Your country made history last night and elected an African-American man to its highest office. I wasn't with you when it happened (I was nearby, in Union Square Park, watching idiots like this risk electrocution in order to shout their happiness from the highest lamptops), but when McCain conceded I thought of you, and of the possibility that you might grow up thinking that having a black president is no big deal.
And even though we have no idea how his presidency will play out, whether Obama will survive the colossal mess he's inherited and any other messes he might create on his own, it sure as hell is a big deal right now.
Even though 53.1% of the country is giddy as all get-out, however, my heart is still a little heavy. For there is a specific group of Americans that is grieving tonight, wondering if there will ever be a seat for them at the table of power. I'm talking, of course, about comedy writers.
They've had it pretty good over these last eight years, watching the simpering buffoon and the megalomaniacal crank shit all over the Oval Office. But now they must lampoon a man who speaks grammatically, who knows better than to massage other heads of state. And when it came time for one of their own to run for office (in a state that elected a pro wrestler governor), it looks like he'll be turned away.
So when you raise your glass or sippy cup to toast this monumental night, remember that the day when a comedian can legislate is just a little farther down the road.