Just what the doctor ordered: The end of the election

It's election day and I've been sitting at the doctor's office waiting to find out that I've got a broken foot. It seems that I erred greatly in my choices of exercise (running) and footwear (sandals all summer). Let us hope that my choice for president turns out a whole lot better.

Anyway, here in the doc's office, we're all limpy and/or casted and we're watching the early results trickle in. Actually, we're watching Channel 8's report on the results of an elementary school election, in which smart kids voted Obama. After that, clips of Palin voting in a nice warm jacket with her handsome sidekick snowmobiler, clips of John and Cindy McCain voting in some circuitous envelope-licking process in Phoenix, clips of Barrack and Michelle Obama and their kids piling into a voting booth. Ah, democracy and photo opps. What else is America, if not ballot casting and media overkill? That sums it up. And it's a nutshell kind of day. By the end of it, we should have the future of the American experiment worked out.

So, having voted two weeks ago and already worn out my "I Voted" sticker, this evening will consist of the great American pastimes of channel flipping and pizza chewing alongside my significant other. And right after that, I shall light a match to the piles of campaign fliers that cover my kitchen counter and living room floor and ottoman and sofa and shelves and hallway and garage and front yard and streets and curbs, and file for the insurance on my home, which should get me out of this foreclosure mess, which makes this whole presidential hoo-ha beside the point, because frankly, it's all about my bank account when all the talk of hope and goodness subsides. Oh wait, that's reality for the other party. I'm in the one that identifies my salary as barely livable and allows me to get by on platitudes and the promise of better health care.

Which brings me back to the foot. It's covered. My insurance has (most of) my back on this one. So let me take one gimpy step out of my jadedness and be glad that I've got it as good as I've got it, and grateful that whichever media-concocted brand of a candidate wins, I'm living a pretty good life as an American. Bring on the pizza and TV.

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