Does it seem amusing to follow a post lamenting the near-universal failure to follow a certain Bible verse about giving away riches with a post about purchasing unnecessary items? Very well then, it seems amusing.

And in any case, it has been pointed out to me repeatedly that that verse is no problem: as long as we don’t LOVE our riches, we can feel free to keep them, unlike the guy in the Bible story who was sent away by Jesus for keeping them. It’s too bad the guy in the story didn’t think of trying that argument with Jesus. But it’s not too late for US to try it!

I don’t want to give my riches away, either. Except to the store, in exchange for possessions.

New bowl (right size for ice cream or soup), $1.99 at Home Goods. Paul was complaining that all our bowls were girly and had birds and flowers on them. This one looks like it was carved out of the thigh bone of a freshly-slaughtered mammoth and then smoothed in the violent waters of a wild river, so I hope it works for him.

Sixteen acorn-shaped placecard holders from Marshalls. I’ve started having Thanksgiving at my house, and one of the best parts of hosting is the sudden need that opens up for certain Festive Dinner Table Accessories.

I first saw these in white, and I thought, “Oh, what a pity they’re WHITE. I’d want them if they were brown!” Then, several aisles later, I found a pack of brown ones. But I wanted four packs, so should I buy one pack, just on the HOPE that I would find more at other similar stores? Then I looked across the aisle, and there was a second pack. Well, then that’s enough for my parents and for everyone in my house except me, and I don’t need one because I’ll know I’m sitting where there isn’t an acorn. Then I thought I’d go back to where I saw the white ones and look again, because I hadn’t been looking thoroughly at that point. So we went back and looked again—and found two more packs of brown.

My mom spotted this clearance bird-patterned box at Marshalls. She really wanted it, but didn’t have a use for it. I thought it might be perfect for housing part of my postcard collection, so I bought it.

I keep a supply of these Melissa & Doug colored pencils and crayons in my gift closet, to be paired with either the Melissa & Doug coloring books or with any gift that seems like it still needs a little something.

This coffee I found at Home Goods might not even be any good, but I was sold by the packaging.

I had to go yesterday to a stranger’s house, because of some PTA volunteering I’m doing. Which is its own annoying story, and is probably the last in a long line of annoying stories that mean I DON’T wonder anymore why the poor PTA can’t find the volunteers it needs, and ANYWAY, I had to go yesterday to a stranger’s house. And the guy there looked and acted just like a politician. He was wearing an expensive-looking shirt tucked into belted trousers, just for hanging around the house. His hair was combed back over his head. He had a small, yappy dog and a big carefully-decorated house in a set-aside-from-the-majority neighborhood.

He had a large sign on his wall that laid out his household’s religious beliefs very firmly, and at some length. It wasn’t the kind of decorative item where the font and frame are pretty; it was the kind of sign a church office would use to lay out their charter: that Jesus was the son of God, that everything Jesus said was the word of God, that the Bible was also the word of God, and so on. Right by the door, just so we’re all clear from the start where this household stands.

You can take the girl out of the church but you can’t take the church out of the girl, so standing there looking at him and his clothes and his huge house and his huge sign, what came unbidden to my mind from the permanently-embedded archives was the verse from the book of Matthew in the Bible: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God.”

I kept thinking about that all evening. That’s a verse that doesn’t get cross-stitched much, I’m guessing. It says, right from Jesus’s mouth, that if you are rich you’re not welcome. Not in heaven, not in Christianity. You may not join. Zero camels have fit through the eye of a needle, and the number of rich people who get into heaven is fewer than that.

One issue with this verse is that while there’s certainly a whole category of people we’d all (except for them, probably) agree were rich, richness is relative below that, and the verse doesn’t give any specifics. I was feeling a certain level of raised eyebrows at this PTA guy, but if we go back to the world spectrum concept for a minute, I myself am dripping in riches. I have a computer IN MY OWN HOUSE; in fact, I have FOUR. I have TWO cars in good condition. I have a house with MULTIPLE ROOMS. It has heating AND air conditioning, just built right in. I have TWO bathrooms, with running water in BOTH. I have many appliances. I have enough money to go to Wendy’s whenever I want to. I can support two animals who don’t contribute eggs or milk or meat or labor. Even when we live paycheck-to-paycheck, even when we rented an apartment, even when we had to put Wendy’s in a careful budget, even when we had one bathroom, we have still been on the far wealthy edge of the world spectrum.

I’ve noticed a common concept that if someone is well-off, what they have is a blessing from God. If God gave it to us, he must have meant us to have it. If he didn’t give to others, he must not have meant them to have it. What can a person do? *hands raised helplessly* This is where we need the parable of the good steward: what we have is given to us to do good with, on behalf of Someone Else. It’s not ours. In fact, it’s a test: what will you do with what you’ve been given? You are being graded on this.

I don’t have any particular point to this:  I’m not trying to get into the kingdom of God, which makes it difficult to tie things up with a sermon-type ending here. And it would be hard to turn it into a sermon anyway, if the person giving the sermon were still driving two cars and living in a multi-roomed house and making only financially-comfortable donations to charity, as I am: it’s not a sermon that can be delivered by a camel.

I keep thinking, “WHY am I so cheesed and sad and weighed-down-with-the-cares-of-the-world-ish over NOTHING??”—and then I remember, it’s not nothing: Paul is sick. It reflects the depth of my love and commitment that I do not put the word sick in quotes.

He has a cold. It is the same cold the rest of us have had. So he has dropped completely out of household chores, and in fact has gone past the “not helping” line and into the “putting his dishes on the counter instead of into the dishwasher right below it” zone. I suppose I should be grateful for the heroic effort it took him to unselfishly choke down sustenance and then to drag his dishes allllll the way to the counter, when after all he has a SORE THROAT and FEELS KIND OF TIRED.

Furthermore, one of the kids got an ear infection, and the VERY MINUTE that child said his ear hurt, you will never guess: PAUL’S ear started hurting! And when I took the child to the doctor the next day and the ear infection was officially diagnosed, Paul realized he had now been feeling sick for THREE WHOLE DAYS and HE needed a doctor appointment TOO. The level of woundedness he displayed when I suggested that grown-ups wait to go to the doctor until they have something the doctor can treat, rather than going when they feel kind of icky and want extra sympathy and drama and fuss made over them…. Well, let’s not discuss it. This topic always going to be a touchy spot in our marriage.

I genuinely worry that as he ages he will get some sort of long-term or chronic illness, because then I would be bound by the terms of our contract to deal with it. Which reminds me once again of the loophole.

I got off on the wrong foot in two ways this morning:

1. I was sure, SURE, it was the weekend. I woke at 4:45 and thought about it happily. I woke up again when Paul got up, and I thought, “Ahhhhh, now he will take care of any kid that wakes up, and I will get sleep.” Then Paul came back from his shower and turned on the light, and I was first outraged (“WHY IS HE DOING THIS TO ME ON A WEEKEND??”) and then appalled (“IT IS IN FACT TUESDAY AARRRRRGGGGGGGGG NOOOOOOOOOoooooooo”).

2. I was dreaming that I was packing up to leave someone else’s house after a stay. It was that part of packing where it’s like, “WHY did we think it made sense to bring so much STUFF?” and “Oh no, MORE shoes??” and “Shoot, I forgot this pile of dirty laundry. I need a plastic bag or something to put it in,” and “This is never going to all fit back in the suitcase” and “I just know we’re going to forget something.” It went on like that for an hour or so of dream time.

********

I think I am going to have to rewatch Thirtysomething (Netflix link), now that I am in my thirties. The last time I watched it, I was in my EARLY TWENTIES. I was not married, I had no children, and I was watching it in reruns on daytime television, or on videotapes (VIDEOTAPES) after work. So. Things have changed a bit since then.

I think I might have a different feeling about how EXOTIC it is, now. Maybe it’ll be like magazines, where a magazine called Seventeen is actually aimed at 12-year-olds; and where Cosmo, which acts like it’s a magazine for grown glamorous professional single women living in the glamorous city, is actually aimed at high school and college girls. Maybe Thirtysomething is for earlytwentysomethings who want to feel like they’re getting a peek into their own future—but maybe it would be depressing and unrealistic and eye-roll-y for thirtysomethings who have already seen that future.

I am feeling cheerful today. I credit many things, but here are a few things I’ve thought of today with particular cheer:

1. Bird earrings. I got these at Target back in August. I wasn’t even going to buy them, but I had William with me and he was making the bird be all cute and hop around and look me in the eye and so forth, so I bought them. The next day I went back and bought more pairs to give as gifts.

hop, hop

buy me

2. Store-brand Moose Tracks ice cream. I was complaining on Twitter that I was disappointed in all the Breyer’s specialty flavors that looked so good but didn’t measure up, and Doing My Best said her store brand’s Moose Tracks was really, really superior. I have enough faith in her ice cream judgement to get a box of my own store-brand Moose Tracks, even though it was unlikely to be the same store brand. (But I remember reading somewhere that a lot of store brands are filled by the same manufacturer, so I had hope.) IT IS SO DELICIOUS. I’ve had two boxes of it now, and I didn’t buy more on this last shopping trip because I’d made myself feel sick having “just a little more” of the last box—and now I regret not getting it. I could be making myself feel sick RIGHT THIS MINUTE on tiny peanut butter cups and fudge (not fudge SAUCE, but FUDGE).

3. Pink zinnias.

A patch of some vegetable in the garden failed to thrive, so Paul pulled it up. Then he impulsively put a pack of zinnia seeds over that patch, and they succeeded to thrive. GOODNESS, didn’t they! And they seem to last way longer than they should in a vase. (That “vase” is an empty bottle from one of those frappuccino drinks they sell in four-packs. They make great vases.) Next year we’re going to grow assorted-color zinnias.

4. Snyder’s Chedder Cheese Pretzel Pieces.

It’s like someone broke a bunch of big pretzels into chunks and pieces, and then dusted them with an intoxicating cheese powder—similar to Cheetos powder or Kraft mac-and-cheese powder, and just a LITTLE bit spicy. SO YUMMY. Paul wrinkled his nose at the sight of them; then took one and ate it suspiciously; then took several more and watched the bag longingly as I took it away. MINE.

…I’m going to have to get a little bowl of them to eat while I write the rest of this.

5. Light pink Converse One-Star.

They are looking kind of grubby because I wore them pretty much every day all summer. They were an impulse purchase (70% off at Target, should I get them?, no, yes, no, yes, no, well I’ll just put them in the cart and think about it, okay I can always return them) and I LOVE THEM. I bought a second pair in orchid (a medium-light purpley color) but I haven’t worn those yet.

6. Prell.

Paul was out of shampoo, and he was trying very hard to work up the enthusiasm to respond to my incredibly boring questions about whether he’d been happy with that kind or did he want to try something new. He said the only time he’d ever had any sort of shampoo preference was when it was Prell, and that was just because it was fun to watch the bubble go up and down in the bottle. Good enough for me, and I enjoy a quest.

Target didn’t have it, so I checked our grocery store, which seems to cater to “people complaining that they can’t find such-and-such anymore.” Sure enough, they had it. I think it’s amusing that there’s a picture of a bubble on the bottle, like Prell KNOWS that’s how we all think of it. It’s fun to be using the same shampoo we both used in our childhoods.

My two favorite pairs of jeans gave up the good fight at the end of last spring, and my remaining jeans, purchased in desperation, were making feel frumpy, ugly, old, and ridiculous. That is quite an accomplishment for a single item of clothing. I changed into pedal pushers it was too chilly for, got rid of the bad jeans in a bold “I don’t even have replacements yet, but I will wear pedal pushers in snowdrifts rather than ever wear those jeans again” move, and went shopping.

Here are the things I don’t like about Lane Bryant:

1. They are the kind of store that has the kind of sales that mean you can never buy anything at regular price. If something consistently goes on 50%-off sales, that means the regular price is not a reasonable price to pay.

2. They are the kind of store that covers a table in piles of jeans, and puts “$29.99 jeans!!” on a big sign with an asterisk leading to “select styles.” And it turns out that 1/5th of the jeans on the table qualify, plus one style on another rack covered mostly in non-qualifying styles. And there’s no way to find out which jeans qualify without having a clerk take each pair over to the register and check.

3. I’m between two sizes there AND between two inseams there. So my choices are “too tight and too long,” “too tight and too short,” “too loose and too long,” or “too loose and too short.” I go with “too tight and too long,” because (1) their jeans tend to stretch out quite a bit, and (2) I’d rather step on or roll my cuffs than have them floating over my shoes. (Accept my assurances that “You could get them hemmed” is an idea I am able to come up with independently.)

4. They have signs up all over that if the store doesn’t have your size in stock, you can get free shipping from the site. That’s an awesome idea, and compensates me for the frustration of coming all the way here and not being able to buy something they should have had in stock! …But it turns out it’s free shipping TO THE STORE. That is not “free shipping,” that is “the store ordering something they needed more of, and I’ll need to come back another day to buy them.”

But here is why I shop there with happiness in my heart, despite the damning case I seem to have constructed against them:

1. They make me feel like I’m a normal person who falls into the normal range of human anatomy.

It’s hard to beat that kind of service.

I can go into the store, and there are things on every single rack that fit me. Sometimes I try something on and it’s too big, and I need to get a smaller size; sometimes it’s too small, and a larger size is available. I can come out of the dressing room and stand in front of the big mirror and lift up my shirt to see how the waistband of the jeans looks, and I don’t feel self-conscious about it: I feel like this is just the size and shape I am. I can try things on and reject them because I don’t like the style or color, rather than because “Why is this an XXL and I can’t even get it over my knees?? How big does this store think an ‘extra, EXTRA large’ person IS??”

Furthermore, the items I’m trying on will conform to current trends. Maybe they do a little more with sequins than the average store, but there’s a “Hey, I am someone who has some flash and glamor and isn’t trying to hide in dumpy baggy monochrome clothes!” feeling to it, rather than an “I’m hoping to distract your eye from my plumpness” feeling. If everyone is wearing skinny jeans and I’m starting to feel flappy-pantsed in my flare cuffs, I can go to Lane Bryant and know that they will have skinny jeans. Maybe I will not BUY any skinny jeans (I did not buy any skinny jeans), but I know I CAN if I WANT to. And if they don’t have them in my size, they will order them, and I can come back another day and get them.

I had a dental cleaning/check yesterday, which means that from September 1st when I flipped the calendar page and saw the appointment, until yesterday when I was walking out the dentist’s door, you wouldn’t have been able to convince me the world was a happy place. Now I feel open to the concept.

Whenever I go to the dentist or have an appointment in the near future, it sets off a smoldering annoyance I feel with a whole category of…stuff. Things. Now comes the challenging part, where I try to say what that category IS.

Okay, it’s like this. Let’s picture the WORLD, for a moment. The whole world. And now let’s picture a Dental Spectrum, representing the dental care levels of the world. At one end, we’re going to have no tooth care at all, and adults with many missing teeth. No dentist, but maybe some local guy who will pull a tooth for you when it’s hurting.

One step up from that is going to be people who figure out a sort of self-care for their teeth: scrubbing them with sand and twigs or something. Still no dentist.

One step up from that is going to be a situation where you can buy the things you need: toothpaste, toothbrushes, floss. Maybe at that point in the spectrum there’s a dentist, but maybe he’s 30 miles away by foot, or maybe he’s a traveling guy who only stops by every couple of years and anyway he still only does basic, basic stuff. No, like, root canals or crowns.

One step up from that…. Well, I don’t think we need to do every single step. But here is what causes the smoldering annoyance: picturing the other end of the spectrum, the last tiny smidgen pressed right up against the far edge, where we have such things as “Making one’s teeth WHITE enough” and “Making one’s teeth STRAIGHT enough” and “Going to see the dentist every 6 months at great expense, whether you need it or not, or else you are unclean and irresponsible.”

Those things are all crowded up ALMOST at the tippy-edge of the spectrum, right before the Hollywood part where it’s “Getting all your teeth capped, and it has to be a special expensive KIND of cap.” And yet we’re supposed to think of this crazy-high level of care as STANDARD and MINIMUM.

It’s the same with fashion. Picture the world again, and now picture the fashion spectrum instead of the dental one. At one end we have just enough clothes for pure safety/use/protection: a little cloth to prevent pain and flopping, maybe. Something on the feet if absolutely necessary. An animal skin when it’s cold enough to otherwise die of exposure.

Then it’s clothes for privacy and comfort. But it’s whatever can be obtained: certainly fit is not an issue, or color, or style, or number of holes, or matching, or ANYTHING like that. And it’s probably one shirt, one pair of pants held up with rope—not, like, multiples of each item.

Then let’s skip to wayyyyyyyy up at the other end of the spectrum, it’s “Clothes must fit AND flatter AND be this season AND be appropriately accessorized AND be quality AND be expensive, AND you have to get rid of them all and start over in three months or else EEW. I mean, take CARE of yourself, amirite?”

Those things are all crowded up at the farthest edge of the spectrum, right before the Hollywood part where it’s “And never wear the same item twice” and “No, seriously, it’s completely reasonable for a dress to cost multiple thousands of dollars”—and yet we’re supposed to think of them as STANDARD and MINIMUM.

Oh, and feet. FEET. (I remember reading somewhere, like in a novel where some characters were old-timey high society, that the word “foot” was acceptable and the word “feet” was vulgar. Isn’t that funny?) The world’s foot spectrum appears before us; at one end, no footwear at all. Then it’s any shoes available, certainly no quibbling about size, appearance, style. Etc., etc., I’m sure you’re getting the concept, and then we get to the upper part, where you must have pedicures or else you’re gross and an offense to society, AND you must have many pairs of shoes, AND they must be custom-fit to your feet by an expert, AND they must be this season, AND they must be perfect in both color and style with your outfit and purse, AND it is perfectly reasonable for them to cost multiple hundreds of dollars.

I mistyped and then misread “foot” as “food,” so yes, let’s talk food. World food spectrum, starting with “Trying not to die.” A BIG step up the spectrum, and then it’s “Trying to get adequate nutrition so that one’s teeth don’t fall out and one’s bones don’t snap.” Another big step and we’re at “Being able to buy food at a store” and “Being able to choose between foods” and “Having access to food that is mostly still fresh/bugless.”

Then let’s look at the verrrrrry top edge of the spectrum, where it’s “The food has to be FRESH” and “The food has to be LOCAL” and “The food has to be ORGANIC” and “The food has to be a CERTAIN BRAND and/or from a CERTAIN STORE and/or sold in a CERTAIN KIND OF PACKAGING.” It’s right below the very top edge where people spend multiple hundreds of dollars on a bottle of BEVERAGE to go WITH their meal, but it’s supposed to be considered STANDARD and MINIMUM. Anything less is GROSS and IRRESPONSIBLE and DANGEROUS.

And what really starts turning the smolder into something more volcanic is that these spectrums cover EVERY SINGLE AREA OF LIFE. Everything. Down to our TOENAILS. Up to our HAIR, which must be not just in existence AND clean, but also cut regularly, by a professional, ideally an expensive professional, and also cared for with a variety of expensive products and tools for a long period of time each day, AND colored every 6 weeks, AND worn fashionably, AND EXISTING NOWHERE ELSE ON OUR BODIES.

And home maintenance! And yard maintenance! And pet care! Eye care! Eyebrow maintenance! Love relationships! Exercise! Housecleaning! Parenting! Car ownership and care! Optional insurance! Appliances! EVERYTHING must be obtained and maintained at the 99TH PERCENTILE or else it is CRAP. DO IT ALL, OR YOU ARE A CRAPPY AND IRRESPONSIBLE HUMAN BEING WHO JUST DOESN’T CARE AND/OR IS TOO STUPID TO KNOW ANY BETTER. OH AND BY THE WAY IT ALL COSTS A LOT OF MONEY, BUT HAVING LESS MONEY IS NO EXCUSE.

These are terrible ways to measure human worth—and yet there they are, totally in place, and established so that people feel comfortable referring to them as givens.

Oh, I know, the answer is to just DISREGARD these silly standards and make my OWN decisions about what is worthwhile and important and valuable! Yes, yes, thank you, Buddha Jr.! But we do LIVE on this planet, constantly exposed to these standards, and it puts me on a constant low smolder to be reminded of them so persistently and from so many different directions. I don’t even like those standards to EXIST; and so since other people ARE applying them, it helps only a little to remind myself that I don’t have to do so.

(photo from Amazon.com)

10 Items or Less (Netflix link). I was completely charmed by this movie. COMPLETELY CHARMED. I think Netflix recommended it to me, and I was like, “Eh, I do like Morgan Freeman, so okay.” And then I really, really liked it. Morgan Freeman plays himself, which is fun, and there are cameos by other actors. He forms this affectionate, non-sexual, out-of-nowhere buddy relationship with a supermarket clerk, and…that’s pretty much it. But I really liked it. I think you might like it too.

(photo from Amazon.com)

The Station Agent (Netflix link). This is the perfect movie for three thoughts: (1) “OMG. We are all just PEOPLE, in different-looking bodies!! We’re all just PEOPLE!! Hey, everybody! We’re ALL PEOPLE WE ALL FEEL BASICALLY THE SAME ON THE INSIDE!!” and (2) “So THIS is how friendships work! You don’t have to BE a certain WAY, you can just BE how you ARE!” and (3) “Whooo. Peter Dinklage is…ATTRACTIVE.”

(photo from Amazon.com)

Becoming Chaz (Netflix link). This is the story of how Chastity Bono became Chaz Bono, and it was a great and cathartic-cry peek into what someone else’s life is like. I ended up feeling split between “OH GOD WHY DOES LIFE HAVE TO BE SO HARD???” and “Isn’t it great that people ARE the way they ARE, and aren’t they WONDERFUL?” (see also: The Station Agent). There’s medical stuff you might have been curious about, and there’s emotional/relationshipal things you might have been curious about; the whole thing ends up feeling the normal way things feel when they happen to you instead of to strangers. The portrayal of Chaz’s girlfriend is masterful, I thought: they show her dingbat side, AND they make you love and respect her and see why someone would really treasure her. Also, you get to hear Oprah deciding that SHE is going to call documentaries “real life stories,” and imply that she invented the concept.

I put this on Twitter, and then I was like, “Self, why did you put that on Twitter? First of all, it took EIGHT tweet installments to say it. That is not the point of Twitter, self. Secondly, now it scrolls down and disappears forever, and then next year when you’re thinking, ‘Where is that thing I wrote about this??,’  you will search all your blog archives and be completely mystified because WHERE DID IT GO? And I will not be here to say, ‘You put it on TWITTER, dummy.'”

So I will write it here again, even though this will be a bit dull for those who already saw it on Twitter already. We will all suffer together, but only briefly, and next time I will try to remember to write it here to begin with, so that we can write or read it ONCE.

Here is what happened: Several people on Twitter were talking about how their schools wanted them to write a reassuring note to their children, to pack in an emergency preparedness kit. Then we all died from the agony of facing that task. The end.

One particularly wrenching thought was that if it’s a big emergency, this could be THE LAST COMMUNICATION YOUR CHILD EVER GETS FROM YOU. This is too much pressure for a note, I think we can agree on that. This just BEGS parents to start making lengthy, sobbing lists of everything they would want to tell their child if this was their last chance, and I think we can further agree that the resulting note is not going to be reassuring to a child.

So as I was lying awake night after night having horrified thoughts about this whole thing, I came up with two goals:

1. The note needs to reassure the child without going overboard/crazy, in the situations where it is mostly likely the note will be used: a bomb scare where there is no bomb, a tornado alert where the tornado does not arrive.

2. The note needs to still work if the child will, unthinkably, be treasuring this note forever.

Here is what I would write:

Dear Henry,

Hello from Mommy! This is the note they told us to write to you in case something scary was happening! We’ll be there to get you as soon as we can. Be sure to obey your teachers; they will take good care of you while you are waiting. Don’t worry, everything will be fine! I love you!

Love, Mommy

Then I would decorate with a bunch of cheery little drawings: our cat doing something silly; a picture of Daddy with a family joke written over it; hearts and stars all over the place.

I would rig a little plastic shelter over my paper/hands as I wrote, to keep the paper from being stained with DRIPPING TEARS.

I am SURE the parliamentary system has its OWN flaws, but right now it is looking much better to me than the United States’s 2-party system.

The problem with a 2-party system is that there isn’t much room to SWITCH. There is a stretch of time in each election when there IS still room for me to choose one candidate or the other—but at a certain point in most elections, when it has become apparent to me that one party fervently opposes things I fervently believe in, it doesn’t matter WHAT cheesehead move the other party pulls, I can’t SWITCH. That’s not how it works.

I mean, I’m trying to imagine, just with the imaginative power of imagination, how I would feel if at this point the candidate I’ve decided to vote for said some truly unacceptable things, some things that meant really no one should vote for him. Would I then vote for the OTHER party? No, because I have already heard THAT candidate say some truly unacceptable things, some things that mean to me that really no one should vote for him.

So in this completely imaginary scenario, I’d be completely stuck: I can’t vote for my guy anymore; I can’t vote for the other guy. My only remaining option is a Protest Vote: either not voting at all, or voting for a third party candidate I know won’t win, just to show how unhappy I am with the choices.

In a parliamentary system, I would have more options, right? I could say, “Wellll, I WAS going to vote for Cheesehead McGee, but it turns out he’s a cheesehead. I’m still appalled by Pinehole McCloud, so certainly I’m not voting for HIM, either, but there’s this other candidate who is sort of an in between candidate. I’ll vote for HER instead.” And if, say, 40% of the voters still liked Cheesehead McGee’s ideas and 40% still liked Pinehole McCloud’s ideas, there could still be 20% power given to MY candidate’s ideas TOO. …Or however that works. I may not be 100% clear on the parliamentary system. Or ours. BUT I KNOW I AM DISCONTENTED.