Perks of the Caretaker
We went voting today. I feel like this was the first time since 1980 that I actually have a say in who is to be president, but once again, my voice is limited. The republicans would not allow one to vote unless one affiliated. I have issues with that. I have issues with the democrats, too, but at least they allow me a say without demanding that I give them my franchise. So I voted a democratic ticket. (I hope I didn't loose too many friends with that admission. I'm still a good person.) The way I got to vote was really I cool, though; I took Sarge with me. Our polling place was the new rec centre, which was different. By the time we could get there the line was snaking around the upper floor, down the stairs and to the door. I couldn't put Sarge through that, so I found the elevator. We walked in, and he asked how we got to the back of the line from there. Of course, they expedited him, and I got to vote fast because I was with him. The poll worker was really competent this time, I could let her do most of her job instead of having to do it for her. I did read the list of candidates, however, since she spoke too quietly. She was there to make sure I didn't steal his vote. I will be his eyes and his hands, but I will not be his mind. There are real perks to being the caretaker child.
I kind of wonder about the way they were running the show. People were allowed in the door of the voting room two or three at a time, and there were at least a dozen voting machines, most of them standing idle while people waited. No, I don't have an answer for how to make it work any better or faster, but I do know that they haven't figured out yet the logistics of these new-fangled electronic machines. There has to be a way to make it smoother. I hope they get a good stage manager in to speed things up.
The kitty-viewer 2000 is effectively down. The animals are getting used to each other, and quieter about it. The kitties are out for long periods of time, often unsupervised. There are no kitty parts around the house. Kitty toys, yes, but not kitty parts. I have become a kitty jungle-gym for the little one that confuses me for a tree and climbs up me in a similar manner. That one also thinks she gets to be on the table. WRONG! I came home from the personal trainer and found her sprawled across Dad's chest. Funny. It's late. I'm tired. I'm gone.