My perverse fascination began almost a year ago, on Election Day, when I was guzzling beer while entranced by the television, my cries alternating between cheers and jeers.  I took excited calls from my mother every time a state ended up blue, her high-pitched yells implying that she, too, was celebrating the approaching Democratic victory with a few tipples of her own.  It seemed every time I enjoyed my Elephant, another state turned against the allegorical elephant of the GOP.

By the end of the night, Obama's victory was as certain as my Elephant cans were empty.  But through my hangover the next morning, I knew that something new and exciting lurked at the door of the political omnibus, was climbing the steps, and hopefully steering us toward a proud new chapter in our turbulent world.

Months later, I can't say I'm as blindly optimistic about politics and our president as I was that evening, but I still enjoy destroying an Elephant now and again.