Like many others in Super Tuesday states, I performed my civic duty this morning. It wasn’t much of an effort as my polling place is just steps from my front door allowing me, just prior to voting, to rev myself up in my own campaign war room (picture Travolta blow-drying his hair in Saturday Night Fever, add a few cats and a four-pack of Red Bull and you’ve got the picture). In my neighborhood, we don’t have any of that new-fangled electronic voting or the old school hanging chads. We use a simple system in which the voter is merely required to complete a line that connects two parts of an arrow pointing to their selected candidate. The one exception is in the case of Dennis Kucinich wherein the voter is required to sketch a freehand dodecahedron.
No one tried to convince me of anything on the way into my polling place, and no one stopped me on the way out. Once again, I took part in the democratic process without being exit polled. In fact, I’ve never been exit polled. I never been phone-polled. I’ve never been Nielsened. I’ve never been Arbitroned. I’ve never even been paused and rewound on TiVo. In fact I haven’t been measured in anyway since I picked out my Bar Mitzvah suit in a store called Young Man’s Fancy (that was also when I launched a fairly ineffective campaign against the use of the word “Husky).
No one I’ve ever asked has said that they’ve been polled either. Yet the exit polls are in most cases alarmingly accurate. Sometimes it makes me think we’re being watched. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. At least that concern kept me from voting for Sharpton.