If ever I had cause to be grateful to Countdown, today was the day.
Today, after first going to our polling place at the local Methodist Church, to be told by the head of the kindergarten education program that she had no idea about any of that early voting stuff, we came home, called the election office, and were told that for all precincts early voting would take place downtown. So, we piled in the car and off we went.
In this small Republican town in NE Oklahoma a small line formed outside the tiny courthouse...we entered and walked back into the 1950s. I got my green paper filled out, listing my name and address, and handed it to the registrar. In spite of having registered just two weeks prior, and having received my card, I was not in the system.
More below the fold.
One of the few democrats hereabouts, I flashed my voter registration card, and someone who knew something about the "multiple computer" systems they were maintaining came over, and finally found me deep in the green and black screened antique system, where clearly all democrats must be stored.
I was assigned a number and directed to the next station.
I proceeded to the ballot station where I was given a paper ballot, entered into the ballot room, picked up a black magic marker and thusly made my vote. the ballots were easy to understand, and where it said "straight ticket" I made the appropriate mark.
Afterwards there was breakfast at a local greasy spoon, complete with waitresses dressed like witches, where we were entertained by a table full of conservatives, who were muttering things like "I hope I wake up next Wednesday to see that McCain has won by a landslide" and "I just don't know what I'm going to do if a "muslin" gets elected" and "what is this country coming to?"
I have trouble eating anyway, with multiple sensitivities particularly to things like gluten and orange juice, and not even the things I could eat at that point were going down -- my husband, ever perceptive, said simply "Countdown, backwards, from ten, in Greek", reminding me of many things at once that make my life liveable...not the least of which is Countdown, itself.
I limit my exposure to TV, on purpose. It is a hard thing to explain, but as I am always thinking, always problem solving, always working, TV is to me the ultimate distraction, and in some ways my only exterior entertainment. Of this limited exposure, for years, Countdown has been at the top of the list -- Olbermann's punchy remarks, persistent pursuit of the truth, and the competence of his team have never failed to ground me into a reality from which I otherwise wish only to escape, and tonight was no exception. In fact, tonight was sheer perfection, with a host unafraid to express humor and grace. Keith, to hear your laughter is one of the finest things on this green earth.
The inestimable John Cleese graced Olbermann's show this evening, in person. He is one I would never put in my infamous "Age 65 to Dead" category, under any circumstances. To me, he is, quite simply, the Merlin. It is entirely fitting, on Halloween, under suitable lighting (bravo Countdown team), that he recited an ode to Bill O'Reilly that had me in complete disarray, dying with laughter. His comment on "my fellow prisoners" was not lost on me either, as I had thought the very same the day McCain uttered it. The Rovian diaspora commentary was brilliant as well. For those who need more information on the last line of Mr. Cleese' poem to O'Reilly -- "Berk or Burk (Berkeley Hunt/Berkshire Hunt) = (yes you guessed it - now you know what you're really saying when you call someone a Berk - sources vary as to whether Berkeley or Berkshire came first. Burlington Hunt is another less common version)" is what Cockney Rhyming Slang is about. More information can be found here.
Mr. Cleese, we here salute you. May your internal sparkler last as long as you want it to! (I would say 100 years but you may not want it to last that long.) I have been a fan of yours for decades. And to hear Keith Olbermann and crew completely losing it in well-surpressed but obvious guffaws made it all the sweeter.
Remember, no one ever gets it right in the first 49 years! I am 59, and I don't think there is a "right", in fact, for some of us, Keith, there isn't even a "close". So don't worry. Never be afraid to jump off the cliff, m'dear, it's a rush on the way down, and if you're lucky, you just might catch that updraft.
Other highlights I enjoyed on tonight's show were John Alter's commentary, and especially hearing from Michael Moore, a voice that has long since been missing from my newswaves, speaking on healthcare and getting out the vote.
I open the floor now, to all the griefers who wish to slap me down about the title, meaning, and content of this diary. On the high I'm on at the moment, you'll never reach me.
Ciao.
X1 John Cleese' poem
Bill O'Reilly's No-Spin Zone is rated highly by his own beloved mother
...but no other
Except that Bill, for all his faults, still has one skill, a skill of sorts
He can amuse a true dumb ox, the dullest crayon in the box, the kind of ox that watches Fox.
And Bill will pander to this group, with propaganda, right-wing poop, the knee-jerk views and censored news
Thus Bill O'Reilly earns his crust, behaving vilely as he must
He will not shirk from Rupert's work
He really is a perfect Berk