So the 44th President of the United States of America (or POTUS, as we who enjoy funny sounding acronyms prefer to address this person) was sworn in just a couple of hours ago. I was one of the unfortunate many stuck at the office, forced to follow the proceedings as stealthily as possible throughout the excruciatingly long, morning leg of my work day. That is, until a few of us just gave up on the subterfuge, pulled a "what the hell," and took over a huddle room with a TV. You know, strength in numbers or something.
Honestly, I briefly considered taking the day off, or just "working from home." To clarify, when I get permission to work from home, it's like freaking Christmas. Except I actually get exactly what I want. I conveniently place my BlackBerry on the coffee table where I can quickly react to emails and phone calls, and spend the day in my pajamas eating fruit snacks and pwning n00bs on Xbox Live.
Unfortunately, I actually needed to be here for a couple of things today. Yes, I said "here" because, yes, I am blogging at work.
At any rate, I expected the inauguration would have a significant emotional effect on me. I was in town when Obama won the election last November. I biked through Grant Park with a camera in hand and man-tears streaming down the heroically chiseled features of my normally stoic face. I felt an overwhelming sense of pure joy, like all was right with humanity. Michigan Avenue, from Randolf all the way to Balbo, all 6+ lanes of it were closed to automobile traffic. Why? Because it was packed, curb to curb, and over the curbs, spilling into every alley and bus shelter, over the medians, up walls and lamp posts: the people of Chicago moving as one. Well, two. I was the only idiot trying to bike against that inexorable flow of foot traffic, taking pictures and videos along the way.
I felt like Mufasa getting trampled by the herd of wildebeast in The Lion King. If the wildebeast were moving slower, waving flags and banners, chanting, and singing jubilant songs. I also didn't die. And I've never been mistaken for a great cat of any kind.
It just felt to me like the entire burden that many of us have carried for so long, living and breathing this election cycle, knowing how important this "defining moment" was, almost terrified of what the future would hold if "we" lost, just blew away in the cool, windy city breeze. I feel that I could have walked through Cabrini Green or any south-side slum without fear. Who would dare threaten harm of any kind on the night when change came to America?
Words cannot faithfully express how I truly felt that night. Well, I mean, Chinua Achebe could come much closer than this, but I'm doing the best I can with what I've got, dammit.
The point is, I almost expected a recreation of that moment. That time when simply hearing the pre-acceptance speech performance of "Star-Spangled Banner" on NPR the following morning turned me into a sad, sobbing, patriotic pile of a man. It was like that Flight of the Concords line, "I'm not crying, it's just been raining... on my face..." But, actually, I really was crying.
The ceremony today came and went, POTUS Barack Hussein Obama gave a typically tremendous speech, W looked more pathetic than ever, and Rev. Joseph Lowery gave a stirring benediction which closed with the following:
Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around, when yellow will be mellow, when the red man can get ahead, man, and when white will embrace what is right.
Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen. Amen. AMEN.
And I slowly realized that one night in November was special to me, because it was a perfect storm where weeks, months, and years of feelings of frustration and anger and helplessness were fiercely overcome by feelings of relief and hope and progress at a pivotal moment in history (or so it seem(s)ed to me). The intervening months of cabinet nominations and transition committies and W's array of clueless exit speeches have slowly brought me down from that ridiculous high, and made this inauguration, in my eyes, just another formal and expected step.
It's like the enveloping haze of that initial excitement has slowly dissipated and revealed the truly difficult road ahead. And, as much as I'd like to squeeze another freaking sappy-ass cliche in here, I think I'd better stop before my keyboard gets sticky.
...
From sap.
...
Jesus, you people.
Honestly, I briefly considered taking the day off, or just "working from home." To clarify, when I get permission to work from home, it's like freaking Christmas. Except I actually get exactly what I want. I conveniently place my BlackBerry on the coffee table where I can quickly react to emails and phone calls, and spend the day in my pajamas eating fruit snacks and pwning n00bs on Xbox Live.
Unfortunately, I actually needed to be here for a couple of things today. Yes, I said "here" because, yes, I am blogging at work.
At any rate, I expected the inauguration would have a significant emotional effect on me. I was in town when Obama won the election last November. I biked through Grant Park with a camera in hand and man-tears streaming down the heroically chiseled features of my normally stoic face. I felt an overwhelming sense of pure joy, like all was right with humanity. Michigan Avenue, from Randolf all the way to Balbo, all 6+ lanes of it were closed to automobile traffic. Why? Because it was packed, curb to curb, and over the curbs, spilling into every alley and bus shelter, over the medians, up walls and lamp posts: the people of Chicago moving as one. Well, two. I was the only idiot trying to bike against that inexorable flow of foot traffic, taking pictures and videos along the way.
I felt like Mufasa getting trampled by the herd of wildebeast in The Lion King. If the wildebeast were moving slower, waving flags and banners, chanting, and singing jubilant songs. I also didn't die. And I've never been mistaken for a great cat of any kind.
It just felt to me like the entire burden that many of us have carried for so long, living and breathing this election cycle, knowing how important this "defining moment" was, almost terrified of what the future would hold if "we" lost, just blew away in the cool, windy city breeze. I feel that I could have walked through Cabrini Green or any south-side slum without fear. Who would dare threaten harm of any kind on the night when change came to America?
Words cannot faithfully express how I truly felt that night. Well, I mean, Chinua Achebe could come much closer than this, but I'm doing the best I can with what I've got, dammit.
The point is, I almost expected a recreation of that moment. That time when simply hearing the pre-acceptance speech performance of "Star-Spangled Banner" on NPR the following morning turned me into a sad, sobbing, patriotic pile of a man. It was like that Flight of the Concords line, "I'm not crying, it's just been raining... on my face..." But, actually, I really was crying.
The ceremony today came and went, POTUS Barack Hussein Obama gave a typically tremendous speech, W looked more pathetic than ever, and Rev. Joseph Lowery gave a stirring benediction which closed with the following:
Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around, when yellow will be mellow, when the red man can get ahead, man, and when white will embrace what is right.
Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen. Amen. AMEN.
And I slowly realized that one night in November was special to me, because it was a perfect storm where weeks, months, and years of feelings of frustration and anger and helplessness were fiercely overcome by feelings of relief and hope and progress at a pivotal moment in history (or so it seem(s)ed to me). The intervening months of cabinet nominations and transition committies and W's array of clueless exit speeches have slowly brought me down from that ridiculous high, and made this inauguration, in my eyes, just another formal and expected step.
It's like the enveloping haze of that initial excitement has slowly dissipated and revealed the truly difficult road ahead. And, as much as I'd like to squeeze another freaking sappy-ass cliche in here, I think I'd better stop before my keyboard gets sticky.
...
From sap.
...
Jesus, you people.
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