The balloons and bunting are down, the posters packed up, and people are back to work, or back to looking for work. So many millions of individual struggles, big and small, ensured that enough votes for Barack Obama were cast and counted to overcome the usual shenanigans, which nonetheless may have shaved the margin significantly and frustrated Democratic efforts to gain a sixty-seat Senate majority.

But compared to the two trips into the twilight zone that gave us President Caligula, it was wondrous to watch Pennsylvania, then Ohio, fall like blue dominos blocking any plausible path to victory for Blinky McCain and Winky Palin. Even more wondrous was Florida’s redemption minutes later, which left us pinching ourselves for an hour, watching the pundits twiddle their thumbs until they could call the election the instant the polls closed on the West Coast.

Where I was, in the midst of all the kvelling and reveling of witnesses to joyful history, many people felt an odd, unexpected sense of overwhelming exhaustion and relief, as if they’d been holding their breath for eight years. Elderly relatives might offer a more colorful analogy, but to me, it felt like I was enjoying a weird sensation of exhaling as if for the first time.

The morning after, a friend at the gym greeted me with a fist bump and a single word: “Done.” The pictures and testimonials from around the world, the country and the block all told the same story, of hope renewed, faith restored, even in the midst of circumstances so dire that all giddy exuberance was gone by the time Obama gave his first press conference three days later. As hard as it may have been to get this far, now we have to get down to the real work, the business of fixing this world for our children’s sake.

Meanwhile, it's tempting to think the Friedman-Strauss Gang’s zombie army has been beaten back and America’s dark night of the soul may be over. All of that arguing about the Sixties may be over. The forty-year culture war may be over. Or not. I’m not out to harsh anyone’s buzz, but zombie armies are hard to kill. And even otherwise rational and well-meaning people still can be “wedged” if enough money is spent on pushing the right buttons, as the passage of Prop 8 in California illustrates.

But it's not the rational, well-meaning people I'm concerned about. You can talk to them. It's that zombie army out there, and their new inspirational leader, their very own Jean D'arc, the barely literate yet iconic Winky Palin (who may need to look up iconic to realize it's not an insult). Today, her newfound followers are threatening students, buying guns, and burning crosses. The usual stuff, you say? Some are also sharpening their pitchforks for an internecine jihad against the Replica Republican braintrust. The freepers have gone bat****, declaring war on all who would criticize "The Palin," vowing to make them "political lepers."

Even though it will be fun to watch this particular witch-hunt, the fact that it's happening at all underscores points made earlier in this space. The Replican puppet masters have created a monster, one that their dutiful foot soldiers have embraced as no other in the forty-year history of the Southern (read, racist) Strategy. The bosses treated Winky as a Manchurian Candidate, a cipher who could be programmed to kill on cue. It begins to appear that nobody anticipated her ravenous appetite for fame, which has begun devouring everything in its path.

Blinky McCain demonstrated grace in defeat, and drove himself home. Winky, on the other hand, rode to the airport with eighteen relatives in a twelve-car motorcade with motorcycle escort. She’s gotten used to having peeps and a convoy, spending lots of OPM (other people's money) on clothes, accessories and other lifestyle accoutrements, like forty thousand dollars of crap for her husband, including silk boxer shorts and man-tan, not to mention thirteen suitcases to carry it in. She reminds me of that New York lottery jackpot winner who was obsessed with hats. Bought thousands of 'em. Eventually went broke. She’s ready for her close-up, Mr. DeMille.

And we can't stop watching. For most of us, it's morbid curiosity, like watching the awful singer on the talent show who's tone-deaf to the embarrassment that would make a normal person shut up. Winky Palin is not normal. She's not embarrassed by her ignorance, and neither are the 69% of Replicans who worship her and want her to run for President in 2012 .

They don't care if she doesn't know Africa is a continent, thinks South Africa is something like South Carolina, can’t name the nations of North America or the parties to NAFTA. They don't care if she doesn't know the First Amendment protects the press from her, not the other way around. They don't care if she has no idea what the Vice-President does, swoons when a comic calls pretending to be the President of France, or answers the door in a towel when the campaign honchos visit for a briefing session. This is just some big reality show, right?

And they don't mind her vindictiveness, either. Just shows she's got balls, like Hillary. Troopergate? Screw those guys. Making her campaign staff cry? That's what Donald Trump or somebody else famous would do. And all those smarty-pants jerks who told Fox (!) how ignorant she was, well, "f there are allegations based on questions or comments that I made in debate prep about NAFTA, and about the continent vs. the country when we talk about Africa there, then those were taken out of context.” Maybe you can figure out how this helps her, my head is starting to hurt.

There’s a gap the size of an arctic ocean full of melted sea ice between Winky's ability to answer a question and her confidence in that ability. I’ve suggested that she’s unable, or convinced that you’re unable, to tell the difference between a substantive answer and total bull****. On reflection, I've decided she doesn't care, because she doesn't think any of it matters. And there's no evidence that she's a "tweaker," as some have speculated (which would at least explain the gibberish). No, if the Palin's addicted to anything, it's celebrity. She's a junkie for her daily dose of media attention. And her followers want her to have it, so they can worship her properly.

In response to a pre-election question about 2012, Palin gave a typically garbled, gibberish answer that ended with the comment that she wasn't "doing this for naught," invoking an idiom applicable to heroic efforts that fall short but leave a positive legacy. Apart from illustrating her incredibly outsized self-esteem, she plainly was saying, “I’ll be back next time, you betcha!” After her handlers' obligatory display of fake outrage, ABC apologized for interpreting her statement to mean exactly what she'd said. She ain't going away, unless she's put away.

After her antics on the national stage, some expect Palin to find Alaska a bit chillier than normal on her return, now that Alaskans have new doubts about her. We'll see about all that. After all, they're the ones who elected her in the first place, which is not, thankfully, something we can say about the national electorate. Of course, if it all goes horribly wrong, she might appoint herself to the soon-to-be vacant Senate seat of old buddy, convicted felon Ted Stevens. At the very worst, Todd will now be able to sport a tan in January.

http://www.smirkingchimp.com/thread/18538

good article

The first 3 paragraphs were perfect.

Where I was, in the midst of all the kvelling and reveling of witnesses to joyful history, many people felt an odd, unexpected sense of overwhelming exhaustion and relief, as if they’d been holding their breath for eight years. Elderly relatives might offer a more colorful analogy, but to me, it felt like I was enjoying a weird sensation of exhaling as if for the first time.







This is how I feel