Now that the election is over, I can celebrate one positive outcome for a crusty old man, no more unsolicited text messages from unknown phone numbers reminding me where my polling place is. I got one almost daily from Ice-T, apparently not a favorite beverage, but someone I should know. My Google/ Gemini AI buddy tells me, “he is an American rapper, actor, and songwriter who became a central figure in hip-hop history and a fixture on American television.”
Who knew?
So on the rainy afternoon of November 3rd, Election Day, the Bohunk and I drove a few blocks to our polling place, the community center of our master-planned manufactured housing community. I’d call it a trailer park, but you might discount me as “trailer trash.” I willingly call myself that, but it hurts when strangers do.
After almost a decade of submitting mail ballots to our rural county election officials, it’s great fun to enter the party room/tornado shelter, chit/chat with election workers, and feed my ballot into an official tabulator. I love seeing real people mark me off the voter list, make sure I sign my name, and graciously thank them for the important work they do.
Thinking we were just going home for the rest of the day, I rejected the round sticker that said: “I voted.” When we’d arrived at the polls, our little red car was the only one in the small parking lot. As we “left the building,” the Bohunk informed me we would stop at the Dairy Queen in Hermantown to get a couple of the special new Blizzards the Queen was selling. Damn, I should have taken that sticker. But that announcement may have broken my ancient train of thought, and I walked up to the first red car I saw and grabbed the door handle. Only after I tried to open the door did I realize She Who Must Be Obeyed had already said, “That’s not our car.”
Minnesota voters came out in force this year, better than the thugs of ICE who came out last winter. With 65% of eligible voters casting a ballot, we were just one percentage point behind the other great state for maple syrup, logging, and fishing — Maine.
I confess that I was more nervous about what this election would mean than I’ve been in half a century. Rather than sit up past bedtime and listen to the babble of commentators and political consultants, I turned in before the polls even closed here. Since I always get up for my morning coffee around 4 am, I got most of the results on my phone then.
Plopping into my recliner while the coffee brewed, and with a little nagging apprehension, I opened my trusty Android phone. The first result that popped up was Georgia Senator Ossoff’s reelection victory with a significant margin. The socalled political pros had predicted a close race, yet Ossoff beat Republican Mike Collins by 19%.
My political junky personality went from morning crabby to aggressively optimistic.
All of the political forecasters, commentators, pollsters, and partisan hacks were wrong—wrong on an unprecedented level. People turned out to vote because popular media and unpopular politicians ignored their voices. Two things were on their mind: you, who have been in charge the last ten years, have been around too long and have done nothing to keep rapacious health care conglomerates, big oil, big tech, and big food from sucking the soul out of our lifestyle. And too many of you have put your personal prestige and profit over the legitimate concerns of the people— you’re corrupt.
Most of the media say the vote is a repudiation of the president and the sycophants in his party who did nothing to stop the pillaging and purging. From the other side of their pulpit, they caution the Democrats to go easy on the incompetent criminals who have made a mockery out of the rule of law.
For me, this was the real change election. We are not going back to a time that some idiots thought our country was great. Instead, we are going forward.
Last week I saw many pictures online of the diverse, younger crop of new Senators, Governors, and Representatives. More women, more minorities, and more regular guys with the moral compass to make life better for America’s people. And the right age, young enough, to do the hard work that needs doing.
Now there are calls for the new Democratic Senate to send Senator Chuck Schumer to the back row. At 75, he is past his sell-by date. The only Senate Majority Leader I can say I’ve actually spoken with, Harry Reid, was 77 when he retired. He announced his resignation a couple of years before his last term ended.
Newspapers are losing readers and closing every week. The Big Four network television is tottering toward irrelevance in news and programming. The postal service is gamely trying to stop its slide.
Facing a brave new world, we all needed this election.
