In this weblog I don’t tend to link to things related to charitable causes or my job. (One of these is an oversight and the other is in the interest of staying professional.) That said, you all need to know about Robert’s Snow, which is an online auction of wooden snowflakes painted by some of the best children’s book illustrators working today (and I’ve been lucky enough to work with some of them, too). The art is cool and the proceeds go to cancer research. Check it out.

With all this election hoopla I neglected to mention that the book The M Word is out now, and while it doesn’t have the moral values* that an awful lot of people in this country cherish, I still think it’s a damn fine book. Whether you buy it for my essay, or more likely for one of the other authors, or even just so you can methodically tear out and burn a page every day in that nice little passive-aggressive ritual you’ve developed as a result of living a life of righteous abstinence someplace where sex toys are illegal–whatever the case, I hope you enjoy it.

*Is it any surprise that the website “moralvalues.com” is just a default page with no content whatsoever? I hadn’t realized that “Discount Nutrition” was a Moral Value. The American people want to uphold the sanctity of marriage and their cans of Ensure! (What do they put in that stuff anyway? I’m not sure I want to know.)

Oh, and apparently “Family Medical Insurance” is a Moral Value, too. No, really.

1. What? What?!!
2. So they still have to count what–130,000 provisional ballots? But it’s probably more, right? Because you know how those papery things stick together and stuff.
3. Can you get VH1 in Canada? If not, that might be a problem.
4. Moral values?! I got my “moral values” RIGHT HERE, buddy.
5. I bet if I keep clicking “refresh” on CNN.com it’s gonna load the real poll results.
6. Hold me, Jon Stewart.
7. Um, people? Those marriage amendments won’t make gay people disappear, you know.
8. Well, it’s not like sketch comedy impersonations of Kerry were going to be all that funny.
9. IF ONLY THE STINKING RAPTURE WOULD HAPPEN ALREADY. GO AHEAD! LEAVE US BEHIND NOW PLEASE!
10. Will Moral Values still let me drink? Because that might help.
11. I HOPE THE SECRET SERVICE DOESN’T VISIT MY HOUSE.
12. I wonder if I would really choke to death if I swallowed my own tongue.
13. Back to the same old shit.

This morning I voted at my usual polling place: the tiny little VFW Hall on Western Avenue. To get to the voting booths you have to pass through the bar–past the row of stools and the bar counter and the big mirror behind it and the back shelf with all the different bottles, two of each brand. Evidently veterans prefer the brown liquor. They’re not so much into the clear stuff; no sissy gin or Commie vodka for them.

I had time to consider this, of course, since I was waiting in line. The line was much longer than usual and there were more people than I’d ever seen there. I heard the poll judges saying the same thing, and then, all day long, I’ve been hearing about it on the news, too.

So if you find yourself in a long line tonight, please hang in there. Bring a magazine just in case. Play with your cell phone. Try that thing where you can text-message Google and ask it to look up all kinds of stuff. Chew lots of gum. Hang in there.

Today I remembered that people under 30 have never experienced the pleasure of voting George Bush out of office, which is a shame, because voting George Bush out of office is a hell of a lot of fun. Sure, that was 1992, but there’s no reason why voting George Bush out of office shouldn’t continue to amuse, entertain and inspire us the way Baby Got Back still does.

Seriously. If we, the people, have the power to elevate Anna Nicole Smith to fame more than once, then by God we ought to be able to fire George Bush’s ass twice, right? (And I know it’s not the same George Bush, but Jesus Christ, you can barely recognize Anna Nicole these days.) Considering how very important it is to our country to vote George Bush out of office, I’m glad some of us got to do it once before, just for practice. It’s been twelve years, but I like the idea that maybe I have special Vote George Bush Out of Office muscles in my hands that will tingle and come alive as I punch the stylus EXTRA MOTHERFUCKING HARD through the ballot tomorrow. No matter what happens, I’ll be able to feel that.

Twelve years ago I was in college in Iowa City and I got up early before class to vote. The polling place was at Iowa City High School and even though it was nearly a mile from my house and in the opposite direction from campus I walked the whole way, because I was 21 and it was the first presidential election I could vote in. I probably wasn’t thinking so much about voting George Bush out of office as I was about Clinton, and the Equal Rights Amendment, and other things. My jacket wasn’t quite warm enough, and I could see my breath, and I was going through the residential part of town, along side streets where I rarely saw anyone else. It felt quiet and slightly furtive, but it’s how I voted a George Bush out of office. I wouldn’t quite believe it until I sat at the Deadwood with friends and watched the results come in.

The campus Republican kids had rallied to the chant of “Four more years!” but when Bush gave his concession speech on TV, a new chant started up at one of the booths and quickly spread throughout the bar: Two more months! we shouted. Two! More! Months!

I hope it happens again. I hope we get to celebrate. I wonder what kind of music we’ll play. Last time it was diva house. Maybe we could use some now. It’s cheesy, I know, but take my word for it: voting George Bush out of office is a blast. You really should try it.

The hotel where I’m staying is alarmingly close to the Reagan Presidential Library. It’s nice, though. My room has a little private balcony that overlooks the pool. It does not, however, seem to have a phone that can dial the 800 number for my long-distance calling card. Heather at the front desk keeps telling me to call the phone company operators, who in turn have told me I need to check with the hotel switchboard operator who is… well, Heather. Who has made it clear that telecommunications is just not her thing. Three operators and Heather have concluded that I guess I’m not supposed to be dialing an 800 number from my room phone, which, by the way, has specially labeled speed-dial buttons not just for the taxi company and room service, but for the Reagan Presidential Library. At least I have internet access.

The last time I was in this part of California was in high school, when my grandma and I visited my great-uncle and great-aunt, who lived in Santa Monica and sort of never threw anything out in their house, which isn’t to say that they were filthy, because they weren’t, just a little crazy, like some kind of eBay bomb had gone off in their house, and the only way to deal with being around so much stuff was to feign interest in whatever object such as a candy dish or Avon bottle or novelty transistor radio shaped like a baseball or ziploc bag full of latchhook rug yarn happened to be close to you, and if my great aunt saw you touching or even looking at the random whatever, she would insist that you take it.

This trip isn’t anything like that, of course. It’s been so many years, though, that I am actually sort of gawking at the palm and citrus trees out here.

I have no idea what time it is. My Midwest laptop clock and the California clocks don’t agree. Is it 11:00? 1:00? 12:00 but then really 11:00 due to daylight savings but then, really, in non-California time, 1:00 a.m. Or maybe 12:00 now. Either way i need to sleep.