November 6 2008 (AM)

It's November 6, 2008. Joe Scarborough is bitching about the liberal media's bias and how Obama is not a saint. My son's grumpy morning routine has hit its high note where he deliberately refuses to tuck in his shirt and says crazy shit like "why does a uniform have to mean my shirt is in? My shirt out is more comfortable. There's no rule about shirts, you're just mean." Everything is as it always is at my house in the morning, except that when Joe bitches about him he says President-Elect Obama.

Ah, sweet delirium, twilight zone of contentment, emotion, sweet love hangover, extreme cross-historical cultural-critical meditative state, straight up INSANITY that is the world today. Obama is president. The New York times has clearly turned to cool and fuzzy articles about having little black kids in the White House: Mahlia wants to redecorate, Sasha is a ham, we're not sure what kind of puppy we're getting, grandma Robinson's moving in, Sidwell Friends school may have alumna Chelsea call the Obamas and pitch, the DC socialites are fearful they may not be cool and hip enough to host the Obamas but gosh darnit, they've all got Beverly whatsherface on speed dial and brand new subscriptions to O magazine and Essence. Get your Stevie Wonder playlist ready on Itunes while you're at it. I feel straight up drunk.