Feeling a little hungover from all the excitement last night.
And I wasn’t even drunk.
It was a long, exciting night, electing a new president. I couldn’t stay up more than a few minutes beyond the announcement of Obama’s win… long enough to watch the crowd go wild at Grant Park in Chicago… long enough to watch McCain’s gracious concession speech. Himself, on the other hand, was up for the duration.
The Boy was emphatically not interested in the election AT ALL, and had retired early to the Mancave to spend some quality time with Everybody Loves Raymond. He had earlier decided not to vote, because (1) he didn’t like EITHER of them and refused to make the “who sucks less” choice, and (2) because he really didn’t care.
His needs are simple and his wants are few. He is 27 years old. He has no investments. He doesn’t own a home. His job is unlikely to be outsourced overseas. Unless either of the candidates could commit to another Red Sox World Series win or the resurrection of the Bruins, he’s not interested in anything they have to say.
Well, I care marginally more than the Boy.
I voted for Obama.
I voted against Kerry.
Then there were several other elections for various mysterious state and local elected positions: Receiver of Tiddlywinks, Master of Horse, etc…. I neither knew of them nor what they did. Although I’m pretty sure it’s very important.
It has to be, right?
Anyway, I hadn’t brought the Magic 8 Ball, having convinced myself that it was probably illegal to bring a Magic 8 Ball into a voting booth, and eenie-meenie-minie-mo seemed too capricious, even for me, so I followed the time-honored Kellypuffs voting axiom:
“Vote the bastards out.”
Anti-incumbent, if you will.
I spoke to the Colonel tonight. He’s still pretty upset.
I told him to smoke a joint.