I don’t really remember the context.  Perhaps I was stubbornly refusing to participate in some banal family decision.  Or, maybe I was just being a brat.  But the result was that one of my parents informed me that unless I took part in the process I would not be allowed to complain about it, afterwards.

Complaining was always big, in my family; a recreational activity, on a par with eating, laughing, gossiping, arguing, and breathing.  Never a dull moment, at the Shulman house.  Eccentric?  Encouraging?  Exhausting?  Loud?  Yes, to all.  But, dull?  Never.

Anyhow, that’s always stuck with me.  Why?  Because, as Americans it is our right to complain.  That’s pretty much what the First Amendment boils-down to, you know.  Assemblage, religion, speech – no matter what notion, position, or whackadoodle stance you want to take – our government is legally bound to allow (barring harm to others).  They don’t have to like it.  They don’t have to agree with it.  They don’t even have to acknowledge it.  But they have to allow it.

Furthermore, my polling location is literally across the street.  If Sarah Palin were over for charcuterie, she might say that she could see it, from my house (although you’d actually have to drive through the community, and out a set of gates, but from there it’s totally visible (and I’d have to have suffered a stroke, to let that loon in my house – but hey, it’s her right to be loony)).

And before I voted (at Durango High School) I signed two petitions, in the parking lot.  One to legalize marijauna, and the other - well, the other seems to escape me at the moment.  (Ah, life's little ironies...)

So, I’ve voted.  

Will it make a difference?  It’s nice to think so.  But one thing’s for sure – people are gonna be whining about it, for the next two years, regardless of what happens.

Election 2014
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Get into it!
#VOTE