Late on Tuesday night, the comedian Alex Edelman asked a poignant question on social media : “I know we’ve never had to ask this before tonight, but what’s the opposite of doomscrolling?”
I don’t have a definitive answer to that, though I did offer the term “ boomscrolling ”, accompanied by a gif of the social media sensation and Costco enthusiast Big Boom AJ.
AJ and his son became famous for yelling “Boom!” after biting down on revolting, sodium-infused food from Costco’s food court while flexing meaty biceps.
It strikes me as an apt illustration of how we all felt as election day unspooled before us. After every miraculous call, I couldn’t help but flex my muscles and let out a howl to the heavens. How is this real? Boom, indeed.
Those of us who consider ourselves liberal or left or progressive or whatever buzzword my media colleagues want to ascribe to general human decency were left somewhat incapable of making literal sense of what we were witnessing on Tuesday night. Texas and Iowa and Kansas? Mississippi and Alaska in play?
It’s like a democracy simulation game spit up an outcome so improbable that you start to wonder if it’s glitching out. The soaring, optimistic oration from Jon Ossoff and James Talarico had us crying. At least I was. I’m a large baby-man who cries when a bonus curly fry accidentally lands in my takeout bag.
Abdul El-Sayed’s righteous anger at the Trump administration had me ready to run through a brick wall. And the thousand-yard death stares of conservative pundits on the various cable news channels delivered the schadenfreude my life has sorely lacked.
The feelings were potent, but deeply unfamiliar. It was not all progressive triumph – anti-trans bills passed in numerous states and California’s one-time billionaire tax seems destined to fail – but the macro-message sent by voters was clear. Maybe this Trump thing didn’t work out quite like his people hoped.
It’s been over a decade since Donald Trump announced his candidacy for president. In that decade, I’ve aged 20 years. A steady dearth of good news does terrible things to the body and the mind.
No wonder people are tweeting about not having a name for how they feel. Happiness and optimism are as foreign to the people of 2026 as a Samsung Galaxy would be to a Victorian-era eel merchant. Good cheer is an invading antigen to modern Americans, but one I welcome with open arms. There’s no cure for what I have, and thank God for that.
Tuesday was like the intermission in the middle of The Brutalist – a chance to go outside and breathe fresh air before a third act where things could potentially get worse. I famously don’t watch cable news , but I stayed up past midnight with the glee of a child on Christmas Eve. I was as elated and giggly as Rachel Maddow throwing away a statement from President Trump live on the air. I chortled at the thought of John Fetterman – the Democratic senator some feared would turn Republican – losing his remaining shred of relevance in the Senate and returning to his old job, carrying Krang from the Ninja Turtles around in his stomach.
But, despite my numerous suggestions to the LA mayor-elect, Nithya Raman, we can’t have an election every day. This euphoria will fade, and then we’re stuck with the drudgery of actual day-to-day governance by the Democratic congressional majority.
What will the priorities be? Abolishing the electoral college ? Impeachment? Medicare-for-all? Ending funding for the Iran war? Crazy hat day on the Senate floor? Coca-Cola Freestyle machines at every bus stop?
I think part of the dizziness that is afflicting the liberal American populace is that, in some ways, anything is possible. If the electorate speaks with such a clear voice, what’s stopping us from accomplishing something remarkable?
Some people will understandably point to the limited ambition and moderate rhetoric from Democratic leadership. They’ll roll their eyes and point to the countless times the Democrats controlled Congress, bungled it and handed it back to the Republicans.
I get that impulse. The worst thing we on the left can do is to cheer for an electoral victory and then take a two-year nap until the presidential election. But I fully support “libbing out” and enjoying the open road, the possibilities, and the potential.
For the first time in years, the Democratic bench is full of superstar politicians. The wind is at our backs, and the mood of the country matches our thirst for change.
For the next two months, I’m going to huff these fumes. I’m periodically going to tune into Fox News to see Jesse Watters fumble for his words while he silently dreams of getting a Russian passport.
It’s the holiday season, after all. Before Thanksgiving, before Christmas and New Year’s, I’m going to treat the glorious halo of this election like its own holiday. A holiday away from fear, panic and self-loathing. A respite from doomscrolling. A time for boomscrolling. I’m going to flex on the haters. I’ll be living my life on the tenets of Shakira law .
On 3 January, when the new Congress is sworn in, I’ll put my hard-hat on and go back to being a lovable curmudgeon . But that day is not today.
Dave Schilling is a Los Angeles-based writer and humorist
