I tried to vote this morning. Didn’t work so well. I got up ridiculously early, wrenched myself out from the incredible snuggliness of my bed, grabbed the last of the soft pretzel ham rolls I made on Sunday for breakfast, and drove over to the nondenominational church where my inner-city precinct has its polls. The polls opened at 6:30. At 6:32, I took my place in a line that snaked its way up the stairs from the basement room where the polls are located, out the door and halfway across the largeish parking lot. It was cold. It was dark. I was going to be late for work. I waited as long as I could, but when the line had not moved a single inch in ten minutes, I had to give in and head for work. I’ll try again as soon as I get off work, and hopefully the line won’t be quite so long. We’ll see.
While we’re talking about elections, here’s something I think is fun. A few weekends ago The Beautiful T was heading in to her usual Sunday morning Mass at Emmanuel parish downtown. She noticed some cars parked the wrong way in the parking lot, and went over to let the owners know that they needed to fix their cars. It turned out that the cars actually belonged to the Secret Service detail belonging to VP candidate Paul Ryan, who was also attending Mass there that morning (he was in Dayton as part of the big last-minute push for votes in our hotly contested state).
They moved the cars.