Mission accomplished!

At last! At last! For 8 long years, we've been keeping our eyes on January 20, 2009. At fucking LAST!


There we are! See? That's us, proving that we were there, all bundled up and sniffly and rosy. Yes, C., I wore the Teletubby hat. Don't I look smashing?

I'm posting a bunch of shots from the crowd now, as I think it's what I'll remember most from this day. And trust me-- my pictures do it no justice at all. The deluge of humanity was, indeed, something to behold... even from my vantage point which was definitely on the fringes of the mix.



The two above shots are of the throngs of people walking down 18th Street towards the National Mall. From sidewalk to sidewalk, we filled the streets. It was easy to forget that all our little tributaries in the onslaught were usually typical, congested, urban corridors as we brazenly marched down the middle.



Here's some folks cheering heartily right after Justice Roberts said, "Congratulations, Mr. President!" Gah! Such communal elation. He could barely get it out of his mouth before we were screaming. You just can't even imagine it if you weren't there.

To give you some bearings, our shivering threesome staked a claim on a little plot of land about midway between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, overlooking the Reflecting Pool. We had a pretty good view of a Jumbo-tron across the pool and we could hear everything on the enormous projection speakers. We stood next to a couple from Chicago who'd been in Grant Park on Election Night of '08. Also squeezed in next to us was a heavily bearded fellow and his wife, both of whom wore loads of Obama paraphernalia, all of it written in Hebrew.




I don't know if these two shots give you any idea of the masses, because you really can't see the thick cluster clotted around the base of the Washington Monument very well, but they just kept coming and coming.

And here we have a small smattering of the crowd attempting to depart. Again, the whole street ahead was filled across its entire breadth. Hooray for community participation!

So, so amazing. Nevermind that the speech was largely platitudinous and that poem was a little (a lot) schlocky and sentimental. Being there would have been worth it no matter what.

Wish you all were here. Bet you do too!

Live from Dupont Circle

Jen, Charlie and I made our first venture forth this afternoon, and what should greet us upon disembarkment in Dupont Circle?



That's right. It was a 30-foot inflatable Dubya with a sardonically elongated, cock-shaped schnoz, all decked out in his hopelessly presumptuous flight suit. Onlookers were invited to throw their shoes at him. Delicious.

In case you can't quite tell, his sign says "Give Bush the Boot!" As though any of us needed to be asked!

Please forgive the shitty cellphone-ishness of this photo. I claim the photography credit for myself, but not proudly. Tomorrow, I'll remember to bring my real camera. Promise.

Obamaclypse Approacheth

We residents of DC are deep into preparations to hunker down for the duration of this upcoming weekend. The city officials and oracles alike are predicting somewhere between 4 and 5 million attendants of the inaugural proceedings this upcoming Tuesday. The very earth tembles under the impending stampede. We are so'r afraid.

All of the bridges that connect DC to Virginia will close 36 hours in advance of the ceremony. Most of the Metro stations surrounding the National Mall will be blocked, sentries stationed at every post. Many residential areas will have limited or no street parking, so those of us living in less-than-choice neighborhoods (mine, por ejemplo) are expecting all the overflow DC-resident refugee vehicles to take up our precious few parking spots near our own homes. The Secret Service has demanded reinforcement.

We're all descending upon the grocery stores today and tomorrow, like we would when ice storms were predicted when I was a kid in Nashville. We're parking our cars tonight and not planning on giving up our spots until after this plague of tourism thins and wanes. We're stocking up on toilet paper, kerosene, canned goods. Flashlight batteries. Bottled Water. Mitten warmers. Obama paraphernalia. As our city reinforces its seams against the bursting hordes of locust-like visitors, we residents feel we must maintain our vigilance-- finding that middle ground between welcoming all festive comers and protecting our little city of khaki-panted lobbyists and hoary-headed politicians. We tremble with anticipation. And we are not just a little bit trepidatious.

Some of my friends have committed to holing up for the next 7 days. Wanting no part of the sardine-can Metro cars, nor the no-place-to-pee National Mall, nor the 21 Jumbo-trons placed strategically therein, they are probably the smart ones.

Others of us, however, have committed to being part of the action. My friend Jen and her fiance Charlie have won the bidding war over the prime bit of real estate that is my pull-out sofa for the weekend. With these two stalwart comrades to tow, I plan to be one of the stupid ones.

Tonight, I buy provisions. There will be root vegetables and hearty grains. I will have stores of vegan chili and saffron risotto on hand to staunch our appetites, though we plan on minimizing liquid consumption for the duration of our actual expedition. On the Inaugural Eve, though, there will be beer and wine. There will be coffee and tea. There will be adequate toilet paper. And, of course, tomatoes.

Jen, Charlie and I have already forsaken any attempt to actually see the parade or the real live ceremony. We have charted our course-- roughly 4.4 miles from my doorstep to the Lincoln Memorial Jumbo-tron. Gloved, hatted, scarved, long-underweared, earmuffed, cameraed and empty-bladdered, we will venture forth at dawn on I-Day. Braving the trains will be dependant on our spirit of adventure; if we are timid, yet strong-of-constitution, we'll be hoofing it. Don't doubt how mournful Jen and I will doubtlessly feel as we part with our respective fuck-me shoes for the duration of our trek. But it's true: there is no room for such indulgent excesses in masochism in this venture.

Once we set out, we have no idea where we'll pee. We have no idea how we'll procure sustenance and libations. We have no idea how long we'll be standing, nor how long we'll be cold. We don't even know if we'll make it home by nightfall.

But we are a brave band, and true, my fair readers. And true. We will make our pilgrimage and we will survive it and, at the end, we will have seen the first non-white person ascend to this nation's highest office. And we will have celebrated the long-awaited termination of this land's era of the shit-for-brains Prince of the Malapropism, the age of the empire-thirsty Czar of Preemptive Warfare, the time of the Natural Resource Wastrel.

Blessed be.

Keep us in your thoughts and hearts, my friends. Buoy us with your well-wishing.

We will attempt to send you dispatches from the field. However, as resources and wireless service are limited, we can make no promises.

Over and out.