And the beat goes on.
The democratic process grinds through Pennsylvania like the Union Army of old, chewing up the soil and pitting father against son, grandma against brother-in-law, glory, glory hallelujah.
The war-camps have moved on to the moonlit cornfields of Indiana, land of Mellencamp and Vonnegut, and the generals stare into the campfires, divining, drinking heavily and sharpening their spears while common soldiers on both sides trade taunts and rhythmic insults across tomorrow's Field of Honor.
The camp-followers, the pundits and press and experts and comics shake their heads and wail in public and then retire to their tents to whoop it up and congratulate each other on their extreme good fortune. Another battle means another day's wage for these ghoulish, short-sighted coiffed melon-heads. Wolf Blitzer and Chris Matthews slap hands and backs and Anderson Cooper smiles enigmatically across the room, sipping an Absolut and grapefruit juice, sitting alone as usual.
And where are we, where are the People on this Night after the Day before the next Big Night of polls and attacks and feints and coy rejoinders?
Have we, almost without noticing, taken a collective step back from the fray? Have our positions hardened a bit, where once we instinctively grasped each others hands, now is there a reluctance to reach across?
And where's Johnny Mac? He's not on the little screen, true, but that's not necessarily a bad thing for the Arizona Wildcat and his Great White Army. Johnny wears out his welcome with exposed viewing, he's like the frat brother you want to spend the weekend with, but come Wednesday afternoon you want to punch him in the mouth and tell him to shut the hell up.
Cranky people make other people cranky, it just works that way.
So, yeah. She beat the spread. Her victory speech last night was odd in that it took her about two minutes to get to the naked plea for money, dropping the website twice.
Cameras kept lingering on the boxing gloves in the crowd.
And then, in what has become a signature style for Senator Clinton, she wrapped up with a nervous, clumsy half-attempt to twist an Obama saying or refrain. She was reaching for a "Yes, we will!" call and response but the crowd had clearly not been fully briefed, responding with a disorganized "Yeahh!!", robbing her of the button and perfect landing.
Meanwhile, Senator O played it cool, giving a standard, if slightly energized, concession speech. When he shifts down to one of these standard speeches it's like listening to Aaron Neville sing Happy Birthday to You, the song so clearly below the talents of the singer.
Yo-Yo Ma playing Three Blind Mice.
There's been a lot of flak about O descending into the ranks of the everyday, mortal politician.
Hey, folks. Honestly. What did you think he was?
He's a really gifted politician, always has been. I'm in his camp, but I'm not drinking Kool-Aid again for any of them, and neither should you.
Bad Christmas tonight, Barrow Street.
And our good friends Stolen Chair ramp it up this week with The Accidental Patriot at CSV. Pirates and sword-fights and singing and whatnot.
Lots of the whatnot, I'm told.