Category: Elections

An Absentee Voter

Today is Election Day. It’s a day when millions upon millions of Americans will record their voices with their #2 pencils, sharpened by hope; and it’s the rare day when each voice is as loud as the next one, even the silent ones. It’s a day when men and women will vote for their dreams, and the dreams of many men and women will be crushed. And it’s a day when your mind is warmed by feelings you have rarely felt since your childhood; when you think the world can be a better place and you can make a difference. It’s a day that often reminds me of the first time I ran for public office. Earlier this year when I announced my ultimately-brief candidacy for lieutenant governor of Vermont, I wouldn’t be surprised if you thought it was my first attempt at politics. That’s because not many of you have known me long enough to know that it was actually my second political dance, the first happening nearly 25 years ago.

In elementary school, lives were made by how well you fit in and, conversely, lives were forever scarred by how much you didn’t. And, in elementary school, you didn’t fit in at least once a week no matter how hard you tried. I remember bumping into Jennifer Person* on the school bus, hearing her complain that I had given her an instant cooties infection, and holding in the tears long enough to step off of the bus. I remember the shame I felt when Jacob VanRyan* accused me of wearing the same pair of jeans two days in a row. And I’m still sheepishly embarrassed whenever I think back to the day a substitute teacher incorrectly read my name during roll call—replacing my last name with my unconventional middle one—and traumatized me to the point of seriously considering changing my legal name.

Elementary school was war and every day was a desperate battle to survive embarrassment, irrational or not. It was the front lines of recess and gym class. It was the pulling rank in the cafeteria. It was the mutiny of friendships. It was the daytime bombings of spelling bees. It was the better funded and supplied (read: dressed and ice-cream-cone-holding) popular officers and the underfunded lower-middle-class privates who pretended they didn’t want to buy ice cream. It was the general teachers executing those who didn’t do their homework. And if you were lucky enough to survive the day, you retreated to your bunker at home, distracted yourself with toys and comic books, and did your best to avoid talking about “what you learned” in school because what you learned was that life isn’t fair. And who wants to hear that answer?

By 6th grade, I resembled a shy Corporal Upham kid doing his best to avoid being caught in any cross hairs. After 5 full years of surviving, I was getting pretty good at it. Considering all of this, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one surprised by my whimsical decision to enter my name into the running for my 6th grade homeroom’s representative to the elementary school’s student government. Why on earth would I volunteer for such a dangerous social mission as a school election, you ask? Truth-be-told, I vaguely recall doing so because it appeared that no one else was going to run, which made me all the more distressed when I discovered that I would in fact be running against the four most popular kids in my class.

After the shock of my announcement wore off, my self-appointed campaign manager friend and I mapped out my campaign strategy (I decided to play the “I’m a great listener” card) and began polling constituents, which, in elementary school terms meant we asked our classmates who they were voting for. After the primary dust had settled, it was painfully obvious that I was going to need three or four more votes to win. I don’t remember much else of the campaign season; I have a hazy recollection of one or two of my opponents bringing in cookies. But what I clearly remember is what happened the day of the election.

In the hour before the polls opened, my classmates and I were in the music room, learning how to play xylophones. My friends and I (read: The Party to Elect Bungalow Benchly) sat in front of the alto xylophones while my opponents played the bass xylophones. Our teacher’s ultimate goal was to have us learn a song, but this became next to impossible when all four of my opponents began fooling around with their bass xylophones. After ignoring repeated requests from the teacher to behave, all four were sent to the principal’s office. Jackpot.

On the walk from the music room back to our classroom, my campaign manager implored me to take advantage of the recent turn of events by calling out my opponents on their immaturity and irresponsible behavior. My campaign committee went desk to desk to remind voters of my clean record and a few classmates mentioned their temptation to switch parties. When my four recently-disciplined opponents returned to the classroom, it was time for us to give our speeches and it was time for the class to hear my voice.

Each election day, in the voting booth, with pencil in hand, I think of platforms. I think of campaign promises. I think of issues carrying more weight than they probably should. I think of bribes. I think of mudslinging. I think of lies and half-truths. I think of scare tactics. I think of racism and sexism. I think of Nazi/Hitler/Communist/Death Panel name-calling. I think of lack of substance.

Each election day, as I prepare to vote, I’m reminded of that fateful afternoon in elementary school and the excitement I felt at the possibility of serving my classroom. I’m reminded of my opponents. I’m reminded of the election-cum-popularity contest. I’m reminded of the emotions I felt after the results were announced. I’m reminded that I lost by three or four votes. And I’m reminded that I opted not to sling mud at my opponents in my speech.

And then I write down the names of those whom I feel would best represent me in their respective offices. I vote for intelligence. I vote for responsibility. I vote for experience. I vote for ideas. I vote for change when need be and I vote for the same when things seem to be working. Lately, though, I haven’t wanted to vote for anyone.

*Actual name.

The rain’s turned into snow…

Four years ago, Mia Wallace and I joined Sarah the L, Smoochie Poo, Peace Corp Girl, and Head in Hinesburg to mourn the end of yet another year while simultaneously celebrating the beginning of the next one. After Mia Wallace shared with me her belief that how you celebrate New Year’s Eve impacts how you spend the rest of the year, I made sure to do my part in helping to plan a great evening. I even went so far as to create the first of what has now been five straight Mr. Benchly’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve Super Mixes. I made a copy for each partygoer. And though I did my best to make the CD a soundtrack for the evening, what I was actually doing was attempting to create a soundtrack for my life.

I know I’m not alone when I say that I’m intrigued at the thought of having a movie soundtrack play in the background of my everyday life. Whether it’s an inspirational Explosions in the Sky song for the walk to the Election Day voting booths; or a heartbreaking Bright Eyes song playing on the drive home from a break-up; or the upbeat Belle & Sebastian song that makes the stroll down Church Street that much more entertaining; or the hopeful Beatles song seemingly inspired by that first kiss; I’ve often dreamed of my life being set to music. As Caden Cotard said, every person in the world is a lead in his or her story. If that’s true, don’t we all deserve a musical accompaniment?

One song that has never made its way onto one of my Super Mixes despite its rightful claim to be there is the late great Dan Fogelberg’s “Same Auld Lang Syne.” The song tells the tale of two old lovers running into each other in their hometown and then spending the snowy evening drinking and reminiscing of days gone by. They toast their past and their present, and they attempt a conversation riddled with “emptiness.” In one of my favorite lines, Fogelberg says that the two were “living in our eloquence.”

I can’t think of a better way to describe a conversation between two old flames than how Fogelberg paints the picture in his song. Anyone who has ever experienced such an encounter firsthand knows that interacting with an ex is a complicated dance: there’s the obvious connection that drew you to each other in the first place, but it’s been marred by whatever drama that inspired your break-up; depending on how much time has passed, feelings are either confused or gone altogether and with them has gone the love-is-blindness that helped you overlook your ex’s flaws. What remains and the only thing capable of sustaining the conversation is the eloquence of your words. But your relationship has already ended for good reason and it’s inevitable that you’ll “run out of things to say.” Such is your fate as exes.

Despite “Same Auld Lang Syne”’s especially relevant subject matter this past holiday season (considering my break-up with Ms. Darling in the rainy autumn), it failed once more to make the final cut for my most recent Super Mix. Instead, I tried yet again to create a soundtrack for my life and, as embarrassing as this is to admit, like a documentarian trying to rewrite history, my song choices reflected my hope at reconciliation with Ms. Darling. A few of you received copies of the Super Mix before, predictably, I realized how unhealthy such a compilation was; I suppose that these copies will now be considered collector’s items. The lesson learned here is that though we each are leads in our own stories, we can’t act out our lives; we can only live them. Since that day, I’ve done my best to live my life to the fullest.

What’s so sad about Fogelberg’s song is that it’s autobiographical; it’s a genuine soundtrack to his life because these are words he actually lived. And it’s a song that will never be mistaken for a hopeful one. At the end of the night, the old flames kiss and go their separate ways back to their separate lives. Fogelberg sings, “Just for a moment, I was back at school and felt that old familiar pain. As I turned to make my way back home, the snow turned into rain.” Ms. Parker and I have debated the meaning of these lines and I’m not sure that we ever settled on an ultimate interpretation, but I don’t think that it’s much of a stretch to say that Fogelberg was going for symbolism with his words. My belief is that the snow represented joy or hope, and the rain, sadness or realism.

This song and my interpretation of its symbolic lyrics were on my mind late last year on an unseasonably warm and rainy December day when, on my walk to work, I heard a woman say to her friend, “well, at least it’s better than snow.” As timing would have it (and you know how this blog and its author love timing), this depressing, global-warming-loving comment happened two days after I met Cherry on Top, and inspired me to write her an email to tell her about it. I told her that though I may not ski, and though I’ll most likely feel differently in April, even I will admit that in the winter, I prefer snow to rain. And later that day, as I typed another email to her, adding yet another page to this new chapter in my life, the rain outside turned into snow.

We’ll Just Be Over in This Corner Changing the World

The day I turned 18, I headed to the local convenience store to purchase a pack of cigarettes and a lottery ticket. I didn’t smoke, and the lottery ticket turned out to be a losing one, but it didn’t matter. If the clerk hadn’t asked to see my ID, I would have shown it anyway; that’s how proud I was of the milestone I had reached. (On a side note, you should have seen how giddy I was when my insurance rates dropped when I turned 25.)

With that said, you can imagine how excited I was when I got to vote in my first election: Clinton vs. Dole. Since I was in college in November of 1996, my absentee vote for Clinton (of course I voted for Clinton, he Rocked the Vote and Arsenio) went by way of the Pony Express. The borderline-irrational excitement I felt at being able to finally exercise my American right was rivaled only by the extraordinary near-suicidal disappointment that struck me a few months later when I received word from the State of New York that my absentee vote had not counted for a hanging-chad like technicality.

Our country has always had trouble courting the average American teenage voter. With so many votes cast in an election, it’s tough to convince the overwhelmed 18-year-old that his/her vote counts. And with that mindset as my foundation, after my vote (or lack thereof) in 1996, I gave up voting altogether. That is, until the Republican Party decided to back an idiot solely for his name.

***We break this irregularly scheduled blog entry to go off on one final (thankfully) anti-Bush tirade***

History will end up judging George W. Bush as one of, if not, the worst president in our history based on his determination to turn a terrorist attack on our country into a vengeful attack on an uninvolved country and make the rest of the world hate us even more, rather than use it as motivation to really protect our country from further attacks, but I could have told you how bad a president he was in the summer of 2001. People seem to forget that pre-9/11, W was on vacation 42% of the time. I don’t know about you, but if in my first year of a new job I spent 42% of my time on vacation, I would have been fired.

And one more thing: imagine what kind of shape our economy would have been in now if, instead of pumping trillions of dollars into a new democracy halfway around the world that will never survive simply because it was forced down its people’s throats, we spent the money on strengthening our border defense (seven years later and it’s just as easy to get into our country as it was when W’s father was president!). This country got out of a depression by employing its people to support a war; and it sure as hell could have stayed out of a recession by employing its people to build up and maintain our border protection.

***OK, back to the blog***

With the chip on my absentee ballot shoulder, and with the idiot Texan governor providing my inspiration, in 2000 I patiently waited in an overcrowded line with other inspired voters at a downtown-Burlington election site. Twenty minutes later, when I finally reached the front of the line, I was informed that I was in the wrong district and that I’d have to fill out an absentee ballot that would be delivered to my correct district after the election. Later that night, when my suspicions that my vote would never get counted took front seat in my thoughts, thousands of Florida voters went to bed unaware that they were about to feel the same way. At this point, two elections into my career as an American voter, I was fairly certain that I’d never wake up the day after Election Day feeling satisfied that my vote had made a difference. The unbelievable (in its stupidity) 2004 election results further emphasized my gut feeling.

And though the American voting process has kicked me in the aforementioned gut a number of times, I can’t help but feel excited. You see, in two days, I’ll be voting in the first presidential primary in my life that will make a difference. I’m not exaggerating. 1996 was Bill Clinton’s reelection campaign (not exactly a popular moment for primaries); 2000 was Al Gore’s campaign and his only serious competitor Bill Bradley never got out of the starting gate; and in 2004, my great Vermont state backed its son Howard Dean in the primary…weeks after he had dropped out of the race.

So here I am, ready for the new Super Tuesday, March 4, and after all that I’ve been through, you can imagine how bitter I am every time I read a news story that talks about Texas and Ohio. If I had a nickel for every time my state’s primary was described in these articles in one line as “Vermont is also voting” (if mentioned at all), I’d have the kind of financial backing the Clinton campaign sees only when Hilary loans it her own money. For all the time and energy spent covering our hillbilly neighbor’s primary, you’d think the media would have the courtesy to at least give us a headline or two. But since they won’t, I guess I’ll have to wait until November for my vote to count. Hopefully it will.

White Mountains or White Lies?

Freckles will tell you that I’ve become quite addicted to the ongoing political debate in our country. And what I’m learning from this debate is that although (some of) the candidates are new, the script is very much the same. And it reads like this…

Last week, the early-bird caucusing Iowans selected Barack Obama as their Democratic Party choice for president. John Edwards and Hilary Clinton finished in a virtual tie for second, relatively far behind Obama. Poor Dennis Kucinich never had a chance. Again.

According to polls, a whopping (considering how many candidates there were) 41% of “first-time voters” (read: youth) voted for Obama. 29% of “first-time voters” voted for Clinton. So new voters turned out in record numbers and an overwhelming number of them voted for Obama. That’s a pretty clear message, right? Well, according to Clinton, not exactly.

After barely mentioning youth her entire one-year-old campaign, Clinton responded to the Iowa result by saying it was clear that she was the voice of the youth. Say what? Obama played the young people trump card in Iowa, and realizing they just might be the key to victory, suddenly Clinton declared herself the voice of youth? OK. On to New Hampshire.

Though generally a dull state, New Hampshire was a hotbed of excitement the last five days. The highlight was undoubtedly the doubleheader CNN/Facebook debate, with the Republicans opening up for the headliners, the Democrats. (Facebook is my runner-up choice for the “Is That Really An Appropriate Presidential Debate Host?” award.) In that debate, John Edwards repeatedly described his campaign as “personal” (“personal cause”; “very personal”; “personal battle”; “deeply personal”; “personal”; “personal”; “personal”; etc). Though our trusty reporters (read: Tim Russert) called the debate a draw, it was clear to this unbiased viewer that Edwards scored quite a few direct blows to Clinton (my favorite being when he likened her to “the status quo”), while, in my opinion, performing far better than a stumbling Obama. If anything, and maybe thanks to redundancy, Edwards was convincing in his claim that his fight was personal. According to Clinton, though, he’s not the only one.

Two days later, in one of her new “young people” speeches, Hilary Clinton responded by tearing up and saying that the election was “very personal to me.” Move over Sally Field, because I think New Hampshire likes Clinton now, they really really like her!

So what happens next? Anyone who has ever followed politics or a good soap opera, could see the ending of this primary from a mile away. The New Hampshire voters, in all their “live free or die”/”you can’t tell us what to do, stupid Iowans!” glory, voted for Clinton. Barely. (I’m not kidding. Though Clinton won the popular vote, Clinton and Obama secured the same number of delegates. That’s how close it was.)

And then, while ignoring the fact that her speechwriters are up for this year’s Best Adapted Screenplay award, Clinton delivered the most transparent, ironic line I’ve ever heard in an election…

[fade in]

[Int. A large New Hampshire gymnasium filled with thousands of screaming fans.]

(Clinton walks to center stage, shaking the hands of the people she passes by. After a few waves of the hand, and a grin that cannot be suppressed, Clinton steps up to the podium looking humble, yet presidential.)

Clinton (personally): “I listened to you and in the process I found my own voice.”

(The fans scream.)

And scene!

Idiot Leading the Idiots

Bush starts off with the lowest approval ratings ever because most of us don’t consider him a real president; he spends the majority of his first year in office on vacation thus reinforcing our theory; despite the numerous warning signs he had, the US gets attacked by terrorists on HIS watch; he can’t find the mastermind behind the terrorist attacks so he instead brainwashes the majority of the public into thinking the leader of a paralyzed country is responsible for terrorism and we should all be afraid; he invades said country under the assumption that they have nuclear weapons even when he’s told by the world that his assumption is dead wrong; thousands of Americans lose their lives; when it’s discovered he was, in fact, wrong about the nuclear weapons he keeps said dying Americans in the paralyzed country and claims that it’s in the name of freedom.

Bush spends more than we have while cutting taxes; he’s for pollution and against the environment; he ignores the economy and instead “unites the country” by preaching hatred and bigotry; he’s ready to replace enough Supreme Court justices to eliminate a woman’s right to choose while remaining passionately proud of the number of capital punishments in his home state; he’s against ground-breaking science that could save the lives of millions; he’s taken away our freedoms in the name of freedom; he’s stretched our armed forces too thin like that guy named Hitler and consequently weakened our defenses against any acts of terrorism; he’s running our country into the ground like he ran every one of his oil companies into the oil-rich Texas ground; and after all of this, after he’s given you 4 years worth of reasons not to reelect him, you march to the polls like cows ready to be slaughtered and you vote for him.

I used to think Bush was the moron. Now I know you are.

Song of My Anecdotal Self, Volume 1

– Last night, I took part in what has become sort of a family tradition: I hung out at my parents’ house waiting for trick-or-treaters to stop by, ate more candy than we passed out, and smiled uncontrollably at the sight of two of my nieces dressed up in their costumes. This year, Niece #1 was Belle and Niece #2 was Little Red Riding Hood. Niece #3 was in her home near Albany, celebrating the holiday dressed up as Blue. And, proving yet again the theory that small children will never ever understand sarcasm, I jokingly told Niece #2 that I had eaten her candy and watched in horror as she started bawling her eyes out. I’m going to hell.

– I went for my semi-daily walk with CP today. Typically, we walk up a very steep hill on a road near our company, and then turn around and come back. Today, while walking up the hill, we heard rustling in the woods to our right. CP immediately put me between her and the woods and we looked up to see a pair of eyes staring at us. After a few seconds, we realized we were staring at not one, but two deer who were probably as scared as we had been a moments earlier. After staring us down for a few seconds, they hopped away and disappeared into the woods.

– The Great Kitty Trial Run of October 2004 has officially ended! After a few kitty disputes coming nowhere near “Cat Fight” status, after Othello showed signs that he had settled into the apartment enough so that he wouldn’t be afraid to come out of my room, and after it was decided by The Virgin Mary and I that while the cats may never like each other, they most certainly will be able to coexist, I decided to officially adopt Othello. So let it be known that on Halloween of 2004, I adopted Othello, an all black cat born on Friday the 13th (4/13/01). Congratulations may be sent to my attention in the form of check or money order.

– Tomorrow, as I’m sure all of you know, is Election Day and I don’t think it’s an overstatement when I say that it will be the most important day of our lives thus far. Tomorrow is our opportunity to unite as one voice and declare to our country and to the world that we do not stand for narrow-mindedness, or hatred, or bigotry, or unjust wars in a society where the rich get richer and the poor die on the front lines. Tomorrow is our opportunity to sound our barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world and slowly, morally, and peacefully heal the wounds on which our current president has continued to gnaw. Please exercise your right tomorrow and please think before you do. When we ultimately pass this world on to our nieces and nephews and sons and daughters, I want to be proud of the world we’re giving them.