8:39 PM: “You guys might want to put a sign on the window that says ‘Open to the public,’ because from the outside, it looks like a private affair,” a gray-haired dude drinking a beer out of a glass (and holding it with a beer cozy—did he bring that from home?) leans over the counter to say to the hot waitresses at Cafe Reese on NW 23rd, where Chris Smith’s campaign is having their party, everyone drinking microbrews and red wine and watching a big LCD that’s been set up in the corner. The waitresses listen to him and the guy wanders off and I have no idea if they put up a sign, but it’s true—from the outside, this place looks like a fucking graduation party or something, an impression that’s only made stronger once you’re actually inside—a whole lotta khakis, a whole lotta tucked-in button-downs, and beer in fancy glasses, and red wine held delicately, in that oh-so-careful way that people who drink a lot of wine hold their wine glasses. I order a Full Sail from one of the aforementioned hot waitresses, and when it arrives I curse myself for not asking for it in the bottle, and I watch Chris Smith not talk to anyone, instead shuffling around, sipping on a Diet Coke out of the can.

When I got here the dude was actually standing outside and looking at this BlackBerry, either with better things to do (?!) or just not that interested in playing host to a party. The conventional wisdom, I guess, is that Chris Smith didn’t run much of a campaign; though he’s acknowledged to be a “policy genius,” in Amy J. Ruiz’s words, it seems that he just didn’t quite pull out the stops when it came to, you know, actually running, which is a whole different deal. If the mood at the party is any indication, that’s certainly true: Smith and his Diet Coke seem to be either playing it incredibly cool, or they just aren’t that interested in socializing.

8:44 PM: Everyone’s watching Sho Dozono say something on TV, and goddamn, Sho is a joke. He always looks befuddled, like he ended up wherever he was by accident. “Oh, wait, this is an election? My mistake. Thought it was Jiffy Lube! Hey, while I’m here, why don’t I confusedly ramble on about something or other for a few minutes….”

8:52 PM: This beer isn’t going to drink itself. More if anything interesting happens.

UPDATE: 9:02 PM: Now he’s on his laptop, camped out by the TV, Diet Coke nearby, and everybody else is just kind of standing around, not even halfheartedly watching the TV anymore. Cafe Reese’s staff appears to be cleaning up whatever they can, getting ready to call it a night. I am getting the fuck out of here.

UPDATE AGAIN: WAIT! 9:11 PM and while I was finishing my beer Smith started talking, having switched back to wine and thanking his “fantastic staff” and saying that Amanda Fritz ran a great campaign, but the real results won’t be in a for a while yet. He’s thanking his supporters, those who helped with his campaign, etc., and he seems like a really nice guy, like a neighbor you’d want to have, a guy who would totally let you borrow his Weed Whacker if you needed one. “Enjoy the evening—it’ll probably be another half hour before we get the numbers, so hang around if you want,” he says, and everybody starts mumbling and chatting amongst themselves, and now Smith is taking pictures with people not two feet behind me, this woman he’s posing with looking like she’d be a guest star on Golden Girls, and I’m going to stand by my original statement w/r/t getting the fuck out, and I swig from my beer again, there’s like a quarter of it left, and I am out of here, soon.