It used to be that the holidays -- Christmas, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa -- were the most stressful time of the year, when more people committed suicide, more people scrambled here and there and more people collapsed at the end of every night in utter exhaustion.

We have a feeling that won't be the case this year. The last two weeks -- with the Red Sox winning the World Series (!!!!), Osama bin Laden's reappearance and, of course, an election that ran everyone's genitals through the ringer -- have been jam-packed with so much activity, tension and stress, that we can't help but think the holidays will have to come as a relief. Honestly, we're all pretty happy the worst is behind us. Two potentially apocalyptic occurrences have happened (Bush winning, and the Red Sox winning), and so far, we seem to still be alive. Good. We now want to just eat turkey, drink wine, watch football and zone out, man. October and early November were just too heavy.

Not surprisingly, post-election madness reigns in the Black List this week, but by the end, everything is closer to back to normal, which is to say, everything goes back to rampant lesbianism and Jefferson Airplane. There's 10 total, not an earth-shattering figure. If you want the golden ticket, just use the form on the right, and we can play, play, play.

-- BT

The Black Table needs your help! Every week, we need reviews of the latest media-related crud, new products from Capitalists and odd idea, concept or trend. All you need to have is a sharp opinion that you can distill down to one paragraph of 150 words and give a letter grade. To submit, please fill out the form below. Entries may edited for length, style and clarity. Hit us with your best shot. Fire away.

BEING VERY DRUNK IN A "BLUE" STATE THE DAY AFTER THE ELECTION: I live in Seattle, an almost nauseatingly liberal town … but in a good way. My girlfriend and I went to our favorite bar Wednesday evening to drown our electoral woes. Many drinks later, we had a plan for a full West Coast secession and some way to stock up on abortions while you can still get 'em (they'll go in the storm cellar next to the potted meat). The waitress joined in our conversation, and all the tables around us were similarly dispirited/drunk, which sent me to the jukebox for "Killing an Arab" and "I'm So Bored with the USA." They were hits both, earning me another shot from the crowd. We finally staggered home, plastered and reassured that we live in a place of vague sanity, even if some of those sane folks are white people with dreadlocks. The crushing Republican weight on my soul: F. Liquor and commiseration: A. -- Adam Witthuhn

LOSING YOUR IDENTITY: It was a typical response to the tragedy of 9/11. I went out and bought an American flag and boldly hung it on my office wall. Looking at the

strong blue and red against the stark white wall was always a powerful image. When I moved from my suburban Pennsylvania home to NYC, I then hung the flag with pride on my apartment wall. The day after the election, I awoke to look at that flag and see that it really stands for a country where 51 percent of the population actually wants a hate-mongering, imperialistic theocrat to be the leader of our great nation. No longer can I think that the majority of us don't believe the same as him. So it is with more than one tear in my eye that I take you down, old friend. You no longer stand for anything in which I can take pride. F -- Earl Heffintrayer

JOHN KERRY'S CONCESSION SPEECH: John Kerry's speech after accepting defeat was a moment for the true Kerry supporters, in their humility and loss, to open their arms one last time for their champion and express their gratitude for a fight well fought. You felt the heavy pathos of the moment, the souls laid bare, the disbelief. And for Kerry's part, when confronted with the applause of his supporters, as true a display of unconditional love as I've ever seen in politics, he seemed very put together. Lesser men would have been reduced to tears. But wouldn't you have liked to see some anger? Why does a concession speech have to be such a, well, concession? Shouldn't it be the forum for a final pot shot at the monkey going back to the White House? Why be polite now, of all times, when politics ain't going to get you elected? In an election that played on and further pushed a divided electorate, how hollow does a defeated call for unity ring? I, for one, would rather have heard a defensive rant, an accusation, a verbal middle finger question mark crying: "Just how stupid are you America?" B- -- Bobbi Gula

SCAPEGOATING BEN AFFLECK: Is it me, or is Ben Affleck is totally to blame for the craziness that has gone on in the world in the last three weeks? Clearly, the man has a hotline to Satan. Given Affleck's obvious communication with the dark lord, consider the following theory: Affleck, not satisfied with his current fame and fortune, becomes greedy. He rings old cloven hooves for couple of additional favors. Satan, frustrated by Affleck's neediness, but still owing him from that poker tourney a few weeks ago, gives the "actor" a choice -- The Sox or Kerry. We all know who Affleck chose. A- -- kmp

GETTING A KICK-ASS BIKINI WAX: Bikini waxes are an unavoidable evil in a woman's life, so as a general rule I like to schedule mine when I'm already tired and annoyed, such as right after work. (Why ruin a good mood with someone pouring hot wax on your nether region?) I walked into Jenniette on 13th Street, took a swig of wine from the jug on the coffee table and was ready to think pleasant thoughts about cinnamon and rainbows while I assumed the position. To my surprise though, the waxing and ripping was relatively painless. I asked Adriana, my fearless waxer why, and she said that they used a special wax. Something about aloe? How about that! Even better, Adriana gave me a perfectly symmetrical, porn star-quality Mini Muff. Smashing! Instead of limping out of the salon as I normally do, I left with an extra spring in my step and a desire to show Adriana's handiwork to everyone in Union Square. Well, everyone except the creepy skateboarders. A+ -- Pauline Millard

MY OFFICE COMMON DRIVE: At my place of employment, there is a large common drive for ease of file-sharing. I use it often; my day job entails fascinating spreadsheet collaboration between sections of my department. However, on my jaunts through this drive, I've noticed that some of my less computer-savvy coworkers were unwittingly sharing more than the latest TPS report. Little do these unfortunate souls know that their dirty forwards, drunken pictures from that vacation in Jamaica and sad, sad attempts at poetry are sitting on the common drive, just waiting to be found and mocked. I felt bad about snooping at first, but filenames like pussy.jpg (dirty guy in accounting) and PersonalAdDraft.doc (cat-loving 40+ secretary) just couldn't be ignored! Thanks for the juicy office dirt. A -- S Baker B

JEFFERSON AIRPLANE'S CONTRIBUTION TO PRODUCTIVITY: Made a trip to the water cooler at work the other day and was greeted by a couple of my colleagues who were already doing their best to avoid actually working. We started making the customary small talk, but we zipped it and plugged in the air instruments the moment the opening chords of that G'n'R classic "Paradise City" started wailing through the radio. The impromptu rock show didn't stop there as AC/DC kept the party going with "Hells Bells." None of us could believe our luck at being privy to such a treat of a classic rock doubleheader. Plans were made to ditch work, get drunk and go to a strip club, or Tijuana, if we couldn't find a coupon for free lapdances. Then the genius radio programmer just had to go ahead and play "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane. DLR era Van Halen would have been perfect. Queen would have worked too. But no, Grace Slick just had to give us an aural donkey punch with her electric Kool-Aid recap of "Alice in Wonderland." Thank you Jefferson Airplane for sucking so bad you sent a trio of very unmotivated people back to work. F -- Todd Munson

ONE DOLLAR COFFEE: I don't know the name of the Pakistani guy in the wheeled-metal box. But he asks: "Milk, two sugar?"

I say: "You got it."

He pours milk from a gallon jug and scoops sugar from a tupperware bowl. He pulls a black spigot. He asks: "You OK, my friend?"

I reply: "Yeah, man. How you been?"

He says: "Busy, man, busy."

He puts a plastic lid on the paper cup, flips it upside down, then rightside up. All at once, he hands me the paper cup with his right hand; I take it with my left; I hand him a dollar with my right; he takes it with his left. I say: "Thankya, Boss."

We'll do this every day this week. And the week after. And the week after that. B+ -- keith h.

LACK OF CLOTHING STORES OPEN BEFORE WORK: I never really noticed it before, because I'd mostly managed to keep my walks of shame close to home, allowing me to stumble in at 7 am, take a shower, throw on some clothes and blearily make my way to work. But last week, I wound up staying out all night, and it was easier to stay in Manhattan than trek out to Brooklyn and back on four hours' sleep. I didn't want to wear my filthy clothes to work two days in a row, so decided to shell out some bucks for a new outfit. Sadly, both H&M and Old Navy don't open until 9, when I have to be in, so I had to opt for K-Mart. This is not to knock K-Mart, cause I've been known to buy clothes there even during normal shopping hours, and I managed to procure a denim miniskirt, sparkly top and tights that I even got compliments on. However, if some of Kmart's more fashion-conscious sister stores had been open early, they might've gotten my delirious, half-awake business instead. C -- Rachel Kramer Bussel

HAVING TO TELL A LESBIAN VIRGIN TO "GO SLOW:" It's almost fairytale: You've been trying to stop hanging out with your ex, but you haven't met anyone new, so you and your ex are still lingering. Then, out of the blue, your roommate's really hot straight chick friend has a few drinks and lo and behold -- you get to make out with a really hot straight chick. You think, "Holy shit, that's so awesome!" But it gets better. Turns out Really Hot Straight Chick has had a HUGE crush on you for a year. She doesn't just want to kiss a girl. So, GAME ON. Five days later, you've got her on your Ikea couch at 4 a.m. getting all hot-n-heavy. What's this? She's taking YOUR top off? Oh my God, what's going on?! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S SUPPOSED TO BE AN OLD HAND AT THIS! What do you do? You freeze up. You say you're tired. She's says she's sorry she made you uncomfortable. You climb into your lofted futon and try to fall asleep, all the while kicking yourself for being such a terrible lesbian. Damn. Making out with a Really Hot Straight Chick: A+ -- Kittens LeStax

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