For Connolly, a Regimen of Public Appearances

McClanahan, a businessman and civic activist making his first run for office, gives a short, earnest pitch for support. Before Connolly leaves, he gives the novice a mini-tutorial. "Talk about the future," he says, making a broad sweeping motion with his arms. "Campaigns are about the future."

6 p.m., Hyatt Regency, Reston. Greater Reston Arts Center's annual Champagne Art Auction. Connolly is running unaccountably ahead of schedule, and the Regency Ballroom is virtually empty. His back, quieted for a few hours by ibuprofen, is starting to bark again. A little bit at loose ends with no one to talk to, he wanders the silent auction room. He has donated lunch with himself at the Government Center. "Enjoy an informative and exciting lunch chat with Gerry Connolly," says the card, not far from an item offering the winning bidder "High End Diva Doggie Footwear." The place begins to fill before he leaves. Someone bids $250 for lunch.

7:30 p.m., Ernst Community Cultural Center, Northern Virginia Community College, Annandale. Annual Jazz and Tap Festival for young dancers. Connolly touts the importance of arts, tells gently self-deprecating story No. 4. After giving what he thought was a rousing talk to his daughter Caitlin's fourth-grade class several years ago, he saw one little girl with a scowl. "I thought it was boring," she told Connolly. Caitlin reassured him: "Dad, don't listen to her. She just repeats what everybody else says."

8:50 p.m., Waterford, Fair Oaks. Centreville Volunteer Fire Department's annual Awards Banquet. Connolly arrives at the tail end of the evening and keeps his remarks on the importance of volunteer fire departments short. He swaps gentle self-deprecation for one of his Irish jokes that is suitable for public occasions: Murphy, who is at the mall and can't find a parking spot, tells God he'll stop drinking if he can find one. "He looks up, and suddenly, on his left, a space opens up. Murphy says, 'Never mind, I just found one.' "

10 p.m., home. Connolly strides past his Christmas tree, which lies at the curb, its collection date uncertain. He has yet to look at his Sunday schedule.