tums

Polls are closing all over the country.  We're still all anxiously waiting for any kind of results that we can use.  It's trickling in at, well, a trickle.

The nice folks at Tryst have laid out a groaning board of delicious comestibles, but I can't even look at food right now.

I have a terrible crush on HuffPo's Bob Cesca, now.  Nobody told me he was as tall as a water-tower.  Jeez, Louise.  I was watching him from across the room thinking that he looked familiar, but not wanting to go over and introduce myself in case he turned out to be someone from RedState or some brain donor farm like that.  Fortunately, after a few minutes I was able to place him.  I shoulda known.  Too good looking to be a rightard.

And that's about as cogent and incisive an insight as I can offer right now.  It's true what they say, you know.  A Republican 10 is a Liberal 2.  Nowhere is that more apparent than here.  

Ann Althouse came by a few minutes ago and took photos of me and John Amato.  Amato was nice to her.  I just growled under my breath and kept typing.  Comity is one thing, but I thought that her writing about the infamous Clinton lunch was inexcusable.

I got introduced to Mary Katherine Ham, who, it turns out, shares my alma mater, the University of Georgia.  She went to journalism school there, which might explain her execrable writing.  She's the blogger who viewed the infamous "Call me!" ad about Harold Ford, Jr. and pronounced that cries of racism were baseless and that the ad was cute and funny.

Yeah.  Don't forget to take your Dramamine before you go floating down the River of Denial Mary Katherine.  

Reasoning with Reich Wingers, methinks, is akin to wandering into the Day Room at a mental hospital and insisting to people, "You're NOT Napoleon Bonaparte, okay?  And you're not Jesus Christ, either."

We've been having semi-spotty connection issues.  Some guy named James Joyner from 'Outside the Beltway' was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT on someone from CNN earlier saying that if the connection was going to keep going down, he was going to JUST GO HOME.  Ooooooh, please don't throw us in that Briar Patch, Br'er Fox, PLEEEEEASE.

Ick.  It reminds me of a t-shirt I used to have and wore until it fell to bits that said, "Who invited all these tacky people?"

It's going to be a long night. 

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