I voted today, in Alabama's primary elections.
"Big whoop," you say.
Damned right it is.
99 Years ago yesterday, the 19th Amendment passed, allowing women the right to vote, because of women like these:
And 2 years ago I earned back the right to vote after years of struggling to overcome errors from my past.
So, yeah, it's a big whoop. It's a giant honking whoop to be allowed a say in the way the world we live in is governed.
Think it's just the primaries?
🎵Wrong🎵
Primaries determine which candidates are running for key positions of state government, and that determines the direction your state representation in Congress, and Governor's office go.
But I'm a Democrat in the South. So voting is...different.
I pulled up to the National Guard Armory and the first thing I saw was 2 signs:
NO SMOKING WITHIN 50 FT OF DOOR
NO CAMPAIGNING WITHIN 3 FT OF DOOR
What?? Have you people not noticed that some of the elected officials are a gozillion times more dangerous to a large group of people than a whiff of secondhand smoke in the open air? But, whatever, I wasn't going to smoke there anyway, so I hobble on in through the giant sliding doors left open with a few fans going as allegedly adequate air conditioning. South Alabama in June, people. A few fans is not adequate for anyone who actually has a little bit of circulation, but as I was the only one there under the age of 80, and many of them were wearing sweaters and shivering, okay, again, whatever.
Then I went up to the table to sign in.
"Name and Party?"
I hand over my ID.
"Democrat."
You would have thought I said "Fuck" in church.
A pin dropping would have been a sonic boom in that silence. I think the fans even quit.
Grandma Moses handed me the sign-in sheet where I see I'm the 3rd person to sign in as Democrat, maybe for the whole county, hell, maybe the state. But I proudly picked my candidates, including one who has the nickname, "New Blue," and went to insert my ballot in the reader, with 70 pairs of ancient eyes disapproving of me the entire time. Grandpa ZekeJimBob grudgingly handed me a sticker, and as I hobbled my way out, head held high, I met the guy from last year's elections when we tossed Roy Moore to the curb - the one in standard overalls, hog shit caked on boots older than I am, but the minute he opens his mouth... he's one of my tribe. He walked straight up to me, we high-fived, and he loudly commanded,"Stay the course!"
I will, sir. I will.
