The waiting is the hardest part.

Though not completely out of the "Oh fuck what if the bastard wins for real this time" funk I have been indulging in, I am feeling more hopeful today. Mostly, well entirely due to a few Sunday conversations held with Maud, where I received the updates of Mr. Maud's Floridian adventures in upholding Democracy.

I cannot express the extent to which I am proud of him, how I admire him. How his example is humbling. Oh, I talk a big game, which is pretty easy in New York City, or in most of New York State. However it's important to be reminded that there's a step beyond talking a big game... there's taking time off from work, putting your ass on a plane at your own expense, and canvassing the neighborhoods in a swing state that are most likely to be targets for voter fraud. Sorta makes my twenty bucks to the Kerry fund and an ongoing Bush rant on a website read by six people seem a little lackluster; and inspires more than a smidgeon of guilt.

However in an effort to put guilt to good use, I stopped in at the Swinging Sixties Senior Center (my sexy polling place) to see if I could be of use somehow: setting up the booths for tomorrow, help make signs or unfold folding tables, or, I don't know, make punch. They were delighted by my offer and promised to give me a call this afternoon when the booths arrive. I was warned, "But only Board of Elections people can touch them." I assume she meant the booths, I hope she meant the booths. If not she was intimating something about their swinging sixty clients I'm not altogether comfortable with.