It was because of dirty laundry that I donned my Al Franken for U.S. Senate T-shirt. I wasn’t looking for political discourse or thinking that such a third-tier T-shirt (sorry, Al, but I thought you were so last November) would produce a geyser of conversation with strangers on Sunset Boulevard. Worst-case scenario, I thought the shirt would read: ironic hipster looking to get some action from female ironic hipster.

But there I stood at the fish counter of my Ralph’s grocery store, debating with the store’s fish monger the merits of Al Franken. “I like Al because he’s Al Franken, and he’s not me,” he said.<

It’s an interesting position that I’m not entirely clear on. Nonetheless, this California gentleman who cleans a mean halibut was certainly aware of the impact that seating the comedian/author would have on the Obama administration’s agenda.

Then at my neighborhood coffee shop, I got a “Franken, hmmm, yes,” which I think is a good response?

A few hours later, I stumbled into a young fellow in my apartment building—who until now I’d only said “hello”—sporting an ironic T-shirt about surviving a 1985 tornado. He spied my shirt and immediately invited me over for a brandy. I’d never been invited to anyone’s house for brandy, so I immediately accepted. Once inside his apartment, he waxed about how refreshing it will be when the filibuster isn’t used so punitively. To him, the possibilities were endless. Then he got going on what a great album Nebraska was, to which I agreed.

My night ended with a slice of pizza with a friend who walked up to the street-side restaurant and said, “AL!” He wasn’t even aware of the recount but still had a reaction. He snapped this photo.

Any shirt that delivers a shot of brandy deserves to move to the head of my T-shirt drawer. Al, you’re fashionable in my LA neighborhood.

Norm Coleman: Please send me one of your campaign shirts. If you can score me at least a brandy, I’ll call you LA fashionable, too.