I had my WHYY debate with my opponent last night.  It was fairly uneventful, but for the first time in my life I got a full make-up job from a professional make-up artist (John Edwards side note—this was at the television studio’s insistence and expense, not mine).  I asked the make-up artist if trying to make me look good in ten minutes was part of some reality show, like that one on the Food Network where they tell a chef to make a wedding banquet in two hours, but she insisted that I wasn’t even her worst job of the day, as she had apparently been required to doll up some ill-tempered music stars for a tv ad earlier.  She put cocoa butter on my lips, wax in my hair, and scolded me for not using a more gentle razor for shaving.  It took a good five minutes for me to get washed down afterwards.

The only other oddity from the debate was that I apparently kicked the black covering off the table base while I was moving my feet around, so while I was trying to listen to my opponent talk and using my best “active listening” face (John McCain I am not), someone came up behind me and crawled under my chair, grabbed my feet, lifted them up in the air for about 30 seconds, and then placed them back on the ground and patted them reassuringly.