November 4th, 2008
I voted this morning. It was pretty uneventful. The cop that gave me a traffic ticket last year was the greeter. I saw my 3rd grade teacher, but didn’t really want to say hello since there’s no way she’d possibly know who I am now. The poll workers looked mostly like retired women in their seventies. Needless to say, it was a little surreal to walk into the Sudbury town hall.
Everyone writes and talks about small town America and the heart and soul of the country. I forgot that I grew up in a small town. In fact, I grew up in one of the original small towns. Incorporated in 1838, the towns oldest house dates back to before 1820. The Sudbury town hall looks a lot like a picture you’d see in a history book documenting the American Revolution. It’s got thick doric pillars in front of heavy wooden doors. Inside, is a long hall with a stage flanked by the Massachusetts and American flags. On one side is a torn, coffee colored map of the town as it appeared a hundred years ago.
All around the building and inside are posters reminding voters that campaigning within 150 feet of the town hall is against some town ordinance. It seemed to me an ironic sentiment that it’s acceptable to be bombarded by political commentary, ads, slogans, signs and ass holes right up until the point of actually voting. There was a kind of cheerful calm floating through the air as if everyone in the room was engaged in some cathartic release of emotion.
Now that I’m at work, all I want to do is find out what happened/is happening. I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not as wrapped up as people say it is. Something crazy and annoying is going to happen and I’m not looking forward to hearing about it.
Good Game America
November 4th, 2008
I voted this morning. It was pretty uneventful. The cop that gave me a traffic ticket last year was the greeter. I saw my 3rd grade teacher, but didn’t really want to say hello since there’s no way she’d possibly know who I am now. The poll workers looked mostly like retired women in their seventies. Needless to say, it was a little surreal to walk into the Sudbury town hall.
Everyone writes and talks about small town America and the heart and soul of the country. I forgot that I grew up in a small town. In fact, I grew up in one of the original small towns. Incorporated in 1838, the towns oldest house dates back to before 1820. The Sudbury town hall looks a lot like a picture you’d see in a history book documenting the American Revolution. It’s got thick doric pillars in front of heavy wooden doors. Inside, is a long hall with a stage flanked by the Massachusetts and American flags. On one side is a torn, coffee colored map of the town as it appeared a hundred years ago.
All around the building and inside are posters reminding voters that campaigning within 150 feet of the town hall is against some town ordinance. It seemed to me an ironic sentiment that it’s acceptable to be bombarded by political commentary, ads, slogans, signs and ass holes right up until the point of actually voting. There was a kind of cheerful calm floating through the air as if everyone in the room was engaged in some cathartic release of emotion.
Now that I’m at work, all I want to do is find out what happened/is happening. I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not as wrapped up as people say it is. Something crazy and annoying is going to happen and I’m not looking forward to hearing about it.
Tags: Politics
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