Identity crisis

We're heading into High Autumn now, and this particular one is reaching the high and colourful standards of the fall of 2001 when we first came to Hades, which, come to think of it, also followed on the damp heels of an unseasonably rainy summer. So this morning, for the first time since 2001, I saw the striped sidewalk effect, due to the droppings of three particularly vivid maples lined up the next block up from our house. It looks like the Doctor's scarf; too bad the effect was spoiled by this morning's clutter of garbage cans and recycling bins, delayed by yesterday's Thanksgiving holiday.

Today is Election Day, and while all true Canadians whinge about the weather and government, they cannot rightfully do the latter, in my opinion, unless they've bothered to vote, no matter how futile it may seem. Particularly at our house this year. I'm voting with my conscience, even though I find all four leadership candidates depressingly unprepossessing; the Resident Fan Boy is voting strategically, even though our riding has gone to the same party since 1974.
"When are you going in to cancel my vote, darling?" I call to the RFB as he heads out for work. Oh well.

Now, the challenge in voting for the past couple of years lies in the new identification rules. Apparently, even with sinking voting participation with each election, there are fears of illegal voting. (I wish I thought people cared that much. I wish I thought I cared that much.) This means perusing a rather large pamphlet with long lists of combinations of IDs which will be acceptable at the polling place. Most people can get away with their driver's license, but I'm a militant non-driver. This means I need a piece of government ID (a birth certificate or a passport), and (here's the rub) something on the approved list that shows my address. Up until recently, that was my health card, but it came up for renewal last April and the new ones don't bear addresses for "privacy reasons". A utility bill is also acceptable, but I just paid my bills last week and the bit with the address on it is what's returned with the cheque. I email the Resident Fan Boy for the location of our Canada Child Tax Benefit statement and he tells me that he shreds them. Oh dear. I have a letter from my mum but the stamp isn't cancelled, and letters are not on the lengthy list. Fortunately, Resident Fan Boy hasn't paid the hydro bill yet, and that bears both our names. Whew. I stride down to the United Church, where two lovely Indo-Canadian ladies tell me that everything is in order. "You mean I get to vote?" I cry with mock-glee. Fortunately, these ladies are not "election day Hitlers" and they laugh, and hand me my ballot.

Now I'm going to find somewhere to blot out the world. The Resident Fan Boy may be an election coverage junkie, but I'm not. This year, the polls don't close until 9:30, so I have the option of retreating to bed and watching Gavin and Stacey. I wonder if DVD rentals spike on Election Night...