The Giants finally fulfilled my boyhood dream Monday night (even if I wish they had done it in SF, and I had been there to watch), a victory I have literally waited a lifetime for. And they did it the Frisco way, with a bunch of rookies, retreads, rejects and a little bit of reefer. I retired happily, hoping it wouldn’t take us another 56 years to get those rings.

Then I awoke to go vote, using New York State’s new confusing ballots, the paper kind that you fill out like a lunch order at Au Bon Pain and then run through what looks like a fax machine while some nice lady guarantees that your vote has been recorded. Personally, I liked the old lever system; when I pulled that big switch I always felt I was sentencing someone to death. (And yet there was George W, watching his team lose in Arlington…)

Pundits have already been projecting a Republican tidal wave for the midterms, and tonight’s returns seem to be bearing them out… sort of. As tired as I am of the kvetching about Obama I have heard from the hardly informed (and thanks to Barbara O’Dair for alerting me to What the Fuck Has Obama Done So Far?, a site that lists such modest accomplishments as “Cut prescription drug cost for Medicare recipients by 50%” that you can dismiss by clicking buttons that say “I’m not impressed” or “Big fucking deal, what else?”) I am looking forward to the tar pit that awaits the GOP as it takes control of the House.

Besides, it’s all cyclical. My birthday began early tonight when we went to see Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson on Broadway, a ridiculously enjoyable rock revisionist musical about our most genocidal president. His brand of self-pitying populism — or “emocracy” as one of his supporters labels it — is seen through the prism of Tea Party histrionics and it’s a timely reminder that perpetual upheaval has been the way of our government since its inception. Throwing the bums out invariably gets you new bums.

Let it unfurl, like the man said.