Why, in the Name of Common Sense, Must They Always Fix What Ain’t Broke?

Now, friends, let me spin you a little yarn about the curious case of votin’ in the Silver State—a good endeavor if ever there was one. Back in 2018, a band of well-meanin’ Nevadans marched to the ballot box and hollered out “Aye!” to a plan that tied votin’ to the Department of Motor Vehicles—otherwise known as the one place on God’s green earth where time crawls slower than a three-legged tortoise in molasses.

From that point on, every feller or gal who ambled into the DMV to tend to their affairs—be it a driver’s license, a renewal, or one of them government forms—found themselves signed up to vote like it or not, courtesy of the registrar’s office. The system was plain as cornbread, and that’s how folks liked it.

But lo! Come January 2025, the powers-that-be got it in their heads to fine-tune the contraption, which is politician talk for takin’ a thing that works and puttin’ it through a meat grinder to see what happens. Now, they say when a soul goes into the DMV and makes one of them “qualified transactions,” which I reckon means anything short of askin’ directions to the outhouse—their information still goes up the ladder to the registrar’s office.

But now, it doesn’t stop there. It takes a little detour into a new level—some bureaucratic cloud where forms rain down like April showers.

Miss Addie Vetter, the Deputy Registrar of Voters in Washoe County, says they update the system, send the voter a form in the mail, and then it’s up to the voter to opt out, opt in, verify this, change that, and sign it all with a flourish like they’re settlin’ a cattle contract.

And if it’s your first time at the DMV rodeo? Well, congratulations—you’re a non-partisan voter now. No party, no fuss, no glory.

See, what happens next is they mail you a form and a cover letter that kindly explains all the hullabaloo. There’s a number to call if you get lost in the paper forest.

If you agree with everything, you tip your hat and go on. But if you need to make changes—like switch your party, cancel your registration, or pull out of votin’ altogether—well, sign that form like it’s your final will and mail it back.

This whole rigamarole, they tell us, keeps things “current.” Which smells a bit like fish when applied to voter paperwork. But if you do all that right, you’ll get your ballot when the time comes—be it for a general election, a special election, or some small-town vote on whether dogs can wear hats.

And here’s the kicker: every time you blink at the DMV, this little ritual starts again.

Now I ask you plainly: why do they have to mess with the system when a plain piece of paper worked just fine? To me, the only thing automatic about this “automatic registration” is the confusion it breeds.