Ladies and Gentlemen, the Next President of the United States...
When the debate started last night, I sat on the couch in absolute agony, just waiting for something to go horribly wrong. I couldn't sit still (highly unusual, as I usually make sloths look like real go-getters) and kept getting up to refill wine glasses, make tea, go to the bathroom, etc.
Finally, around the halfway point I started to relax. My parents and Mr. B, who, while essentially Dems, aren't nearly as immersed in the minutae of this campaign as I am, were laughing at Bush and cheering Kerry and reacting the way I imagine most sensible people around the country would react. By the time W. started with the preacher talk about the valley of peace, I was feeling giddy with relief.
Yesterday over at Eschaton, someone in comments metioned how Kerry needed to wear an Atticus Finch suit to the debate. Athenae and I both swooned. Peck-as-Finch turns out to have been a formative crush for both of us. I don't know about her, but I thought Kerry brought the Finch last night, and Chimpy was the rabid dog. Either that or the busted chiffarobe.
Of course, this is my first stop online this morning and I haven't seen the media spin yet. Last night they were acknowledging Kerry as the winner, but who knows what kind of spanking they got from Karl after I went to bed to make them change their tune.