HELLO NAZI. I had to miss the debate last night because I was booked to play bass at an ill-attended gig above a strip joint near the WTC site. Let's just say we weren't at the top of our game. The most interesting part of the evening was the performance before ours of a reconstituted version of Tuff Darts, the first New York punk band I ever saw (Fall 1977). It was strange to hear those old songs played so slowly and sloppily so many years later, and to see lead singer Tommy Frenzy -- back in the day a skinny, manic, shades-and-sneer type -- looking like James Lileks after a night in the drunk tank.

I did catch a few minutes of the hilariously misnamed Town Meeting (which conjures visions of Norman Rockwell's "Freedom of Speech" painting, redone to suit modern times, with the leather-jacketed citizen's image appearing in a dossier perused by government and network vetters), and read the transcript the next day. I hate to say it, but it hardly requires comment. The combatants' talking points were clear after the first debate, and while the issue of Kerry's detached WASP bonhomie vs. Bush's strutting aggressiveness makes mildly interesting style-section copy, I can't see much significance in it.

It is fashionable among conservatives to say that liberals don't really love Kerry, and I suspect that may be true, as he is clearly driving the center lane, politically speaking, in hopes of a game-winning basket; but can it be true that normal conservatives (excepting that small minority obsessed with abortion and homosexuals) love big-government Bush any better?

The electoral importance of these dog-and-pony shows seems as slight to me as it seems massive to the writers who obsess on it. The election will be decided by people who are not regular followers of political weblogs. While those who obsessively sift the tea-leaves wonder what effect their brew has had on the lumpenproles, citizens are comparing their real experiences and prospects to what the candidates describe. I am fast coming to the conclusion that this election will not be about which fella Joe Sixpack would prefer to pop a few cans with. It may be that my cynicism about American voters has been outstripped by my cynicism about the people who speculate on the needs and wants of Joe Sixpack.

My Saturday night was devoted to the Beastie Boys at MSG. You can imagine what a New York moment that was ("I got my BVDs from VIM"). The joint was sold out, every mention of the City drew full-throated roars, and the vommies leading out of the Garden rang with a loud chant of "Let's Go Yan-kees!" (I was rooting for the Twins tonight, of course, but take comfort in the fact that their defeat at the hands of a local team probably aggravates Lileks no end.)

The anti-Bush stuff from the Beasties also went down a treat; though the To the 5 Boroughs lyrics were too new and too muddled by the sound system to connect, the playing of a video in which Will Ferrell portrayed the President as a dumbass entertained the crowd, and when the band dedicated "Sabotage" to Bush the audience was loud and unmistakable in its Approval of This Message ("You're scheming on a thing that's a mirage").

But that's how we roll, yo. We've supported Democratic Presidential candidates for 20 straight quadrennials. You see the line-through-W more than the Chanel logo on our streets these days. Knoxville we ain't.

Though I love New York and I love America, I know -- any sane person knows -- that they aren't entirely the same thing. Neither are America and the offices of the National Review, or the Weekly Standard, or the Washington Post, or Dan Rather.

All around the dedicated Bush and Kerry centers, a lot of deciding is going on that is not only invisible but, I think, incomprehensible to media big and small.

And though I would never denigrate the value of hard work, I think the strenuous efforts of partisans (outside of the empowerment of voters and the monitoring of vote fraud, which, given the nature of the current Administration, is essential) will have only a small effect on the outcome in November. We all know what time it is.

Which actually makes me feel rather optimistic.