Everything is different now. The dreadful "Patty Murray loves Dino Rossi" and "Dino Rossi loves Patti Murray" commercials they've been interrupting my football games with have overnight been replaced with commercials for Cialis and Levitra and new, less side-effect-y gout drugs. Our lack of a state income tax is now a new, more emphatic lack of a state income tax. The government-run liquor monopoly, having successfully fended off privatization, has earned a mandate to make its stores drearier, its prices less compelling, its selection sparser, and its employees surlier. Laws against marijuana are still keeping unionized prison workers, unionized cops, and unionized drug gangs gainfully employed. Truly, a new day is dawning.
On the national level, the Big-Government-and-Business Party suffered a stunning loss at the hands of the Big-Business-and-Government Party, which probably portends all kinds of changes over the next two years, although I couldn't tell you what they are. Possibly they'll rebuke the suddenly-unpopular President for his "endless war in Afghanistan" and "assassinate Americans" and "keep the drug war going" and "anti gay marriage" positions.
More likely, they'll keep the ship on its current course, which is why I find it sort of befuddling how everyone on both sides can be all excited and/or apocalyptic.
It's possible that there's some way in which my life will be different depending on whether Dino Rossi or Patty Murray "represents" me in the Senate, but it seems pretty likely that Boeing will keep sucking at the giant federal teat, we'll keep throwing more money at our public schools and they'll keep sucking really bad, Microsoft will keep introducing fancy new phones that nobody wants, the dollar will keep losing value, we'll funnel a ton of taxpayer money to politically-connected "alternative energy" companies, Paul Krugman will stay apoplectic, Congress will "save the economy" several more times, and "Top Chef: Just Desserts" will keep eliminating "cheftestants" until one finally claims the dubious mantle of "Just Desserts Top Chef" and Bravo starts the new season of its other show about the transsexual fashion-designer / personal-trainer / cocktail-inventor who likes to flip houses and in zher spare time set spoiled millionaire housewives up on dates.
I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a sense in which I find all the celebration and/or hand-wringing sort of cute. It reminds me of the epidemic of rioting and/or suicides that you always see when people's favorite and/or most-hated squadron wins the World Series and/or Grey Cup. Wait, did I say "cute"? Because I meant "alien and tiresome." Can't I have a few days of peace to imagine that Rand Paul is going to be my libertarian dream-Senator before he actually gets sworn in and starts being as terrible as the rest of them?