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counting chickens

When I was tinkering with maps this afternoon [#], I was only trying to come up with a win that I could believe in. Something small, a little guarded, and, except for Omaha, not at all outlandish. But the distinct possibility of a big win is inspiring in a way that I hadn't realized until maybe just tonight, listening to that Brendan Canning album [#] at the gym while newscasts flickered on flatscreens around the room.

Up until a few months ago, I didn't think that Sad Grandpa Walnuts was entirely terrifying. His embarrassing and increasingly distasteful campaign aside, I still don't think that he's the worst of the bunch. So the thought of a decisive victory is tantalizing not for bragging rights, but for how a result including a bit of the south or a touch of the Rockies could say that it's not just the coastal elites and our pals in the Great Lakes finally getting our way after so many dispiriting, soul crushing, and embarrassing years.

Though I wish I had been able to, I don't know that I ever fully caught the stadium-sweep of pure infectious inspiration (blame a deep-seated preference for the pragmatic losers like Dean and Clinton). Out of fear of setting ourselves up for another awful disappointment, it is difficult to even consider the possibility of something seeming like a country agreeing to try a humane, competent, and fairminded course, but nevertheless, a peek at that out of the corner of one darting eye looks pretty good and maybe a little bit possible.

Possible enough, that is, to plan to get to the Showbox early. Just in case.


I've been pretty confident for the last few weeks that Obama is gonna win until this week. It seems like I'm growing pessimistic while everyone else is going the opposite direction and finally giving in to the hopeful side. Paranoia works in mysterious ways.

Only hours left, thank God!
I'm kind of right there with you. I feel like I'm being faked out by the Republicans.