A friend of mine recently sent me an e-mail, asking if I was going to miss working this election night. I’d toiled into the wee hours for more election nights than I can remember and now, for the first time in 26 years, I’ll be following it from my own living room.

Of course, for decades, this was the night for broadcast journalists.

I came of age at CBS News hearing tales told around the campfire, from Those Who Were There: how Bill and Babe Paley used to host a black-tie cocktail party at their Manhattan apartment, and it was the most sought-after invitation in the city. Writers, editors, and titans of business would gather to sip champagne and predict the next morning’s headlines. They’d watch grainy black-and-white images of Walter Cronkite and Eric Sevareid, announcing the results as the hours dragged on. At the end of the evening, the Paleys would climb into their limo and head cross town to the CBS television studios, and Bill Paley would pop into the control room, still wearing his tux, to congratulate everyone on a job well done.

Flash forward a few decades, and election night 2004. Dan Rather’s reputation was in tatters after his report on Bush and the Air National Guard. There were growing whispers around the water cooler that his days were numbered; certainly, this would be his last presidential election. The ratings had slid into the basement, and cable was the dominant force. People didn’t gather in living rooms to watch CBS anymore. If they gathered it all, it was to watch CNN. And a growing number weren’t even doing that. They were clicking on the computer for the latest returns.

Four years ago, I was working election night as one of two writers for Rather. Late in the evening, I noticed someone unfamiliar lurking around the studio. The guy was alone. He looked tired. He was carrying a Styrofoam cup, filled with the day-old coffee we’d all been swilling since morning. He found an empty chair and sat down and hunched over and sipped from his cup. Dan Rather was up at the anchor desk, and we were sitting behind him, with a perfect view of his back. This guy with the coffee cup just watched and sipped and looked around. I wondered if he was lost. People seemed to be ignoring him. Then I got a closer look. It was Les Moonves, President and CEO of CBS.

I can only imagine what was going through his mind that night.

But I did notice this: he wasn’t wearing a tuxedo.

Do I miss working election night? Not on your life. For the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to watching it unfold at home.

Oh: and no, I won’t be wearing a tuxedo, either.

Pajamas.