The memory banks are starting to fog like the yellow headlights from my old 1953 Ford F-100. The first person I ever voted for was Martin Van Buren and that was for Alliklik Indian Nation Rural Elementary No. 7 Kindergarten Prom King.

This last Tuesday? I voted. Again. Just the once. I’m insufferable and volatile enough to defend my political choices in any barroom brawl, saloon of your choosing. For me? Voting is simple. If there’s a (D) within 4 miles downwind of a candidate or measure on my ballot, I’ll pencil-stab the air above a cretin’s name or yet another of their stupid bond measures while yelling, “GET THEE BEHIND ME!!!” 

My outbursts cause little disturbance. I’m backcountry. Our polling booth is a condor observation tower/deer tree stand high in the Tehachapis. Whenever any of us in the grange show up to vote, we like to scream in tongues. Whatever your party preference (Republican or Stupid), I highly recommend screaming epithets while voting. It’s purging. Bonus? Liberal or conservative, it’s the only honest time one’s mournful cry in the California wilderness actually amounts to anything. 

Screaming in the woods is not unlike voting for a judge. The past 50 years? I’ve probably voted for 114,006 mystery mooncalves and still have no idea who any of these people are. Britches on or off, couldn’t ID them in a police lineup. I research candidates and measures. Judges? Unless my ballot reads … 

“DAHMER, JEFFREY serial killer/cannibal (D)” 

… I’ve no idea who this would-be jurist in the black theater........

© Santa Clarita Valley Signal