Somehow, I always get stuck with the tab. A few innocent comments on a couple of lefty blogs temporarily blinded by a love for melodramatic network television and certain flavors of yummy fruit while the republic dies around us, and I'm looking at couple of G's in bar bills at the Algonquin. Jeesh!
How do these things happen to me? Sure I like to stir it up a bit. And perhaps I have no business telling people what to blog. And I am the kind of guy who gets stopped every single time I'm in Times Square by some wide-eyed out-of-towner looking for directions. But am I that soft a touch? I mean, not one but two (!) Open Letters to Tom Watson to take me to task, and a wrist-slap from the Studio 60 hagiographer!
All because I wanted my lefty buddies to turn off the TV, close the cookbook, and keep us headed toward a victory that tosses the party of criminals from legislative power. Is that asking too much? As Claire says, "Let us not be swayed by the shiny, pretty things that distract us from the horrors of the current administration."
But then she recalls the horrors of 2004, the big build-up, the cliff-hanger, the worst morning after in years. And you see, that's what I'm tapping into here. There's a build-up of expectations going on. The House is in play. The House is even. We're over the top in the House. We're guaranteed the House. The Senate's in play....and so on. People are afraid. They're afraid to invest their hopes and dreams, so they're nesting in the bosom of Timothy Busfield and a bushel of juicy D'Anjous.
So here's the deal. I'm being dragooned into this by a certain Blue Ohioan (a lost Elvis tune, I think), but I'm game. A round of drinks at the roundtable for anyone who's up for it, at a date and time to be named (by the Ohioan). Post November 9th, of course. Post victory. Pre-subpoenas. Early in the Pelosi Era. Just let me know.