Over lunch, you told me that you were not planning to vote next Tuesday. The slight smile on your face told me that you knew what our reaction to this would be, that you knew there would be a stunned silence followed by a barrage of expostulation and argument. You knew, and you were prepared for it. You had your reasons straight, and I found I couldn’t argue with you then. I am, however, prepared to argue with you now.

We were talking about our Congressional candidates, and you said that you could not with good conscience support either of them. Honestly, neither can I. The constant influx of negative campaigning would have been enough by itself, but when I sat down last night to actually review their politics in detail, I confess that I almost drank myself into a coma. They are both pro-life, they are both pro-war, the differences between them boil down to a few inconsequentialities and my sense of a new hatred struggling with one which has stood for eight years.

You said, “Who are you going to pick to be your Leader? Who’s gonna be your Daddy?” and the anarchist spirit in me sat up and started asking how far down the river I had sold my soul just to try to reach something a little better than what we have, and whether it was worth it. Why am I so proudly insisting that it is every American’s duty to march into that booth on Tuesday and mark a choice for a person to lead the nation whom they would never choose to lead a Boy Scout fundraiser? Continue reading