So I’m sittin’ here up late with my 74 year old, blessed father, and we’re checking out last week’s National performance on Fallon (updated below since the Fallon video is no longer available).  It’s all relatively innocuous, but I notice he can’t take his eyes off the screen.  And then I see my dad’s right foot tapping heavy to the rhythm as the band throttles it.  The vantage is vintage and ineffable, and from this alone I know that I have been blessed.  And yet I’m still checking that foot, and it is Morse-ing front row tickets to the National show.  And there is room for belief in something bigger.  And the band plays on.  Tapping involuntary.  Tapping relentless.  Faith in humanity restored.  And The National continue to nationalize passionate art.