The Election. Sports. "Burger." Making Out. Horny regrets. Sleeveface. SAT Test.

Jil: (left) from Decoupage and Demitasse , a delightful and practical cooking arts blog with funny, manageable, and conversational recipes or as Jil: puts it "an exciting, sensual, creative adventure into the world(s) of food, DIY, arts and crafts, homekeeping, and everything else in between," caught me on my way out the door at the Sierra last week and claimed to be a reader of Nohodome. These are still the early days of this blog and it's inevitable but startling to find that readers exist in the material world. Jil: wondered in a message today where my election coverage was. Well, after being behind the lens for Halloween, I decided to just leave all equipment behind and experience the election in the moment. The line was too long to even consider at the Paradise Cafe where Jaz Tupelo from WRSI and Bill Dwight from WHMP were broadcasting. The Toasted Owl appeared to have sports on. The Sierra has no TV. So it was the Dirty Truth. Nothing that happened after that is any different than the dozens of videos circulating of packed rooms erupting when those four words popped onto the screen: Barack Obama elected President. Some crazy guy bought everyone a beer. Who was that guy? I brought a list of all the senate races as a sort of scorecard but it was lost in a frenzy of french fries, beer, wine, and friends. I have the curse of overanalysis. I always seem to be zoomed out one setting beyond the one that would allow me to enjoy where I am at any given time. Looking back to junior high and high school, I have memories of being at a make-out party with everyone flailing in a hormonal tsunami and me trying to make conversation with a girl I really liked. I didn't want to just grab her. I wanted to find a connection first. What an idiot. Adolescence is ABOUT just grabbing her. That's what she wanted, verified at a recent Amherst High School reunion. I said, "Really? Damn! How about now?" "Married," she said, flashing a ring. I'm trying to remember what I was actually thinking and feeling back then, at that moment, and wishing I could whisper over my own shoulder at young Jimmy, "GRAB HER. STOP THINKING. ACT." I wish she had just grabbed me. Life is short people. Grab away.

And so it was every time the Red Sox won a doozy over the last 5 years or so. I would yell and scream a bit and then think, "Sports are a massive corporate opiate that keep populations occupied and sell them beer, cars, and female sexual stereotypes." Then I'd feel silly about all my screaming and look around judgmentally at all the lemmings taking the bait. What an asshole!

The countdown to west coast poll closings was a little weird and New Years Evey. I don't recall that in any election before, but when the four words flashed, it was not a World Series victory. It was something real and I felt no skepticism or distance from my excitement. I reached out and grabbed several women I was with. I think maybe they would have preferred we form a connection first.

The Pennsylvania county that Sarah Palin called the "real America" went for Obama. Sarah Palin didn't know that Africa was a continent. New rule: Just to weed out the real idiots, before any higher level tests and challenges, candidates for high office need to take the high school SAT so we know what kind of stupid we're talking about.

The album cover pix are from a great site called Sleeveface that Dave Sears tipped me to.