if Depp can play Bilbo, Gandalf, and Golum, and wife can play all the dwarves.

Trends I am NOT down with

Faithful readers of Bells On might remember my past rants against various Ugg-ly trends, like tiered skirts, which thankfully are so over now. (Note to my readers in the midwest - tiered skirts are so over now.) And of course my feelings about Crocs are well known.

But I have to say for the record that I am just not down with this:

No, not bubble skirts. Although god knows those are excellent if you wish to appear as though you are a recent immigrant from a former Soviet bloc country.

No, I'm talking about ankle boots with skirts.

Oh, sure, it looks cute if you're six foot tall and gorgeous, but let me tell you gals, if you are like me and only 5'9" and medium hot for your age, the whole ankle boots with a skirt thing makes you look like you're auditioning to be a Clydesdale on one of those annoying Budweiser Superbowl commercials.

The war on Christmas wreaths

Residents of a small town in southwestern Colorado are demanding that someone be called to account.

Parents of soldiers in Iraq are said to be upset.

Other residents fear that the devil may be in their midst.

The culprit:

The woman who hung this wreath on her home may be facing fines from the local homeowner’s association, which has rules against posting signs with messages. She defended her invocation of the peace symbol as being “a spiritual thing,” and not political.

You know what? If some collection of rural wingnuts wants to be nationally known as the stupidest goddamn retards this side of the Mississippi, that’s fine with me.

But first of all, can we all just remember this crazy-ass shit the next time some lefties get all hot and bothered about some fucking manger on a courthouse lawn? Can we?

And secondly, can someone make sure that Bill O’Fuckface gets a copy of the story, so he can decry that homeowner’s association for waging a war on Christmas wreaths?

And thirdly...Satan? Really, Satan? Are you sure you want to hang your hat on that old chestnut? Because if you get worked up and fearful at things like that, you tired-ass fucked-up Christian-y hacks, then I don't even know how you make it out of the house to SEE your poor neighbor's harmless little wreath, which, if it were up to me, would be banned not for being political but for being the wrong size for the scale of the house, and for having bad ribbon placement.

But hey, merry fucking Christmas to the Loma Linda Homeowner's Association. I would wish you peace on earth, but I don't want to upset you any more than you obviously are.

My own personal Squanto

My blogger friend, SJ, has been dealing with a situation similar to one I dealt with about 3 years ago: the break-up of my marriage. Reading her posts and thinking about her has of course brought back memories of that time in my life when the rug was pulled out from under me. Below is a piece I wrote several months after my husband left me. I offer it to you now, gentle readers, in the spirit of Thanksgiving – believe it or not.

------------------------

It’s funny, I’m not sure how long it’s been since he walked out the door with his clothes in grocery bags. Was it July, or August? I’m really not sure. I could look at my checkbook and tell instantly, I guess. See where his writing stops and mine begins. See the last entry for gas bought with the ATM card at that station near his office, the last check written to the hardware store. Time passes differently for me now, and I feel differently about its passage. Days and night stretch out in front of me, as full or as empty of chores and errands as I wish them to be. If I do not wish them to be full, very little happens. The dogs need food, that needs to be done, and I must go to work every day, but very little else seems to depend on whether or not my old schedule is met. And so at times I test this premise, wrap myself up in a blanket and sit out in the back yard in the lounge chair, staring straight ahead. Go ahead and test me, Mr. Time, I can take it. I can sit like this for hours while dishes lie dirty and dry cleaning remains unclaimed and balls of dog fur and dust roll across the floor like tumbleweeds.

He would have been happy, probably, to see me surrender some rigidity. Funny then, that this surrender comes too late, that it was triggered by the event that also made it moot.

As I sit in my chair, I ask myself the same question that I imagine so many others in my situation ask: How Did I Not See It Coming?

A year ago, we were happy and normal, I thought. After ten years, we still had great times together. I could still absolutely break him up, put him on the floor, laughing, wiping his eyes. And he could still make my stomach feel funny and my hands tremble if he put his arms around me in that way he did sometimes. Sure, we struggled, over the years, with our sex life, with the boredom and the complacency, but we always managed to find a way back to each other, to connect again. People tell me that we were absolutely the very last people on earth that they thought would break up, get divorced. I remember, I thought so too. I would imagine sometimes, what medical infirmities would eventually plague us in our old age, and how we would cope with them. Would he need a colostomy bag someday, like that old guy next door? Or what if I needed one? Would he still want to have sex with me if I did? Is his forgetfulness a sign of future senility? Should I be buying him vitamins or an herbal supplement? Stuff like that. The kind of stuff you think about when you expect to spend the rest of your life with someone.

No, there was no shortage of accoutrement for a lifetime commitment: insurance policies, mortgages, major appliances, wills. Seven years my junior, he moved in with me almost immediately after we started dating, and a couple of years later, he proposed. Having suffered a brief and painful marriage in my twenties, I was content to remain unwed, but when he proposed, I realized I wanted it too. It felt good to say yes to this idea of permanence. He was twenty-five when we met, twenty-nine when we married, and thirty-five when he left.

One night, about a year ago, he announced that he was unhappy, and that he knew I was too. Why not just end it, he said.

I’m searching for a word to express the magnitude of the shock I felt upon this announcement. I remember, my jaw dropped open. I remember thinking as I watched his lips move, as he went on about our unhappiness, that there might be some misunderstanding, that I must be misunderstanding something. It felt unreal. Time slowed. My brain raced. I felt the sensation of walls tumbling down all around me. I was out of my mind, out of my body, cut loose from everything. It was the worst moment of my life, and it wouldn’t end. It just went on and on and on.

It came down to this: he couldn’t believe I wasn’t unhappy, and I couldn’t believe he thought I was.

I begged for couples therapy, for another shot, and he finally gave in. Our therapist pronounced a “profound lack of communication” at work.

Well, yeah.

Although until my spouse’s little eye opener, I would have said that we communicated just fine.

The therapist wanted individual sessions. He went twice, I think, and then he stopped. He would promise to go, and then not, or he would avoid calling the therapist, whose phone messages went from polite to stern to plaintive. Meanwhile, I would go every week, and say things like “he seems happier,” or “I’m trying to really listen to what he’s saying,” plus, I’m being REALLY POSITIVE about our future, and tiptoeing around his moods, and analyzing every word out of his mouth, and trying really hard to look sexy without looking like I’m trying to look sexy. Sometimes, when he left the house, I would sink to the floor and cry, out of exhaustion and despair.

Some weeks later, he pronounced himself “cured” and asked that we speak of it no more. I was relieved. Our counselor was troubled by this, and said that if he wouldn’t come to session, how could he expect to be helped? So when the therapist called a month later to see how we were doing, my statement that we were still together was met with surprise on his part. I was insulted, and still certain that we would survive. C’mon, it was us. We loved each other. This was the man who stood on stage at our wedding reception and sang “Thunder Road” to me as a wedding present. The whole song. Sang it to me while I laughed and cried simultaneously. Who else on earth could make me feel so goofy & gloriously alive? And who else could make him feel the same?

Months passed, and one day I got a replay of the “I’m not happy, I want out” speech, only this time, I saw it coming. I had gradually become aware that he was not cured, that he was miserable and conflicted, and it was then that I put together my meager scraps of understanding and realized why he never went to session: he didn’t want to sit and lie for an hour every week. He didn’t want to tell lies about trying to make it work. And he couldn’t tell the truth, apparently, either, because that was even worse.

The truth: He wanted out. He just did. He wanted off the hook. He just did. I don’t know why, I don’t know why. He just did. Whatever it was he got from me, it meant less than his freedom, less than the weight of permanence being lifted from his head, less than being able to walk out the door with those grocery bags full of clothes.

------------

I came across this piece about a week ago, and after re-reading it, my first reaction was to wince at the amount of pain fairly dripping off the page. My second reaction was to recognize that my understanding of the events has increased over the last 3 years in inverse proportion to the degree to which I give a shit about the events. Isn’t that always the way?

Thirdly, I really can’t believe how much happier I am now. And I think that’s because I’m a strong person, and I have great friends and family to rely upon as well, and I’m really pretty good at finding a way to be happy. But I got to give no small measure of credit for my happiness to my man Spooney, because he is wicked awesome, and because he makes me laugh at things I had forgotten to notice years ago, and because he loves me with his heart wide open, and I marvel at that.

So, thanks.

The Vietnam Effect

You know, getting his ideological ass handed to him in the midterms may have softened 43's rhetoric a bit - he recently admitted, for example, that Democrats are not necessarily traitors - but it hasn't sharpened his sense of historical irony.

Case in point: when asked yesterday what lessons from the Vietnam war we can apply to our entanglement in Iraq, he said, "we’ll succeed unless we quit."

Wait a minute. THAT'S the lesson?

He does know that we quit in Vietnam, doesn't he?

If he doesn't, fine, he's just ignorant - nothing new there. If he does know, I'd be forced to conclude that he thinks it was a mistake to quit in Vietnam, in which case I...well, I...well, it's just too fucking horrible to consider, that he would think WE SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN VIETNAM.

Although it's really a quite brilliant and unmistakably Rovian strategy, to deflect the parallel of Vietnam to Iraq by asserting that we should have stayed in Vietnam just as we should stay in Iraq. Imagine all the scholars and historians having conniptions on talk shows all over the country, trying to refute the almost completely impenetrable blockheadedness of that assertion.

Let me tell you what the lesson of Vietnam is. The lesson of Vietnam is GET THE FUCK OUT. Actually, the 1st lesson of Vietnam is STAY THE FUCK OUT, but, once lied into getting in, then immediately proceed to GET THE FUCK OUT.

But what about creating a safe haven for terrorists in Iraq, you say? And what about the stability of the region? We can't have the whole region falling under the influence of fundamentalist theocracies, can we?

Ahem. Let's just skip the part about living in a theocracy for now, shall we? I'm depressed enough.

But, if you take out the words "fundamentalist theocracies" out of that sentence, and insert "communism," you'll see that there are indeed some interesting parallels between the site of our current folly and Vietnam.

Yes, I'm talkin' 'bout dat old Domino Theory. I think a lot of people today regard the Domino Theory as some crazy old school right-wing shit. It isn't. Well, actually, it is, but it was also the prevailing wisdom of the day. And by prevailing wisdom, I mean it was accepted truth by Dems and Repubs, by tv news anchors and by newspaper publishers, by history professors and by Washington policy makers. It was THE goddamn reason we didn't get the fuck out of Vietnam year after year after year, because Southeast Asia would fall to communism, and then its spread would engulf Asia completely, and then it would take over the Americas (for extra credit write 500 words on Reagan's employment of the Domino Theory in Central and South America in the 80s), and before you know it, the U.S. of A. would be surrounded by pinkos ready and willing to invade our country, acquire our gun registration lists, confiscate the semi-automatics of our citizens, and subdue the populace.

And yet, we cut and ran in Vietnam, and it didn't happen.

Readers, I put to you, that leaving Iraq would produce a similar response. The country may not be our BFF for a few years, but 1) our citizens would not die there anymore, and 2) all the problems that are currently being caused by our mere presence there (which are admittedly difficult to measure) would immediately evaporate.

Hey, I'm willing to gamble on the Vietnam Effect. How about you?

Tonight we're gonna rock you!

Where I'll be:

The Scene in Glendale. Yeah, Glendale, bitches. You got something to say about it?

Featuring a bill of ex-pat Bostonians trying to rock the tan in LA:

10 pm - First off is the captivating melodies of Orphan Train w/ a special guest appearance by The Watson Twins!

11 pm - Then it's the semi-sweet, power-pop of the one & only Banquet Hall (featuring my Spooney).

12 am - And lastly, but not leastly, the tasty rock stylings of Box, featuring Todd Spahr, formerly of The Cavedogs and The Gravy.

First 50 fans receive a free Banquet Hall swizzlestick!

Just wait 'til he goes on Fox

When JFK ran for president, a lot of people were afraid that as a Catholic, he would face a conflict of interest. They said he would be bound to do the bidding of the Pope, even if it went against the best interests of the United States.

Ho, ho, ho, you say. How fucking quaint. What a droll and primitive time, was this "1960" of which you speak.

Look how far we've come, you say. John Kerry proved in 2004 that not only were we not concerned about his loyalty to the Pope, we were actually amused as he was practically excommunicated from the Catholic church for having a mind of his own!

But those were Catholics. And Catholics, my friends, are not Muslims. Sure, they both do the long robe thing, and they both share a fondness for incense and fucking little boys, but theologically speaking they are WORLDS apart. See, Catholics believe in a kind of punitive father-figure-type god, who sent a prophet to earth to solve the great-great-great granddaddy of middle east crises (he failed), whereas Muslims believe in a REALLY punitive father-figure-type god who...ah, well, yadda, yadda, yadda, right?

There are important differences. For example, Catholic women are fighting to be allowed to be ordained as priests, and are opposed by church officials who contend that because they do not have a penis, they do not "resemble Jesus," which apparently is one of the main job requirements.* Whereas, Muslim women are fighting to be allowed to look at things with their eyes, so their struggle for equality is not quite as far along.

But I digress. My point was, that we think we are soooooo far above that kind of bigoted, primitive thinking about a group of people belonging to a religious sect. And for sure we are. We so are.

But CNN isn't:

GLENN BECK (CNN HEADLINE NEWS): History was made last Tuesday when Democrat Keith Ellison got elected to Congress, representing the great state of Minnesota. Well, not really unusual that Minnesota would elect a Democrat. What is noteworthy is that Keith is the first Muslim in history to be elected to the House of Representatives. He joins us now.

Congratulations, sir.

ELLISON: How you doing, Glenn? Glad to be here.

BECK: Thank you. I will tell you, may I -- may we have five minutes here where we're just politically incorrect and I play the cards face up on the table?

ELLISON: Go there.

BECK: OK. No offense, and I know Muslims. I like Muslims. I've been to mosques. I really don't believe that Islam is a religion of evil. I -- you know, I think it's being hijacked, quite frankly.

With that being said, you are a Democrat. You are saying, "Let's cut and run." And I have to tell you, I have been nervous about this interview with you, because what I feel like saying is, "Sir, prove to me that you are not working with our enemies."

And I know you're not. I'm not accusing you of being an enemy, but that's the way I feel, and I think a lot of Americans will feel that way.

ELLISON: Well, let me tell you, the people of the Fifth Congressional District know that I have a deep love and affection for my country. There's no one who is more patriotic than I am. And so, you know, I don't need to -- need to prove my patriotic stripes.

You don't need to prove your patriotism?

How could the voters of Minnesota elect someone so completely unfamiliar with how Democratic politics works?

*You'd think recent events would have prompted them to rethink the whole penis emphasis, but they are so far sticking to their guns, so to speak.

Sorry, haters

Anyone out there a Martha Stewart fan?

I didn’t think so.

Everyone hates Martha Stewart. Why? Because we think she thinks she’s better than us.

Well, I got news for you…everyone thinks they’re better than you, okay? Everyone thinks they’re better than you.

It’s just that in Martha Stewart’s case – she’s right. She is better than you. Her focus, ambition, and attention to detail are downright scary. She’s a better cook than you are, she understands business better than you, and she throws better parties than you do. Generally, she knows a better class of people than you can ever hope to know.

She’s certainly better at making money than you are.

And what's more, she went to jail and came back more popular and more successful than ever. How many of us can say the same thing? That's right. None.

If you want to hate someone for thinking they’re better than you, hate me. Because I definitely think I’m better than you are, and I’m just a no-talent, no-money bitch who can’t knit and doesn’t raise her own chickens. So who the fuck am I to think I’m better than you? I fucking suck. Hate me, you fucking haters.

They report the angle that serves their corporate masters, you decide how much of it is complete bullshit

HuffPo has acquired an internal Fox News memo:

"Let's be on the lookout for any statements from Iraqi insurgents, who must be thrilled at the prospect of a Dem-controlled congress."

Jesus fucking Christ

Will you fuckers ever fucking learn?

I can't wait to find out how many millions the citizens of LA are going to have to pay this guy.

Or this fucking guy, for fuck's sake.

Once again, the payback, she is a bitch

The Germans, who should know from war crimes, are indicting Donald Rumsfeld, Alberto Gonzalez and George Tenet, among others, on the whole Abu Ghraib thing.

Formerly, the German prosecutor did not indict because he believed the U. S. was pursuing an investigation of the matter. I guess Rumsfeld's resignation has convinced him that we are doing no such thing.

Ah, but here's the sweet, sweet part of the story:

Lawyers for the plaintiffs say that one of the witnesses who will testify on their behalf is former Brig. Gen. Janis Karpinski, the one-time commander of all U.S. military prisons in Iraq. Karpinski, who the lawyers say will be in Germany next week to publicly address her accusations in the case, has issued a written statement to accompany the legal filing, which says, in part: "It was clear the knowledge and responsibility [for what happened at Abu Ghraib] goes all the way to the top of the chain of command to the Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld ."

The former general was demoted to colonel in the wake of the scandal. She insists that she was made a scapegoat.

Here's what I don't get

If we Democrats are so closely aligned with Al-Qaeda types that our election to the U.S. Congress prompts the president to make this statement to warn the terrorists that it's not olly olly oxen-free time:

Do not confuse the workings of American democracy with a lack of American will. Our Nation is committed to bringing you to justice, and we will prevail.

And even "fair and balanced" networks are forced to wonder if I am just a mouthpiece for bin Laden:

Then how is one to explain the arrest of right-wing freeper Chad Castagana, who allegedly mailed anthrax-like powder to famous Democrats and entertainers? How can a man who believes "Ann Coulter is a Goddess" and who "worships" Laura Ingraham and Michele Malkin be not "with us" but "against us"? That just goes against everything BushCo and the media have been saying.

How can a man who describes himself as having "an Associates Degree in the Science of Electronics" hate America?

In short, how can a terrorist be a Republican????????

Not only that, but what in the hell is the DeVry Institute of Technology teaching its students these days??

Did I leave the iron on?

Jill Greenberg's new photo series, inexplicably titled Monkey Portraits, is just as cool as her last one.

But since she didn't make any precious children cry this time, it's likely to be less controversial.

You didn't really expect him to nominate someone acceptable, did you?

Sooo...when our new nominee to replace Rummy, Robert Gates, was nominated in 1991 by 41 to head the CIA, many agency analysts protested because Gates had a history of...wait for it...

cooking intelligence.

What a HUGE fucking surprise.

This holiday season, why settle for irrelevent, when you can be embarrassing?

In honor of Veteran's Day, I bring you a horror worse than any war. Well, okay, not worse than war, but pretty damn high up there:

The long-awaited Billy Idol Christmas album.

Yes, I said Christmas, not "holidays," because there's none of that diversity music for Mr. Idol! No dreidel song on this album, and certainly no singing of songs from Fiddler on the Roof and pretending they're Hanukkah songs.

I guess fans of has-been 80s rockers will have to petition David Lee Roth to come out of retirement for that one.

And speaking of David Lee Roth, what's with the bad face lift, Billy? Because the whole grinning skull look is not exactly merriment-inducing. Maybe a Halloween album would've been a better idea. Call your people.

So readers, watch one of the cuts here, and then tell me what you think is in that gift package Billy keeps shaking. I'm betting it's a gun to shoot himself with, but that might be just wishful thinking.

Yeah, that's it. My Christmas wish.

(thanks to Spooney for the link)

George "Did I mention how sorry I was about the whole 'macaca' thing?" Allen concedes.

Dems take Senate.

Now, are we going to use it, or lose it?


(thanks to Daddy-O for the link)

Judge of Election makes Chicago safe for democracy, pt. 1

In honor of our recent election, I will share with my readers one of my many semi-amusing anecdotes from my experiences as a Democratic Judge of Election in Chicago.

Yes, I worked the polls in Chicago, and no, I never let any dead people vote. Not unless you count those DePaul University students…

And before you go getting all impressed with my civic-mindedness, let me tell you that 1) the gig paid $80, which was nothing to sneeze at for me back then, and 2) by being a judge of election, I could legitimately refuse to spend election day standing outside a polling place with some dumb sign or some dumb flyers while the voters avoided making eye contact with me. Except for the ones that would spit on me, that is.

One thing I learned from being a judge of election is to make friends with your cop. See, in Chicago, there is a cop assigned to every polling place. Sometimes, they are actually there, too. And the cop usually has better stories to tell than the half-demented/90% deaf senior citizen sitting next to you. One cop I spent election day with normally worked a beat in Cabrini-Green, and had been shot 4 times and stabbed twice. Wow, that’s a bad beat. His supervisor must’ve hated his shit.

Anyway, one mayoral election day, I notice that this guy had finished voting, but instead of handing us our ballot and leaving, he was looking over the stall at the ballot of the woman standing next to him. Just as I was about to say something, the guy spoke to the woman in a really loud voice…

Guy: (to woman) What are you doing?
Me: Sir.
Guy: (to woman) You’re not seriously voting for that guy!

The woman he is speaking to looks at him, annoyed. Everyone in the tiny polling place turns to look as well.

Me: Sir. Excuse me sir.
Guy (to me) What?
Me: You can’t do that, sir.
Guy: What?
Me: You can’t try to tell her how to vote.
Guy: It’s okay, she’s my wife.

I looked at him for a moment. He wasn’t joking. He was serious.

Me: Well, regardless. Unless, she’s asked you to assist her – ma’m, have you asked him to assist you?
Woman: (crosses her arms) No!
Me: Okay, then. Sir, you are not allowed to see who she is voting for, or to make comments about her choices.
Guy: Why don’t you mind your own business?
Me: Well, sir, this is my business. I’m a judge of election.
Guy: It’s my wife, okay? So why don’t you settle down?
Me: Sir, if you’re finished voting, I’m suggesting that you give us your ballot and leave. You can wait for your wife outside.

At this point I look up at the cop standing a few feet to my right. The cop, bored out of his skull and probably up for anything, takes a step forward and actually puts his hand on the handle of his nightstick. Like he’s ready to go on my word. Christ, I’ll love that cop until my dying day for doing that.

The guy’s gaze goes from me to the cop, and then after a few seconds he stomps over to the ballot box and makes a big show of watching one of our semi-capable seniors put his ballot in the slot and give him his receipt. Then he stomps out of the polling place, giving me the evil eye the whole time.

As soon as he’s gone the cop shakes his head and goes back to leaning against the wall. The guy’s wife goes back to punching her ballot, and takes her sweet time, too.

Well, that’s the end of that story. Maybe next time I’m tell you about when I worked the polling place in the firehouse.