blowing every time you move your teeth

This probably makes me the odd one out, but I really do not feel like writing much about the elections. The media frenzy makes me a bit ill. Here is what I do have to say about it:

• JP, last night over dinner, asked, "That Vangelis, did he beat Schwarzenegger?" I think it took me at least two minutes to stop laughing about that one.
  
  
• Even though Clinton was all over the television with the thoroughly stupid slogan, "if Brazil can do it, so can California" regarding Prop 87, it failed to pass. Initially, I thought if you were going to be silly enough to go with this tagline, it should be "even Brazil can do it." But now, I guess it ought to be: "even though Brazil can do it, we still can't." It is really disappointing that the proposition did not pass in California, though I suppose I should not be surprised when the governor drives a Hummer.

I do not think I should write anything about the national results. I have my opinions, but outlining them would mean getting ridiculously high and mighty about things I only barely understand. The days of getting really excited about any outcomes have left me behind. The federal government is currently a massive morass, and I remain skeptical as to how a changing of the guard is going to miraculously transform that. What's more, this seems like something that happens at work. Someone b*tches about how badly a project is going, they are handed over authority on the project, but the project is already so FUBAR that it's nearly impossible to turn the tide. And guess who gets blamed? The person last in charge.

Lucky for me, I did not watch the results trickle in for very long because a) watching the media try to analyze the public is always infuriating and b) JP and I had plans to go out to dinner. Even more fortunate for me, he picked Tokyo Go-Go. And let me tell you this: one cup of hot sake + one vodka tonic + unusually adventurous rolls of sushi (asparagus, avocado, salmon and lemon?!?) + really neat light fixtures + seeing JP after nearly 2 months equals one happy customer. JP totally does not believe that I am capable of anything radical, so when I unveiled to him my plan for what happens if The Goal fizzles, he gave me that patient, tolerating look that indicates no confidence. All the same, as predicted, he did take pity on me and invite me to Thanksgiving dinner at his friend's house. Yes, I am a pathetic leech.

We walked home, and it was a perfect San Francisco evening. I have to say that I feel most San Franciscan when walking around the Mission with JP. We are always a little buzzed, he always runs into people he knows, and the Mission has the grit of reality obscuring any glaring evidence of gentrification. This particular evening was even more San Franciscan. Hints of fog that never really materialized wafted around us. The moon was large and glowing, but every so often clouds would lick it, blur it, dim its light. You leave a loud and warm restaurant into the cool evening and it does not matter that you are in the heart of the Mission: you have to inhale deeply. You have to drink the night. You have to drink it all in, because if you live in San Francisco, you know that more likely than not, it is not a permanent gig. You close your eyes and capture it like you are snapping a picture. I walked the last two blocks home alone, thinking with amusement that what I cherish most about San Francisco is what most people consider the least aesthetically pleasing.