Reasonably There

That was what it came down to in the end. Slumped on the sofa with the sound off on the telly, watching the hideous talking heads babble about provisional ballots while Arlo Guthrie's Last Train In The Station played on the stereo. The song worked, since while the melody is very maudlin, the lyrics have this strange fatalistic quality. And fatalism we have in spades. Collecting our thoughts on the subway (the party rocked, probably a little too much) this morning, we were still trying to put a good face on it. Vast numbers of Americans prefer this loathsome, simplistic, panderer to a slightly wordy war hero from Massachusetts.

Those evangelicals were there. In spades. They had cars, got to the polls, didn't have trouble with the ballots. Voted in nice tidy exurban polling stations.

And they get another four years to mess it up. And we have another four years of explaining the attachment of our hosts to this funny little man.