I love voting.

Despite everything, despite the awful rainy weather in Vancouver today through which I trudged twice to the poll, once to scrutineer and then once, with proof-of-residence, to vote early; despite the fact that when I got back from Christmas break I found that my Stephen Owen baggie had fallen off the wall and into the garbage, a sign of things to come; despite the fact that Paul Martin, a politician I genuinely like, admire and believe deserves a majority, is going down hard; despite the apparent right-wing Tory ascendence; despite Stock and Cheryl and Rob in the cabinet; despite Stephen Harper and his scary undead eyes; despite my worries about the Conservatives and what their plan is going to do to the country; despite my party's incredible ability to kick itself repeatedly in the groin and reinforce its own worst stereotypes over and over during this campaign; despite the gloomy, taunting headlines at the Globe and Mail site I read everyday; despite it all, I still love it. I still love elections. I love bantering with the poll clerks and listening to the nonpartisan small talk and how everyone who comes in is all puffed up with being a citizen and doing their duty. I love walking the streets and seeing the signs (especially since in Van Quadra most of them are Liberal signs). Then I just get so hyped up filling out my ballot -- reading all the names, rechecking to make sure I put the X in the right place, given the two Stephens on the candidate list -- and having the poll clerk rip off the little strip and then stuffing it in the box. It's just so great! It's worth the rain and the cold and the work and the stress. Maybe, just maybe, it's even worth Stephen Harper.