Half of the American people never read a newspaper. Half never vote for president. One hopes it is the same half. - Gore Vidal

Today is Election Day in the United States and it couldn't come a day too soon. Over the last month, I had developed a nasty itch only voting could scratch.

You see, I first contracted the itch a month ago, when various politicians started running ads on television with alarming frequency. The ads featured people running for elected offices one rarely hears about: insurance commissioner, attorney general, state controller, state masseuse.

Of course, the ads receiving the most airtime were those for the gubernatorial race. Arnold Schwarzenegger's camp ran disturbing commercials with music playing backwards and Arnold saying that, unlike his opponent, he would lead Caleeforneea forward.

Phil Angelides's camp ran even more disturbing commercials showing Arnold repeating those three words every Democrat hates: "I'll be back." "George W. Bush." Every time I saw it, I was instantly reminded of that maddening HeadOn commercial with its thrice-repeated catchphrase, "HeadOn. Apply directly to the forehead." I've seen the ad a hundred times and still don't know what HeadOn is for because I'm usually focused on other things, like applying my forehead directly to a wall.

Besides ads for politicians, the past month has been filled with a cacophony of commercials for or against numerous propositions. The most vocal and contentious battles were over Propositions 86 and 87. (Prop. 86 has to do with a cigarette tax. Prop. 87 deals with alternative energy.) Oftentimes, three or four opposing ads, usually featuring doctors, would run in a row. "Vote no on 86," said one doctor. "Vote yes on 86," said another. "No, vote no on 86," said a third.

If you're wondering why you have to wait so long to see your doctor, it's because he or she is busy pursuing a new career as a political mouthpiece. They weren't the only ones. Firefighters, police officers and teachers also placed their professional responsibilities on the backburner to jump into the proposition fray.

I thought the itch might fade if I went for a walk and got away from the clutter on the television, but as soon as I stepped outside, a clutter of campaign signs greeted me. The chain link fence they hung on was sagging under their collective weight. "Hi! Vote for me," said one sign. "No, vote for me," said another. "Lost cat," said a third, earning a glare from the first two. Instead of fading away, the itch only grew worse.

So, you can imagine the relief I felt when today finally arrived. The itch was so bad, I sped to my polling place first thing this morning. I got there just as the election officer was opening the doors.

To my surprise, I wasn't the first one there. Dozens of people, clearly suffering from the voting itch, stood in line ahead of me. Although I felt their pain, I couldn't wait my turn to vote. I wanted to be compassionate, but I wanted to scratch the itch more. In a moment of desperation, I did the first thing that came to mind.

I pointed and shouted, "Republican!"

They're such rare animals in this neck of the wilderness that my yell caused everybody in line to turn in the hopes of spotting one. Amidst the camera phone flashes and cries of "Where?" and "I'll gets that varmint!", I managed to get by most of the crowd and secure the fourth spot in line.

Anyway, after voting my itch away, I proudly wore the "I Voted" sticker they gave me. I made sure people on the train could see it while I read Nicole Richie's book for no other reason than to see them shudder and hear them exclaim to their neighbors, "Oh. My. God. He's reading that and they still let him vote? What is this country coming to?"

If you haven't already, scratch the itch and vote!