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As is typical when election results come in, I spent the evening glued to the TV and drinking heavily. I ran out of Cavit Pinot Grigio first -- I am, after all, an effete, intellectual, wine-and-cheese liberal. Then went the sixer of Sam Adams -- not my usual beer, but I drink it during elections because of the patriotic bent. Finally, on to the Evan Williams Single Barrel. I think I was on my second glass of the rotten stuff when I growled at the TV, "If she pulls ahead by more than 3,000 votes at 30 percent reporting in, Obama can start putting together the concession speech."
It was all too weird. Thus far, I've known pretty much everything that was going to happen in this election. I called the Obama and Huckabee wins in Iowa months ago. I don't like surprises in these situations -- they make me question my clear belief that I make Charlie Cook and Stu Rothenberg look like lame dupes with the brains of a retarded otter. I yelled for my wife to come into the living room and look at these numbers, but she doesn't share my political addiction. When it comes to politics, she's like a dilettante who laughingly experiments with cocaine at high-class parties on the weekends. I'm like a crackhead. Besides, she was on the phone with a lady who does Internet promotions for Lou Reed. But that's another story.
And before much longer, it was over. I called a friend of mine who does campaign work out in Missouri and shares my terrible addiction. "I'm watching SVU now," she said. "There's nothing coming out of New Hampshire but shame."
"You're out of your fucking mind," I shot back. "This is great stuff." On the TV in the background, Obama walked smoothly to the stage and nonchalantly delivered a speech that made the Sermon on the Mount look like the dumb ramblings of Ralph Wiggum, the way he always does.
"No, no, it's too much. Hillary will destroy us all!" she wailed. Did I mention that my friend is a radical socialist who's convinced that the DLC is a Republican fifth column? Yeah, I probably should have.
"If we were talking face-to-face, I'd slap you," I sneered. "This is great stuff. ... Didn't I already say that? Am I repeating myself?"
"Yes."
"Shit. I'm also talking out loud when I don't mean to. Hold on, more whiskey." I cracked some ice into a glass and poured Kentucky bourbon all over the place. Most made it into the glass. "Think about it," I continued. "McCain in New Hampshire, Romney in Michigan, Giuliani in Florida, Huckabee in South Carolina. The Republican convention is going to be total anarchy, each one of them thinking they should get the nod. Whoever actually gets the nomination will be torn to pieces by the rabid followers of the others. Body parts and blood all over the convention floor."
"That's horrible," she breathed.
"That's Republicans."
"But what about us? Hillary?!" she sobbed. "Hillary?!"
"I love it." Hillary on the TV in the background now. She's found her voice. "Put some heat in this race, you understand? Obama will still button up South Carolina, and Michigan and Florida are useless to us. This just makes it a great race. It'll still be over by Feb. 5, and our boy will still be in. Only now, he'll have paid his dues. It is on!"
Silence.
"I said it's on!!!"
"OK, OK," she muttered. "Detective Stabler was making a bust."
"What?"
"Stabler. SVU."
Silence on my end.
"I'm watching SVU."
"Dammit, why aren't you watching MSNBC?"
"Didn't we just go through this?"
"It is on!"
"Goodbye."
I threw the phone on the La-Z-Boy and laid down on the floor to preserve my strength and stop the room from spinning. I woke up the next morning in bed, fully clothed, with my wife rolling her eyes at me.
"How's Lou Reed?" I asked.
"Good. How are you?"
"Great," I said, and I meant it. I feel fine this morning, physically and mentally. My heart is full of joy. Because I am a political junkie. And when you suffer from my disease, sure you want your candidate to win, but even more than that, you want the race. Getting there is more important than the destination. Last night made certain that I'll have plenty of fixes in the coming weeks, because now we're in for a long haul. It is on!
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