Election night in this town is strange — people cheering like fratties at a football game as Gene Carnahan inches ahead of Jim Talent by a couple of percent. Like South America during the world cup, only without the salsa and 98% of the energy. Err, yeah. Anyway, overheard at the Capitol Lounge, in the neighborhood of (oddly enough) Capitol Hill —
Q: “Another drink?”
A: (looking up at the many screens showing CNN returns) “Yeah, what the hell, I already lost my job.”
I did end up stopping briefly at Green candidate Adam Eidinger’s election dealie. As the sole person wearing a suit (still from work) I felt a bit self conscious with my “Hi I’m an evil right-winger” Cato pin glistening on my lapel as I passed folks sporting “We Are All Palestinians” and “Anti-Capitalist Resistance” t-shirts. He was polling around 15% at last count, meaning Zoe gets to lay off the campaign junkie trip and go back to worrying about a thesis on “consensus process,” which is apparently the en vogue method of concealing social power relations in certain left leaning organizations. As of this post, CNN has the Rs leading in both houses, a pretty marked shift from last check down at the bar, not to mention most predictions. Well, I suppose we’ll see — by the time most of you read this, we’ll know how it all fell out. One of the perks (and a feeble consolation it is) of being a libertarian is that I get not to give too much of a shit how the balance of power between the Coke and Pepsi parties is hanging. Since the Ds have already demonstrated their total paucity of testicular fortitude on the Iraq question, it’s difficult to attach too much significance to all this one way or another.
Anyway, I was pleased to discover upon returning home that my package of Mike Doughty goodies had arrived — viz., his new live album Smofe and Smang and his book of poetry, Slanky. I had forgotten, though I still listen to it often, that I listened to his first solo album (after the breakup of his band Soul Coughing) several times daily for the better part of a year. Only about halfway through, but it sure looks like S&S is going to be the same way — I already had to repeat “Sunken Eyed Girl” several times. I get the extra kick of the feeling of being at a Doughty show (been to about five so far, if memory serves), and his excellent stage presence, mainly a function of his clever banter with the crowd. Flipping briefly through Slanky, I suspect I may have no choice but to carry it around in coffee shops and smoke clove cigarettes while scribbling absently on a legal pad. Poseurship has been thrust upon me, what can I do? Nevertheless, buy both of these fine consumer goods instantly if you haven’t already.
Right, well, speaking of music, the incomparable Amon Tobin is playing tomorrow night at the 9:30 Club. If you haven’t heard him, Amon Tobin is sort of like coming across an old cardboard box of jazz and bossa records in an attic, when suddenly a green glow begins seeping through the boards in the roof and the tiny window, originating from a mercury-like silver flying saucer transforming into a large space robot, which beams up the records, and then explodes. Amon Tobin is the sound the robot makes when it explodes, only more so. I’m looking forward to it. So much so that I’m going to this show despite the fact that I have to wake up at something like 5am the following morning to snag a train up to BWI and fly out to San Diego for Cato University. Which reminds me… if blogging is light through the end of the weekend, it’s because I couldn’t hook my laptop up to anything that hooks up to the Internet. Or because I’m, you know, doing the whole socializing thing. Which, since I haven’t seen my Californicated friend and ex-roomie Professor D. Glen Whitman in some time, may well be the case. Try not to be too lonely without me.
