Why is it? Why do I keep trying to think of song lyrics when I hear the word “election”? It is just odd. It is as if I have associated the word with some 80s greatest hit and only my subconscious has a copy of the tape. So I rack my brain and I think I am coming up with the song. Maybe something by U2, they being so political as they are. Ah! “Desire” from Rattle & Hum. “She’s the promise in the year of election.” Or something like that. But then there is that Duran Duran project band. Why do that? There were two of them, for jolly’s sakes! The Power Station and Arcadia. At least The Power Station made good by hiring Robert Palmer’s pipes and doing T. Rex covers, but it was Arcadia (with Simon LeBon) that did a song actually called “Election Day” – which begs a question: how does it feel to be a member of one of the premier bands of the 1980s while also being a one hit wonder in a different band?

So I thought about it, and the old school research buzz took ahold of me. So here. Have a list. Songs with the word “election” in the title.

“Another Bloody Election” by Killing Joke
“Election Day” by Arcadia
“Election Day” by The Replacements
“Electioneering” by Radiohead
“Election Special” by Monty Python (okay, so it is a sketch, not a song, and they are a BBC comedy troupe not a band, but hey.)
“Election” by Evolution (never heard of them either, have you?)
“Election Day” by Hal (hmmm.)
“Election ’97” by Rick Wakeman (odd year for it)

Anyone learn anything there? Me neither.

But it is election day. If you were allowed to vote, I hope you did. It is an odd system, unwieldy and nothing like we imagine it will be. Maybe I was the only one, but from the way my teachers would go on about the electoral process and the right to vote and the idea of a voting booth, well, my expectations were high. I was wanting a bigass curtain to shield my choices from prying eyes, huge levels that had the heft of deciding fate, lights that would ominously mark my choices. Instead, its the portable booth-in-a-briefcase, held up on spindly aluminum legs. There is no lever in Fulton County voting, just the punching tool that looks better suited to expanding the range of a leather belt than to recommending an candidate for office. And then there are the odd, back of the ballot, never-heard-of-this issues that have been floating undetected under the hub-bub of the presidential poo-slinging. There are these ad valorum tax decisions based on age and boating and whether or not you are a member of the Elks Lodge. Elks Lodge?!? How does belonging to an odd fraternal order qualify anyone for any special government provision? And you never hear about it until today, this morning, and luckilly the seniors that run the precincts are just a bit slower than they should be. Otherwise, you would never be able to stand in line and read.

But still. Where would you rather be? Sure. Ireland. Wales. Paris. Tokyo. But where can you actually take part in such a way as this? We visit other places, maybe for years at a time, but this is home. This is the land of the mostly free and often brave. This is where the world runs when it seeks shelter.

(Okay! Okay! So I voted for Gore. Sue me.)