My First...

My First Time Voting

        About two weeks before I voted, I realized I hadn't received anything in the mail and started to panic. I've looked forward to this day for years, and it would be so typical if I didn't get to. I feel really strongly that if you live in a country, that you should participate not just by paying taxes, but by engaging in the political process. It's a right but also a duty, and I don't take it lightly, probably on account of my being born and raised in Sweden, where these things are treated with the utmost importance.

        Swedish Parliament 

        In the last election in Sweden, which was in 2010, close to 85% of the population voted. In Sweden you don't have to register to vote, and voting always happens on a Sunday, so they make it easy for you to participate. Also, you vote for whatever party you affiliate yourself with instead of an actual person, so you tend to know what to expect as far as how they are going to vote on things (they follow party lines.)  The party has a list of candidates they are sending to parliament, and depending on how many votes a party gets, a certain amount of the candidates on the list make it in. The first person on the list is the leader of the party, and that person becomes the prime minister if their party is forming the government. Pretty easy. 

        I actually stopped voting in Sweden a while ago, so I've been out of the voting loop altogether for a bit. The last time I voted in Sweden, I polled my family and voted with the majority of them, which didn't exactly seem "right," (especially if you know my family,) but it's tricky to keep my finger on the pulse of the happenings in Swedish politics while living here. Unless they do something ridiculous and embarrassing like voting to grant Palestine non-member state status in the UN.

        Come to think of it, I don't exactly have my finger on the pulse of the Swedish language either. I don't have an American accent when I speak Swedish like Dolph Lundgren of "Rocky" fame, but my vocabulary hasn't grown or developed since the early 90's when I moved here, to the delight of my brothers who never miss an opportunity to tease me for using 90's jargon and words whose hipness factor apparently expired many years ago. 

        But back to the U.S. where I've held citizenship for a couple of years now, and to my special polling place. Some people vote in schools, some in churches, but I get to vote at the Los Feliz Fire Station on Hillhurst. I recognized some of the fire fighters from their morning runs, which by some miraculous coincidence always seem to take place when I walk to my car to go to work in the morning. I always say hello and smile, because I think that if I ever need them for fire reasons, they'll remember that, and will work so much harder to save me. (I also say hello and smile because they're hot and I'm single.) Unfortunately, my friendly antics didn't get me anything on Election Day, as far as cutting in line, so I went to work and came back during my lunch break, when the line was a bit shorter. 

         I had re-registered online, since I hadn't received my voter card or voter guide, but I was still nervous that I wouldn't get to vote. This country isn't exactly known for having it all handled when it comes to voting, so I was prepared for a potential argument where I would scream about being a US Citizen and having the right to vote. Sure enough, my name wasn't on the list, and I started to clear my throat, getting ready for my big speech.

        Before I could start, I was interrupted by an Asian man, a voting volunteer, who asked me where I voted last time. I proudly said "I've never voted before, this is my first time!" which of course made the woman behind me shoot me a super snarky look of disapproval. She thought I had finally gotten off the couch, having been eligible to vote for years. Sigh. So I proudly added, "I just became a citizen," which made her relax a bit, and ask, "Canadian?" I nodded. Because I sound too American for my own good apparently. 

        They found me on the provisional ballot list. They explained that after everyone else's vote is counted, they will count mine and the other provisional ballots only if there's not a clear winner. Great. So, my vote really didn't count, because it was probably not even counted. Great first time out!

         But back to me in the little booth feeling important. I fastened my ballot, provisional or not, and started punching. I knew exactly what to vote because I had done my due diligence, researching the issues online, reading a friend's voter guide, and talking to Marjorie David, who is knowledgeable about all things political. I suppose one could say I voted according to party lines, with no real surprises. I decided to let the porn industry manage themselves and their potential health issues. That felt like a strange issue for me to vote about, but I suppose that's the political process.

        I will say that I felt, (and still feel) very strongly about the GMO initiative and I was surprised and horrified that it didn't pass.  Who says "no" to the question "do you want to know if your food is genetically modified?" I just don't get it. Even if you didn't care about that...if you didn't think there was anything wrong with genetically modified foods, why wouldn't you just let the people who do care about it know? 

           I sat glued to the TV on Election Night and was actually a bit fearful. I'm not 100% aligned or thrilled with everything Obama has done for the last four years, but the idea of someone becoming President and being against gay marriage and abortion is so bizarre, and far from where I think the world should be in 2012. Or at least the country I've chosen to live in. Turns out there was no reason to worry, everything was fine, and in the end, because some of the initiatives on the Los Angeles ballot were close, my ballot was counted. So my vote was needed and important after all...

        Proud first time "I VOTED" sticker bearer!

My First Time Being Published

 

        I had an internship at The Jewish Journal while I was in college. I was majoring in Political Science because I was fascinated with American politics, but I had always been a writer at heart, and wanted to see if I could minor in Journalism. An internship at a paper was a step in the right direction, and interning at a Jewish paper seemed appropriate since I was attending the University of Judaism. The staff was a mix of quirky, brainy and fun Jewish writers, lead by Editor-in-Chief Gene Lichtenstein, who was also the founding editor of The Jewish Journal.

Monsieur Bob Sagét

        I suppose Gene was your typical editor-in-chief; part curmudgeon, part intellectual, interesting, funny, and a bit of a Francophile, if I remember correctly. My fondest memory of Gene is when during a staff meeting, we were discussing a Jewish themed event that Bob Saget was hosting. Gene wouldn't stop referring to him at Bob Sagét, as if he wasn't a douchey comedian making sexual jokes about the Olsen twins, but a sophisticated, historically significant French literary figure. "Who is this Bob Sagét?" he said, and scratched his beard, while a few of us burst out laughing. 

        The internship was a great learning experience, and I must have done well because I landed a part-time job there, after graduating from college in 1996. I wrote mostly obituaries and calendar items but from time to time, I would be sent out to cover some local Jewish event, and that always made me feel like a legitimate reporter. If the Macabee Youth Games were the Olympics, that is.

        In digging around my files, I found an article that I believe is my first official non-obituary published item. I was sent to cover an event called "Challahpalooza," which was sponsored by Davka magazine, and held at Canter's Deli. I'll let the work of 25-year-old Marika speak for itself. 

The note outside the door says "Mira, this sucks. I'm next door ordering a shake. Come by, Linda"

        It's pretty funny, it sort of reads like my writing, just a bit rougher, and slightly harsh. If I had written it today, I may have been a bit more subtle in getting my point across, but it's definitely me. I guess I have a style of writing, and I guess it's been around for a while. That's cool. I remember getting into the office in the morning and opening the paper eager to see it. And the title. Contributing Writer. I loved it. 

        Best of all was the letter Gene Lichtenstein received in the mail a couple of weeks after my review was published. Gene called me into his office, and handed me an angry letter from a Jewish Journal reader. At first, I was embarrassed and concerned. I looked up at Gene, worried I'd be in trouble, but he just smiled. I suppose you're not a real writer until someone gets so riled up about what you've written, that they take time out of their day, sit down at their type writer, and bitch about you. I handed it back to him, but he told me to keep it. I'm glad I did.