I just thought this was an interesting photo; any particular metaphor you may see there is based entirely your own perception:

(Source.)

Well, that last entry was something of a buzzkill, wasn’t it? Sorry about that.

(Incidentally, in case you’re wondering why an entry date-stamped last Tuesday didn’t appear until Wednesday night, it’s because your humble proprietor is a dolt who forgot to switch the entry’s status to “published” after he finished writing it. Sometimes you just have weeks like that…)

Anyhow, consider this fair warning: I don’t know if today’s topic is going to be of interest to anyone but myself, as it’s all self-reflective and musing and wool-gathering-y. It is also political and pro-Obama, so my conservative readers who are cringing at every stroke of our new president’s pen — and you know who you are — may want to skip this one. Unless you like getting all worked up at the thought of America hurtling pell-mell toward a gloomy and uncertain future that seems likely to be the exact opposite of everything you personally stand for or have ever believed about your own country. I know the feeling, believe me.

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And just like that, one era is over and another begins.

Is it just me, or was it all kind of… anti-climatic? Of course, it’s supposed to be anti-climatic; that’s the way the founders intended it. A peaceful transfer of power, with no palace coup, no martial law or rioting in the streets, just one guy handing the keys to another. But the past eight years, and the past six months especially, have been so emotionally intense, so harrowing, that I guess I expected to feel something… more. Pride that my country finally made good on its ideals and elected a black man to be its president. Pleasure that the first black president comes from my preferred party instead of the other side. Relief that the most hated presidential administration of my lifetime — yes, even more hated than Nixon’s! — has finally been sent packing. Ah, yes, relief. That was the sensation I was really counting on. But honestly? I’m not feeling much of anything, at least not to the extent that I thought I would be. I seem to have gone rather numb.

Well, no, that’s not entirely correct. I’m not numb. In fact, now that I think about it, I’m feeling very much like somebody who’s awakened on the fifth morning of a four-day bender, cottonmouthed and head pounding, and wandered out into a kitchen filled with weak, watery daylight to find a sink full of dirty dishes and a scatter of empty bottles on the floor. If you’ve never been in that condition, trust me when I say you tend to experience a bleary sense of resignation at the clean-up that awaits as well as a single recurring, shameful question: “Man, what the hell went on here?”

The Bush era is over, but our troubles remain, and while I’m happy with our new president and hopeful about what he may accomplish, for me there is a nagging sense of letdown on this inauguration day. I don’t know, maybe that doesn’t make sense. Maybe there’s something inside of me that’s broken, that prevents me from feeling the delirious joy that seems to have infected so many today. All I know is that I have felt so much for so long, and now it’s all come to… what? No reckoning, no accounting, just an oath, some fabulous parties, one man headed home and another man with his work cut out for him.

I loathe the term, because I think it’s been overused and its importance overemphasized, but in this instance, I could genuinely use some closure… and so far, I haven’t really experienced it.

So, as I mentioned earlier, I sat up half the night last night talking politics with an old friend. The conversation — which occasionally flirted with becoming an argument but thankfully never went too far in that direction — was pretty standard liberal vs. conservative stuff and isn’t worth detailing here. (Not that I could reconstruct much of it anyhow; one consequence — or perhaps it’s a blessing — of having these conversations at two in the morning is that they end up looking pretty hazy the next day.) But one thing my friend said struck me as noteworthy, because it was so unexpected and, from my point of view, so very odd.

My friend said that he and others he knows who share similar views often feel like they don’t dare express their opinions, for fear of offending people, starting an argument, and/or being unfairly judged. Now, I completely understand and sympathize with that feeling. As a self-identified liberal* living in the reddest state in the Union, I experience it to one degree or another just about every day. It’s the reason why I rarely blog about politics or controversial topics, because I know the bulk of my audience doesn’t agree with me and I don’t want to pick fights with my friends (or, indeed, with anyone; I don’t need the elevated blood pressure and anxiety that comes with it). But here’s the thing that I found so strange about my friend’s comment: his opinions are basically the same as those of roughly 75 percent of this state’s population. In other words, the overwhelming majority of people around these parts are on his side. So realistically just who does he think he’s going to offend? Why should he of all people feel insecure about speaking up?

I don’t mean to make light of what he said or invalidate his feelings in any way — if he feels intimidated or inhibited, that’s what he feels and it’s not my place to say he’s wrong for feeling that way. And perhaps I misunderstood what he was getting at; maybe he was just saying what my mom has always told me, which is that it’s impolite and generally a bad idea to discuss religion and politics openly. Maybe his job places him in situations where he’s more likely to find himself interacting with that dissenting minority and he’s had to learn to keep his mouth shut to avoid problems (welcome to my world). But given the overall demographics of our environment here… well, it just struck me as a very odd thing to say…

* For what it’s worth, my friend told me he doesn’t think I’m as liberal as I believe myself to be. I suppose I should take that as a form of compliment.

By now, everyone has no doubt seen that video of a disgruntled Iraqi journalist hurling his shoes at President Bush in a gesture of contempt. Naturally, the Internet was immediately awash in parodies, mash-ups, and remixes of said video. Here’s my favorite response thus far:

(I moved it below the fold as a favor to anyone with a slow-loading connection…)

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I’ve been wondering all day what I can possibly say here that hasn’t already been said in a million corners of the blogosphere, and probably in a million better ways than I can manage.

I’ve considered waxing poetic on the fact that a country with a deep and ugly history of racism has finally elected a black man to the highest office in the land. But you’ve all heard about that ad nauseum by this point.

I thought about trying to offer an olive branch to my conservative friends, who I know are unhappy and even downright frightened about what the future now holds. But I fear such words may be misconstrued as gloating, or worse. (I will just say that I know exactly how you feel, like you’ve passed through the looking glass and everything is insane and the whole country is rocketing toward the abyss. I was there in 2000 and especially in 2004. Trust me, you’ll make it through.)

The obvious thing to do would be to recount my feelings and experiences on this historic occasion, to record for posterity what it was like to be here when a huge landmark was at long last achieved. But honestly, last night is kind of a blur for me. I was steeling myself for a big disappointment — Barack Obama is a Democrat, after all, and we have a long and ignominious history of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory — and I think I did it so well that I was kind of numb when the returns actually went the way I wanted them to. The last 24 hours have been positively surreal for me.

I think the best thing to do is to quote what I thought was the most impressive part of President-Elect Obama’s acceptance speech, a remarkable passage in which he simultaneously leveled with his supporters about just how difficult it’s going to be to fix the things we want fixed, while still maintaining an inspirational tone and even reaching out to those on the other side. I can’t recall any presidents-elect in all my years of political awareness being so honest in their acceptance speech, which is usually about triumph and blind idealism without much acknowledgment of the practical matters to come. It felt like we were being spoken to be a grown-up, by a man who is sincerely looking for a middle ground and a way to make this country work for all of us and to encourage us, in turn, to work for our country. Most of all, it felt like we were being addressed by a man who is ready to be president, in spite of what his detractors have been saying:

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Brilliant:

(Via.)

With voting underway as I type this, another of those “go vote” PSAs is probably a little passe at this point, if not downright tiresome. But hey, maybe, just maybe, you’re one of those people who thinks the election is already in the bag, or that your vote doesn’t count, or for some reason you haven’t been sufficiently worked up by the last two years of campaign blather and you need a swift kick in the civic-responsibility zone. Or maybe you’re the type who just thinks it’s fun to look at a whole mess of celebrities and see how many you recognize (that would be me). In any event, here’s a clip that’s a sort of sequel to one I posted a couple weeks ago:

I think we can say from the available evidence that you really do not want Harrison Ford peeved with you…

I’ve had a fairly slow day at work, and usually that leads to much bloggage, but today I just haven’t been able to zero in on any particular topic on which I wanted to bloviate. I think I’m distracted by the building sense of anticipation and, yes, anxiety for tomorrow’s election. I’m trying

not to worry too much about it — after all, I’ve already cast my vote and whoever is going to win is going to win — but damn it, doesn’t it seem like we’re on the verge of something big here? Can’t you sense the huge, rushing something gathering strength out there in the night? Like the crackling electrical potential you sometimes feel in advance of an approaching thunderstorm? One of my friends e-mailed earlier today and said he feels like “I feel like I’m six years old and going to Disneyland tomorrow.”

That’s one way to describe it, I guess. Personally, my feelings are a bit more like the harsh yet vivid image Andrew Sullivan came up with the other day:

The more I think about it the more this election day feels like one giant collective, global puke. That Bush-Cheney thing never quite settled with us, did it? We’ll feel a lot better but a lot more tired once the last heave is over.

Coffee probably doesn’t sound too appetizing after that, but just as a public service, I’ll pass along the following word anyhow: Starbucks will be giving out free cups of joe tomorrow. All you have to do is tell them you voted. Pretty sweet way to encourage democracy, don’t you think?

Have a good pre-election day evening, everyone, and if you haven’t voted early, remember to get out and do it in the morning!