Elect-ile Dysfunction

There were many predictions that were made about yesterday’s national elections. One that came true was Beni’s foretelling that our last name would be butchered and commented on by the polling volunteers at our voting site. (Note to these people: our disclosure of our “ethnic” last name should not be accompanied by sighs, eye rolls, and nervous laughter. Your attempts at humor are not funny. Go back and read your training manual about decorum. And immediately remove your head from your insensitive ass.)

We, as voters, faced the choice of the same versus the same of not long ago. If only we had a more compelling option, such as the one we faced as we walked in our polling place:

And young people of legal voting age of Democratic persuasion, a message for you.

Please don’t shoot – I’m just a messenger. But consider this: if the six-year-old below was excited about the prospect of one day casting a ballot, then you shouldn’t waste the opportunity to point the country, state, city, township, or municipality in the direction you see fit.