Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Okay, so, just so we're all clear on this, Life(?) of Trillian is a nonpartisan, election propaganda-free zone.
Consider this your place to turn when the election and politics makes your head ache or your stomach hurt. Or if you just want (or need) a break from the election.
I believe in voting. It's a right, a responsibility, a duty, an obligation and above all a choice. As citizens we're given the freedom of choice. Exercising that choice, even if that choice is not voting is important for all of us - individually and as a whole. Hey, we're a free people. Whatever your opinion, motivation or choice you have the freedom to exercise it.
But. I will say this in a very non-partisan way: Make a conscious decision. Don't be passive about the politics which shape the world in which you live. At the very least, strive to be informed. Credibly informed.
Political campaigns are marketing. The product being hawked is a candidate. Vote for me = buy this product. Put as much research and thought into selecting a candidate as you do choosing a pain reliever. You could just buy whatever's on sale. Or the one which had a discount coupon in the Sunday paper. But it might cause liver damage. Or make you sick to your stomach. Or relieve the inflamation but not the pain. Or interfere with other medications you take. Better to do real research instead of falling victim to marketing. Be an informed, aware consumer.
I also believe if you're reading this you are intelligent, aware, and mature enough to do your own research and make up your own mind about politicians. You're also kind and open minded enough to respect ideas and opinions other than your own.
So we here at Life(?) of Trillian will deliberately avoid the topic of the election.
Oh sure, we might discuss some related situations. But only in a non-partisan, as-they-happen, observing and reporting manner.
For instance, should someone at Life(?) of Trillian experience questionable behavior at a polling place, that person might put it out there for the world to see.
We are a non-partisan safe house on the web. Love all, respect all.
Okay. Now that that's out of the way, a few words on the word of the day: Electioneering.
We've covered this ground in the past.
But.
In the past two weeks I've received numerous forward emails about wearing campaign buttons, t-shirts, jock straps or thongs when you vote.
Electioneering is apparently a little known "rule." I guess they don't teach it in required civics or government classes anymore. So the Henny Penny-esque, "This is an outrage and a violation of my rights!" "We're one vote away from communism!" fear-triggered proliferation of these emails is causing an internet frenzy.
Altogether now. Calmly. Rationally. Hold my hand. It will be okay. I promise.
Electioneering is not allowed within 100 feet of polling places in most states. This is one of those fundamental rules in place to ensure everyone feels free to cast their vote without influence, bribe or threat of persecution. Everyone, regardless of their political beliefs or affiliations, deserves the right to sleep soundly in the knowledge that within 100 feet of their polling place they will be in a marketing-free, judgment-free, persecution-free, peer pressure-free zone.
Polling places are sacred - they are non-partisan sanctuaries of freedom.
Period.
Hence, the rules regarding electioneering.
Period.
This is nothing new. This is not evidence of The Man keeping average citizens down. Freedoms are not being threatened or violated.
This is actually a good thing. It's meant to keep polling places non-partisan and non-threatening to all citizens. Without electioneering laws candidates could use all sorts of persuasive marketing techniques while you're in the polling place casting votes. It's meant to keep, at the very least, the polling places equal. And free of marketing. Electioneering laws give us one last bastion of hope against marketing. Electioneering laws are protecting freedoms. Really. I promise.
The rule (in most states) is: No visible candidate name or likeness can be on your person within 100 feet of the polling place. Straight from a Chicago board of elections rep: Voters in Chicago who turn up to vote wearing campaign buttons or t-shirts are asked to remove the button(s) and t-shirts (or turn them inside out), or completely cover them prior to entering the confines of the polling place. Also, if you get all hopped up high on campaign fever and start screaming out "Vote for (whomever)!" within the confines of the polling place you will be removed from the polling place. You cannot carry a candidate balloon, lollipop or anything with their likeness or name on it into the polling place.
However, as long as you don't wear your campaign jock strap or thong where it's visible you are perfectly welcome to wear it into the polling place as you cast your vote.
There's a ton of gray area - if you are holding an election flyer, for instance, is that electioneering? Well, technically, yes. You may be asked to fold it so the name or image isn't showing. You also may be asked to hand it over to an election official while you are in the polling place.
I am always very, very surprised at the disregard for electioneering in Chicago. I know. I know. I don't know why I'm surprised. Dis is Chicago. But. Still. I mean. The blatant disregard is disturbing to me. It has improved since I moved here. (in one of my first elections I saw an election worker's totebag with a campaign bumper sticker on it - the totebag was over the back of the chair and on display for all voters to see as they stood in line waiting for a booth. I haven't seen anything like that in the past few years.) But compared to other places I've voted, places where polling places are sacred, quiet, non-partisan sanctuaries, Chicago still has a long way to go.
The results were varied. It's a tight vote. There's a strong constiuancy who feel the type of donut is a deciding factor. Powdered sugar and jelly constitute electioneering. Funny, that. I would think cream sticks would be more of a concern. We also heard from the Munchkin delegates. And at least two people presumably from Chicago or in a witness protection program made their opinions known.
Does giving out donuts at a polling place qualify as electioneering?
The poll is still open if you missed it the first time or if you would like to vote again (hey, dis is Chicago, perhaps you have a dead relative who would like to weigh in on the topic).
Be wise, beware, be respectful. Learn the rules of your polling place, understand them and respect them.
You also might want to check your company's policy regarding political campaigning, too. Many companies have policies prohibiting candidate campaign materials in the workplace. Yes. In some cases distributing or even displaying election materials - including but not limited to buttons, bumper stickers, placards, balloons - is grounds for dismissal. Be particularly mindful of your company's policies if you work in a cube. Your cube is "open" space, not private space. What you pin up on your cube wall is deemed to be on public display. Also, check the dress code. Political t-shirts may be expressly prohibited - this is a very common rule in corporate dress codes. You have been reminded. You're welcome.
I'm all for freedom of speech, but, unless you're working at a candidate headquarters, I tend to agree with company policies banning election campaign advertising. No one should be forced to see political campaign materials at work. They're there to do a job which in most cases has nothing to do with their choice of candidate. Sure, it's to be expected, particularly during this year's election. But. Religion, sex and politics are three sacred and very, very personal topics best kept out of the office. If you love your candidate and want to express the depth of your support turn your bedroom into a shrine to the candidate. Cover your car in stickers and magnets and drive around with a megaphone telling the world about your candidate. Start a blog extolling the many wondrous virtues of your candidate. Cool, right? Rock on. Just don't subject your coworkers to your campaign fervor and zeal.
And, one last issue for the new century. Photography in a polling place. Polling places are subject to local election laws. Election judges and workers are the "sheriffs" in polling places. They keep things safe, fair and legal for everyone. They are not, repeat, are not the bad guys. In the days before cameraphones election officials could easily enforce laws regarding photography in their polling place. If it was illegal to take photographs (or video) it was pretty darned easy to uphold the law. Cameras, video and still, were obvious. But not so, now. Cameraphones make it really easy to circumvent those pesky no camera rules. But. Just because you can clandestinely take photos on your mobile phone in a polling place doesn't mean you should. Be aware that snapping a photo in a polling place may be a felony in your state or jurisdiction. Check your state's laws. In Chicago a provision (10 ILCS 5/29-9) makes it a felony to mark a ballot or cast a vote “so that it can be observed by another person.” The same provision also makes it a felony to “observe another person lawfully marking a ballot or lawfully casting his vote . . .” This would prevent a person from photographing or recording someone else voting, but it would not prevent a person from photographing or recording himself/herself voting. In addition, 10 ILCS 5/17-11 requires voters to enter the voting booth alone (or with a child). This would also prevent a person from photographing or recording someone else voting.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007 Civic Duty So, I’m walking into my polling place this morning, which happens to be in my compartment building, and a man walks in behind me with a big box of donuts. It was early, the place just opened, and the workers were not all there yet. Those who were there were busy. So the donut guy held out the huge box of donuts at me in a gesture of offering me a donut. I, being me, chuckled and said, “It takes a lot more than a donut to bribe a vote out of me.” Nyuck nyuck implied.
The donut guy laughed and said, “Perhaps you have a dead relative who might like a donut.” Nyuck nyuck.
Har hars all around.
He sets the donuts on a table comes back over to where I’m waiting to check-in to vote. He smiles, puts out his hand as if to shake mine, I reach to shake his hand and...kisses it instead.
Okay, ewwwwwwwwww. Maybe he fancies it as a charming gesture. But unless you are in fact Maurice Chevalier and acting in a Merchant Ivory Edwardian period film, or mocking either of those, you cannot pull off this maneuver and come across as anything other than a ridiculous jerk. Way too swing for a guy with donuts at an election polling place. Way too swing for 6 AM. Just way too swing period.
So I beat it over to the kiosk and busy myself with voting. (not that I really believe my vote counts or matters, dis is Chicago, kid, but my civic responsibility is so ingrained in me I feel dirty and shameful if I don’t vote)
I finish my voting and I’m walking toward the door and the donut guy reaches out to shake my hand again. I fear another kiss so I hesitate and back a step away from him. So instead, on my way out the door he pats my ass.
You heard me.
This was no “oops, I accidentally brushed against her ass” situation. This was a blatant “hey baby, buy you a drink and take you to bed” situation.
Ewwwwwwwwwww. I mean, nice to have some attention from a man, but, ewwwwwwwwwwwww. Right there in front of the election workers and the voting kiosks and the donuts and the American flag and everything. Brazenly pats my ass right there under the flag.
There’s got to be a happy medium between being completely ignored by men and insulted by a creepy donut guy copping a feel of my ass in front of a bunch of people at the polling place. Right? I mean, it is possible for a man to show interest in a woman without being suggestive or molestive, right? And, who hangs around a polling place to pick up women? Ewwwwwwwwww. Who does that to a complete stranger in front of other (presumed) complete stranger witnesses?
I keep thinking there must be some misinterpretation. I must have got it wrong. I’m lonely and tired and stressed and surely I must be misinterpreting this. But I replay it and replay it and come up with no way this could be an accident. It was blatant and obvious. And just to ice the cake and cement my take on the whole thing, he raises a suggestive eyebrow at me and gives me a “hey baby” grin.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
I beat a hasty retreat back to my compartment, contemplate taking another shower to try to wash off the stink of the creepy donut guy, get ready for work and head back down to the lobby.
My doorperson, with whom I've become friends, stops me and says, "One of those election guys was asking about you." She then gives a description of the creepy donut guy.
I tell her what happened. She chuckles. She tells me he had a salivating dog look when he described me to her. He asked her my name. She, being a good security person and better friend didn't give up any information about me. I feel like I dodged a potentially weird bullet and head off to work.
I walk out of the building and turn the corner and: There’s the donut guy handing out election flyers.
He sees me, flashes that “hey baby” grin and raises the suggestive eyebrow and says, “I already got you.” Wink wink nudge nudge implied.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
"There's a party tonight, you should come, it's going to be a lot of fun," again with a suggestive eyebrow and a "hey baby" swaggering grin.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
I mean, what kind of person uses an election as a way to hit on women? Oh wait. I just answered my own question.
It's just, you know, gross. You think it won't happen to you and then it does and you just feel gross and dirty.
I'm above that sort of thing, and I go through life presuming it's obvious I'm not the kind of woman who falls for that sort of thing. Power doesn't turn me on, and politicians most certainly do not turn me on. I've spent my adult life trying to avoid politicians and real estate agents and anyone affiliated with either industry. Dirty. Rotten. Scoundrels.
But wait. There’s more. Because there’s always more.
Curious as to who would hire this guy to stump for him, I took one of his flyers. On the flyer is the name of an alderman running for election and a photo of the alderman running for election.
Guess who.
Yep. Donut guy. Way too swing kissing hand guy. Copping a feel guy. The picking up women at the election polling place guy. “Hey baby” grin and suggestively raised eyebrow guy. That guy is running for alderman.
I did some research before I voted, but he looks different in person than in his online photos. I never would have recognized him in person based on his photos.
Maybe it’s because in most of the photos his wife is beaming brightly by his side and his two kids and dog posing in front of him. Such a devoted family man.
And.
Wait a minute.
Isn't there a rule or an actual law about people running for elections not being allowed within a certain radius of the actual voting area?
I mean, even if all he was doing was dropping off donuts - let's pretend the hand kiss and ass pat hadn't happened - what was he doing hanging around the voting area in the first place?
Then again, any married man running for elected office who hits on female voters probably isn't too concerned with pesky rules or ethics of the voting process.
Buy hey, a guy made a physical pass at me, so, you know, that’s something.
I guess.
Right?
I guess that’s something, I mean, for me that’s a pretty big deal and I should be flattered. I guess. I don’t feel flattered. I feel gross and dirty and disgusted. Because polling places are not singles bars. Polling places are about serious civic duty. They’re not about lecherous politicians feeling up the local constituency.
Of course, dis is Chicago.
Post Script: The term evading me earlier is: Electioneering. The word for the day is: Electioneering. So easy even a child can do it, or at least learn about it, so no excuses. See page 10 of the "Let's Vote" public school voting education guide for grade K-3. While my aldermanic paramour didn't technically electioneer within the voting zone he might want to brush up on the election day basics. (Actually, do kisses on the hand, pats on the arse, or donuts count as electioneering? I'm thinking no to the first two, yes to the donuts. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. Dohhhhhnuuuuuuts) His defense would have to be something like, "I wasn't electioneering in the polling place, I was groping a women at the polling place." I wonder which is worse for a politician's image: Getting caught electioneering in a polling place, or getting caught groping a woman who is not his wife in a polling place. I'm guessing it depends on the constituency. I'm guessing electioneering is to Chicago as philandering is to the Kennedys: Accepted norm.
Monday, November 03, 2008 You know I’m a big fan of Freedom of Speech. Any blogger should express their gratitude for freedom of speech every time they hit publish on their blog. I’ve made it my habit to say, “Thank you for the right, privilege and responsibility of the Freedom of Speech” every time I hit publish. If you think I’m kidding guess again. I’ve made it part of my conscious to be conscientious.
I know. Acknowledging Constitutional rights one day, praying to a supreme deity the next. I know. It’s a short leap to prayer. Or superstition. I’m neither religious or superstitious so I’m confident my acknowledgment of my rights won’t spread to scary places. But. Speaking of free speech, it’s nice to know that if I get religion, or superstition, I have the right to pray or de-jinx. It’s also really great to sleep soundly in the knowledge that I have the right to say I’m not religious. Or superstitious.
So. Hot on the heels of Freedom of Speech week I exercised several Constitutional rights and voted early. That was my plan all along. I cherish my right to vote, but the official polling place for my new address is, well, scary. It’s tucked in the middle of a block on a street which is so crime ridden that the city police cameras are habitually shot and disabled. It takes months for them to be repaired. Meanwhile drugs are openly sold on the sidewalk and young kids walk in packs carrying baseball bats, golf clubs and other heavy stick-like objects. A few weeks ago walking from the train I looked down the street and saw five boys carrying hockey sticks. It’s highly unlikely they were heading to a pick-up game of street hockey. So I’m not exactly keen on trotting down there at 7 in the morning to cast my vote.
It’s the first time I’ve ever had to consider if I value my right to vote enough to die (or get mugged/assaulted) for it. Would I die to cast my ballot? I hope it wouldn’t come to that. Or, at the very least, if I were considering dying for my vote I would hope that some sort of huge war had taken place and I was one of the few remaining people alive and able to vote out the war mongering dictatorial regime which started the whole situation. I’m envisioning something along the lines of a Mad Max type of situation, good, evil, violence, destruction, each day a struggle to survive, and risking life to vote is a heroic measure because the ramifications are bigger than personal fears. The entire human race, the lone chance for a safe future for the human race and the entire planet hangs in the balance of my vote. In that scenario, heck yes, of course I’d die for my vote. I mean, duh. I’m not religious but I’m not evil, selfish and stupid.
But. Would I risk my life, or, in a more likely case, would I risk being mugged or raped to cast my vote? I’ve been mugged four times in 6 years. Once I was shoved down a crowded CTA staircase, another time I was violently beaten in the process. On a Sunday afternoon in broad daylight with at least 20 people as witnesses. Once while my leg was in a cast and I was on crutches waiting at a bus stop. Pardon my cynicism. Pardon my lack of optimism. Pardon my very real understanding of what assault and battery means. Pardon my assumption that there are a lot of people who see election day as an opportunity for something other than exercising their right to vote. In my neighborhood our polling place is on a stretch of street where no one goes unless they’re selling or buying drugs or involved with a gang. When I moved in one of my neighbors warned me about it and advised me to make sure I voted by absentee ballot. Yes. It’s that bad.
So. Would I risk my life to vote? Sadly, given these circumstances, I’m not sure. I would die for my right to vote in a Mad Max type of scenario. But I’m not sure I’d die for my right to vote simply because the neighborhood crack dealer is feeling the pinch of the economy issues and is raising his prices forcing his patrons to mug and attack more people to get money to feed their habit.
I know. You’re thinking, “Sheesh. They should move that polling place. Or at the very least make sure there are more cops on patrol on election day.” I know. That’s exactly what I thought. But. Har har. We’re too logical. Too sensible. Or, rather, you are. I’ve lived under the Daley Regime long enough to know that’s not how things work in this city. Logic? Are you kidding? Democracy? Freedom? Safety? Ha! Request a meeting with the mayor and get back to me with the results.
So. I was very excited to learn we’d have early voting this year. And that we could vote at any early voting polling place. One right by my office and one very close to home, on a safer block of a safer street. (You know, one where the police cameras are not shot out as often and when they are, they are actually replaced very quickly.)
I got up early a few Saturdays ago and went to the polling place thinking I'd be first in line when they opened. I was wrong - there was a line waiting for the place to open. It wasn't horrifically long, 40 or 50 people, so I opted to wait. I figured once the polling place opened the line would move quickly.
Two hours later I left with my vote cast.
There was a lengthy delay mid-stream due to a 60 something-year-old stoner hippie (seriously) who attempted to cause a scene about how America isn't really free and the election process is a sham and we're all prisoners of the government. No, I’m not assuming because he was a hippie old enough to have protested Viet Nam and attend Woodstock that he was a stoner. He smelled, nay, reeked of pot. His eyes were red. He was obviously baked. Everyone in line just chuckled or ignored him.
He made a big show of his protest. I’m not really sure what he was attempting other than protest for the sake of protesting. His points, while at times valid, were all over the place. He seemed to be throwing out random provocative statements and waiting for a reaction.
The rest of us dutifully waited our turn in the three lines required to cast our votes. Quietly, with a little general, good natured conversation amongst us about the weather, the great turnout and the sale on spinach at the grocery across the street, we filled out our forms and waited our turns.
I was just mentally noting how impressed I was with the election workers compared to other polling places I’ve voted in Chicago when Baked Hippie Dude appeared trying to cut in line behind me. I smelled him before I heard him. I heard him before I saw him. He came in, cutting in line, muttering and mumbling something about censorship. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying due to his slurred speech. He cut in line and approached the two guys working table on the first stop on the road to voting. “I just have some questions, I want to know if I can vote for anyone here or if this is being monopolized by the Democratic talking monkey organization."
You could see every spine in the room stiffen. It was already quiet but it was now silent.
The voting judges and election volunteers were remarkably calm and nice to him.
Interestingly (to me, anyway), two of the judges were clearly about this guy's age and based on their appearance I would wager a hefty bet they also spent a good portion of the ‘60s and '70s at protests. But they obviously decided (sold out?) that they’d be part of the process, work for change, rather than doing nothing except carrying a sign and shouting against it. Their gray hair was still longer than the average guy their age, and they still sport the beard, but the similarities in appearance end there. Where the stoner hippie dude clearly hadn’t used a brush or comb in weeks and wore the CPO jacket worn, frayed and held together with American flag patches and protest buttons he probably wore in the ‘70s, along with dirty jeans and shoes (none of which appeared to have been laundered since the ‘70s) and still sported John Lennon round wire glasses, the two guys working the election poll were clean and wearing freshly laundered clothes purchased sometime in the last decade. 40 years ago these three guys could very well have stood side-by-side at a concert, protest or whatever else college kids did for fun en masse in 1968. I suspect the two guys working the election were thinking the very same thing. They clearly wanted to cut the guy some slack. They were trying to treat him with respect.
The stoner hippie wasn’t having any of it. He was on a mission. He had some point, some issue, and he was going to make himself known. I suspect he came in there expecting to be immediately kicked out for causing a disturbance. When that didn’t happen he had to resort to lame attempts at being “threatened.”
“You’re all brainwashed! Voting early is the work of the establishment! Do you know where your votes are going? Do you know if they’ll be counted? This isn’t democracy!”
Then he just had to go and ruin it for all of us independent voters.
“The only true democracy is a government that isn’t sucking on the breast of the Democratic or Republican banks! You think you’re free? You think you have a choice? No! There is no choice. It’s Republican and Democratic lobbying and funding. They’re all in bed together. You ain’t free, you’re being held down, tied up and whipped by the establishment. You’re sadomasochists!”
Aw crap. It’s guys like him that give us a bad name.
The two election guys calmly told him that if he didn’t quiet down they’d have to ask him to leave. They asked him what they could do to help him vote. One of them used dulcet tones which I suspect came from years of listening to patients in his psychotherapy office. The more he tried to calm down the stoner hippie the more I picked up on a psychotherapist vibe. I found that comforting. Having a psychologist in the room could be helpful if the stoner guy whipped out a Viet Nam era grenade.
Stoner hippie said, “All I wanna do is vote, man. I want to know if I can vote for the Green Party in here or if this is a Democratic Convention Headquarters.”
Okay, the thing is, for three days prior there were people handing out flyers in front of the local train station which is half-block from the early voting place. The flyers said, "Early voting for Obama" in big bold letters and in smaller type it gave the address and hours for the early voting polling place. If you take the flyer literally you assume that it's early voting for Obama. Just Obama. Not general early voting. I noticed that bit of campaigning (and presuming and assuming) and while I was bothered by it, I'm not stupid and I know that polls are neutral and all votes for all candidates are welcome. However, I can understand how the wording could bother or even confuse some people. If they were handing out the flyers a few feet closer to the polling place they would be committing the crime of electioneering. I'm guessing this guy, the stoner hippie, was given one of those flyers and he took offense to it.
It was then I realized that the stoner hippie was very careful to not mention any candidate names. This guy has clearly learned how to teeter on the edge of polling place rules but not get kicked out. I took a closer look at his buttons. None of them promoted any candidate.
But. Either my looking at his jacket prompted one of the election guys to look at his jacket also, or, we both had the same thought at the same time: What do those buttons actually say?
Two of them said Green Party for Real Change in ’08.
The psychologist-esque election worker hippie said, “You have to remove those buttons. No electioneering within 200 feet of the polls.” He wasn’t mean or snotty, he was very much, “Hey man, quick, before the boss sees you, you’ll get us all in trouble.”
Oh boy.
That set off a tirade about freedom of speech. And how censorship is un-American and once you lose your freedom of speech you might as well be dead and only those who stand up for their beliefs are truly free. I’m synopsizing for the sake of time.
Okay, sure, all salient points, but not the time or the place for a 60 year old stoner hippie to make those points.
The two election worker hippies said, “Right on, brother, but we have to make sure this place is fair and free of campaigning for everyone. This is for your sake, too. Take off your buttons and then you can vote.”
I was just waiting for the stoner hippie protestor to say to them, "What happened to you, man? You used to be cool."
Then things got ugly. Another judge came over to see what was going on. She was clearly "in charge" and not the type to put up with any kind of polling place nonsense or shenanigans. She took one look at hippie guy and said, "You cannot wear any sort of campaign items within 200 feet of the polls. Please zip up your jacket or remove your buttons."
The guy started yelling that censorship is unAmerican and he'd die before surrendering to censorship and that his freedom of speech was being threatened. I kid you not, he started yelling, yelling “I’m being repressed! I’m being oppressed! I’m being repressed!”
Most of us in the room were the types to be well versed in Monty Python. And collectively we burst out laughing at him. Well. Not at him, at his “help help I’m being repressed!” pleas.
The large and in charge woman told him he had to quiet down or leave or she’d call the police.
Oh brother. Which is exactly what the two election worker hippies thought. One of them even said, “Oh no. Here we go.”
Sure enough, as if on cue, the stoner hippie went completely limp and collapsed onto the floor.
Ya know, I’ve seen documentaries on the ‘60s and ‘70s. I’ve seen film footage of riots and protests in that era. In those film clips protesters often do that when confronted by cops. I guess they know when the cops are surrounding them they’re going to have to surrender or be carried away. I guess the most self-righteous option is to be carried away. And to make it as difficult as possible. And collapsing, making yourself as much dead weight as possible, is probably the last resort tactic. But I’ve never actually seen this maneuver live, in person. It’s kind of disturbing because for a moment, there, you think the person is fainting. Or having a heart attack. Which is exactly what one woman thought happened. From across the room she yelled, “I know CPR! I know CPR!”
The two election worker hippie guys said, “He’s okay! He’s okay. Everyone stay calm, we’ve got it under control.” The thing is, everyone did stay calm. Apart from getting a laugh out of the guy no one out of the immediate area seemed to pay much attention to what was happening. Which is good.
And bad.
Good because this guy was clearly just trying to make trouble because apparently that’s what he does. It’s apparently what he’s been doing since the ‘60s. It’s his thing.
Bad because if he’d been a serious threat we could have all been in danger. Bad because, wow, someone walks into a polling place, causes a ruckus, tells us we’re all brainwashed sadomasochists and we just stand there waiting our turns to vote.
Cripes. Maybe he’s right.
The two election worker hippie guys and the large and in charge woman talked to him. The psychologist-esque guy apparently got through to him because stoner hippie dude finally stood up, took off his buttons, filled out his form, showed his id and quietly stood in line to vote.
When I left he was next in line to use a voting machine.
I went across the street to score some on-sale spinach at the grocery. When I came out of the grocery he was outside the polling place, one foot away from the electioneering warning sign, staging a one-man protest demonstration about freedom of speech, or lack thereof.
Would I die for my right to vote? Or my right to free speech? I like to think I would. And yet one stoned, aging hippie comes along and tries to shake things up and all I got was a chuckle out of him. Sure, he was laughable, but I've been thinking about him. Even in his baked brain he was passionate about his politics, his right to vote and his right to question authority. The fact that he was not being repressed, oppressed or in any way threatened aside, he still, after all these years, has fire in his belly about his freedoms. His little one man protests seem pathetic and unnecessary to us. But to him they are monumentally important.
Which is the whole point of free speech. He has the right to speak out against anything. As long as he doesn't make threats or incite illegal activity (or electioneer in a polling place), he has a right to speak his mind. He has a right to call me a brainwashed sadomasochist (assuming I don't take those to be fighting words). And I have a right to deny his allegations. I have a right to speak my mind. But I didn't. I was a good little well behaved voter and tried to mind my own business and let the election workers handle the guy. If I won't speak out against a stoned aging hippie calling me a brainwashed sadomasochist, it's fair to assume that I wouldn't die for my vote or my right to free speech. No, he wasn't worth the effort. Of course not. It wasn't worth the effort. But. Isn't that often the root cause of problems that spiral out of control? At first things seem harmless. Better to be polite and "above" it than engage and speak up for yourself. The next thing you know you have a Mad Max post-apocalyptic situation on your hands.
