For Fox, Stripe, and Little Joe. For turkey and trimmings, for turkee from readers, for a hosting company that doesn’t suck. For readers in general. For Republican parents and Democratic in-laws. For a beautiful sister and a hella funneh brother. For the upstairs neighbor, Patrick Fitzgerald, and a bottle of cheap champagne. For candles on dark nights, good pens, a husband who helps find lost glasses. For a dinner table too small to hold all the friends around it. For the new back porch, just in time for the snow. For Fraggle Rock on DVD, Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, my fifth attempt to read The Lord of the Rings. For phone calls to Grandma, for the doctor who took out her appendix, for the nurses and aides who took care of her. For hot cider and cold white wine, crushed red peppers, a pasta machine, a worn out old comfy couch. For Star Wars Legos all over the floor. For staying up all night to watch the World Series. For working 28 hours straight and still taking the time to send me an e-mail, Jake. For that beautiful goddaughter, Zoe. For my oldest friends and my newest ones and everybody I know just through pixels. For Joss Whedon’s fucked up brain and Aaron Sorkin’s enchanted pen and Neil Young’s guitar. For editors who don’t mind getting ten e-mails in an hour. For copy editors and photographers. For Atrios, Kos, Steve Gilliard, Susie Madrak, Amanda Marcotte, and everybody else on the blogroll. For Post Road Pumpkin Ale. For pizza. For snow on the ground this morning. For the song the security guard at the grocery store sings at 2 a.m. For the downstairs neighbor’s piano. For homemade dinners at Stephanie and Lance’s. For talking about politics with a sense of humor and warmth. For hope, Harry Reid. For balls, Barbara Boxer. For Congress, Paul Hackett and Patrick Murphy. For President, John Kerry and Russ Feingold and Wesley Clark and anybody and everybody who wants in. For gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies. For an office with a chair by the window. For overcoming writer’s block, then getting blocked again, then overcoming it once more. For singing in the shower. For hardwood floors. For coming home late and getting up early. For the kids at the paper. For the kid next door. For the eventual implosion of Bill O’Reilly. For petblogging, movie reviews, and everything else besides politics that goes on here. For you. For all of you.