At my polling place, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, the chief concern seemed to be the accommodation of Spanish-speakers. Signs and forms in Spanish were everywhere; a Spanish interpreter was on hand. And I thought this seemed a little screwy — or at least a bit much. Why would anyone who can’t handle the voting experience in English even want to vote?
"What a strange sense of entitlement," he harrumphs, of the right to vote.
It's at times like this I actually feel a little bad for K-Lo.