Voting in Chicago ...or: the republican who sketched my portrait in a church basement
So I went to vote this morning and was a bit disappointed when I saw there were no "I voted" stickers being handed out. How can I smugly broadcast my civic participation and cast judgement on others without these modern-day scarlet letters?!
I did, however, receive two ballots to fill out*, so I guess that extra voting power makes up for no stickers.
The ballots in my precinct aren't electronic yet, but they are odd to me. It's a scan-tron of sorts. For each candidate there is a broken arrow pointing to their name. Like this:
<-------
You are given a black marker and bridge the arrows of your favored candidates. Like this:
<-------
The arrows of unfavorable candidates remain unfixed and broken.
I know: this is hardly remarkable.
My polling place is in the basement of an old stone and cement Catholic church named for Saint Ita. Saint Ita died when a beetle devoured her side and grew to the size of a pig.
It has a ring to it?
The bells in the tower of Saint Ita have long-been replaced by innocuous-looking loudspeakers, poking out from behind the lace-fine Gothic stonework. Now pre-recorded ringing broadcasts to the neighborhood each hour, much louder than the mechanical, rope-strung bells ringing from the Baptist church two blocks down.
Is the recording of bells from Rome or Ita's native Ireland or of electronic bells hidden in an algorithm?
*Don't worry, I was honest and handed back the extra ballot. I didn't see any winking and nodding going on, so I don't suspect conspiracy although the Republican voting judge was writing furiously on a notepad after I approached the judges table with the extra ballot. Maybe he suddenly thought of lyrics to a song he's been working out in his head. Maybe he was drawing my picture. For some reason, I prefer this last scenario over the other two.
I did, however, receive two ballots to fill out*, so I guess that extra voting power makes up for no stickers.
The ballots in my precinct aren't electronic yet, but they are odd to me. It's a scan-tron of sorts. For each candidate there is a broken arrow pointing to their name. Like this:
<-------
You are given a black marker and bridge the arrows of your favored candidates. Like this:
<-------
The arrows of unfavorable candidates remain unfixed and broken.
I know: this is hardly remarkable.
My polling place is in the basement of an old stone and cement Catholic church named for Saint Ita. Saint Ita died when a beetle devoured her side and grew to the size of a pig.
It has a ring to it?
The bells in the tower of Saint Ita have long-been replaced by innocuous-looking loudspeakers, poking out from behind the lace-fine Gothic stonework. Now pre-recorded ringing broadcasts to the neighborhood each hour, much louder than the mechanical, rope-strung bells ringing from the Baptist church two blocks down.
Is the recording of bells from Rome or Ita's native Ireland or of electronic bells hidden in an algorithm?
*Don't worry, I was honest and handed back the extra ballot. I didn't see any winking and nodding going on, so I don't suspect conspiracy although the Republican voting judge was writing furiously on a notepad after I approached the judges table with the extra ballot. Maybe he suddenly thought of lyrics to a song he's been working out in his head. Maybe he was drawing my picture. For some reason, I prefer this last scenario over the other two.
posted by iHabitus at
8:15 AM
2 Comments:
Sorry to disappoint you, but from your description I can tell you that the Voting Judge almost surely had just recalled the lyrics to the third verse of Hotel California. I myself had a similar experience during a German class in highschool.
I would like to report, however, that this dyed-in-the-wool Indy voted Republican this year. Well, for one Republican, anyway. For Sheriff. McMeekin's got my dander up, with his condescending handlebar moustache, and snide quotes to the Indy (the weekly publication, I mean, not me in the third person) even if he does bare the sacred mark of the donkey.
Sorry to disappoint you, but from your description I can tell you that the Voting Judge almost surely had just recalled the lyrics to the third verse of Hotel California. I myself had a similar experience during a German class in highschool.
I would like to report, however, that this dyed-in-the-wool Indy voted Republican this year. Well, for one Republican, anyway. For Sheriff. McMeekin's got my dander up, with his condescending handlebar moustache, and snide quotes to the Indy (the weekly publication, I mean, not me in the third person) even if he does bare the sacred mark of the donkey.
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