I Need a Bath

I already feel dirty. It's only one day into another federal election (didn't we just vote in some little squirt from Shawinigan?) and I've already started to scrub my hands in anticipation of that fateful day when I exercise my democratic right, cast my vote, and then jump into the shower with a bag of pumice stones and three gallons of industrial-strength oven cleaner. What some would call not just a right but a duty has, for me, turned into a squeamish exercise akin to choosing between touching the yucky red stuff in bowl A, full immersion into the blue bubbly stuff in tub B, or saying to hell with it and sticking my finger into light socket C.

And to think elections used to be fun.

I remember a time when there was always someone to hate, someone to love, someone to kick out and someone who would be caught half-naked in a garter and riding boots grooming their pet cat to the strains of Wagner...well, metaphorically, anyway. Elections have always been about getting your licks in, watching leaders squirm, and occasionally telling yourself that the new guys you just voted in will do better, despite what history, common sense, and your Las Vegas bookie might suggest to the contrary.

I suspect the only leader that I'll be seeing squirm this time around is Jack Layton, and only because Parliament Hill's favourite media slut is likely as not to turn up on the evening news doing belly dancing demonstrations on top of his campaign bus.

Which leaves me busy deciding which horrible disease of the conscience I'd care to contract when choosing between Stephen "Fifty-first state" Harper, and Paul "Give me the mandate to rebuild what I destroyed" Martin. Do I want service cuts, two-tiered health care, and a full order of social conservatism, or would I care for service cuts, half-tier health care and a side order of wait-and-see social justice? Would I like a leader to walk side by side, in locked goose-step with our friendly fanatical leader to the south, or would I care to have one with a serious fetish for kissing presidential underwear?

Whether you stick a hot poker in your left ear or your right, you're still likely to end up with a serious headache. Yet these are the choices that confront me.

If I vote for Stephen Harper, I might just end up with a government that will take social justice, compassion, and the Charter of Rights and Freedoms to evangelical "notwithstanding" depths not seen since Salem, Massachusetts was a world-leading centre for jurisprudence. I might get a government that will reduce the entire social safety net to a quivering mass of forgotten ideals that will have Tommy Douglas doing graveside somersaults. There's a worry I might get a full dose of that Stephen Harper budget-slashing obsession to clean the books, lower taxes, and turn Canada into a Reagan era dream world where the rich are benevolent, everyone has a company health plan, and money trickles down the economic ladder like manna from heaven.

Needless to say, Ayn Rand has never been a favourite of mine.

Yet, voting for Paul Martin gets me another round with the biggest self-serving ego this side of Louis XIV, enough adjectives to keep me thesaurus free for years, and a leader who has graced more front pages than not looking like a stunned gopher caught in the halogen glare of an oncoming truck, denying what he didn't do instead of doing what he's supposed to do...which, last time I checked, was running the country and not calling early summer elections.

Ah, but Paul has big plans...yes sir, big plans, for which he needs a strong, clear mandate to implement. Yes, a vote for Martin is a vote for Martin fixing what Martin broke, like health care, federal downloading and a gutted social welfare system that has more people reaching out for a quarter than to that bright new horizon Paul has in store. A vote for Martin is a vote for a governing cabinet full of green-behind-the-ears, never-before-seen, non-Chrétien-affiliated MPs hand-picked and quality-assured by Paul Martin himself, ready to jump through hoops faster than you can say the word "patronage." A vote for Martin is a vote for Martin avoiding anything more politically prickly than what kind of salmon to serve visiting dignitaries...Pacific or Atlantic? Thorny issues like Marijuana reform and same-sex marriage will just have to wait until the great repas de poissons crisis of 2004 is settled first.

Give him a year or two...everyone should have forgotten about them by then.

And okay, sure, there is Jack Layton. Jack thinks using a few of his mother-in-law's herbal remedies is an excellent solution to our present shortage of doctors and MRIs. Jack supports the Canadian Auto Workers, but wants us all to ride bicycles to help clean up the air so his asthmatic son can breathe better.

Enough said.

So, to paraphrase Joe Clark, who so aptly summed up this election, do I go with the devil I know as opposed to the devil I don't...or the court jester who's getting on my nerves?

I just hope they've thought to install showers at the polling stations this time around, with lots and lots of soap. I figure I'll be scrubbing for hours.