The morning after:
The first real problems I faced as an E-journalist were the mechanical constraints unique to the job. I have an older laptop that needs wall-power to function, and wifi. I am curently poor, so a Sprint connect card is out of the question. The only backup connection to the system of tubes is my outdated Blackberry which is worthless to get a blog post up. I did manage to use a friend’s spanking new Blackberry to edit blogs but no practical way to enter new text. To be a part of the celebration or even close by would have required a squatted out a spot to try and hold my ground. There was no real practical way to blog, party, and keep from getting hugged. Facebook has crept to a stop. It will take the next few days to sort out what really happened and for the magnitude of the win to sink in. I decided to honk the Honda dead-bird horn at anybody with an Obama sticker. In 500 miles there were only 5. 3 of them were LL Bean dressed people in Subarus in the mountains of West Va. The peace sign is back in style.
11:00 p.m.
The hippies in the bar stink of patchouli and cloves. The shitters are overflowing, and they are out of Bud, Yeungling, and PBR but everyone is happy. On to the premium import beers- 4 Heinkinans were handed to me inside 10 minutes. This is a completely different environment in the city versus what I witnessed in 2004. Stoned from the win, it feels right. It just feels good to win a good fight. No matter how bad the next few years might prove to be, at least OUR guy won the damn thing. When Kentucky went red first, I was walking back into Angels and was booed, accosted, and harassed by several people as soon as I walked into the door. A rumor went around that my date had voted for McCain, turned out to be McConnell but she was forced to explain that story to this liquored-up bunch of Liberals.
A 4ft tall Trinidadian just messed up my hair in celebration, this guy is all over the place. Turns out he’s been canvassing central Virginny for Obama for the past six months and he personally feels responsible for the win. Other canvassers and people who worked for the party all claim “they did it” but not in a selfish sense, more like they hug everyone in their path. “100% fivers” is Obama canvasser speak for give me a way up high five. A lot of people in these bars must have worked for the campaign. When the Saints come marching in is being played by a brass band in front of an Ethiopian restaurant, and a girl is dancing on the hood of a DCPD cop car. And the cops have not maced, beat, or put shiny bracelets on her yet.
A friend and canvasser from the Shaw neighborhood celebrated all the way home on the sidewalk from 18th street with “100% fivers” stopped and hugged cops, hippies, and other revelers. A car broke down in the U street corridor and several people pushed it uphill 5 blocks to a service station; I doubt this would have happened on any other night.
8:00 p.m.
From Tryst in Adams Morgan. Places with wifi in DC are getting scarce, if you need a power outlet and a spot to sit that is. The rain outside has pushed people indoors. Fifteen others sit around me with computers; some of them are live blogging. All the tv’s on the strip are tuned to CNN while Wolf Blitzer speculates on the numbers.
The CNN score is currently 77-good guys, and 34 for the Sith.
Faux News claims 81-Dems, 39-gop
Abc news 102 to 34.
The scores are pretty close. The small spike in Faux’s projections are no doubt a direct reflection of their right-wing bias; truth is neither fair nor balanced. No matter how rowdy this neighborhood gets, we all need to keep in mind that it ain’t over til it’s over.
The McConnell race is under close scrutiny by the locals. My proof reader (HA!) Nurse Lari has come under fire for admitting a vote for Mitch. Everyone knows he’s the only opposition to our potentially filibuster -proof majority in Congress.
More to come.
11:00 a.m.
Pick your poison: Blue Bama Slama, the Barocks, The Chosen One, or maybe a Yes We Can shooter. This is part of tonight’s special drink menu at Angles Bar & Billiards on 18th St. All these drinks are blue in color; special recipes by bartender and bar-rat extraordinaire Sully O’Sullivan. Don’t call the DCPD wagon outside a “Paddy-wagon”, the good Irish take offense. Angles has been traditionally known as a writers bar. Freelance writers, op-ed guys, and a few local sports writers call this place home. If Hemingway and Faulkner were alive, they could bore one another to death while drinking themselves into an illitirated, ignorant, inebriated stupor.
The owner of the bar, Patrick, has great photos of Afghanistan. He shot them while covering the Soviet invasion from the mountains in the tribal areas. If you get a chance to have a drink with Patrick, ask him about his time in the mountains. He will also explain why he smokes his cigarettes between his ring and middle finger, a trick learned from the Afghans to ward off hunger pangs.
Angles always has better than average election result coverage, highlighted by drinking games. Bingo cards with Bushisms were handed out, and when W said “terror” or “evil” the bar stood up, repeated the word and took a drink. That game got expensive quick.
10:00 a.m.
Blogging from one of the hundred Starbucks in DC. No free net access; forced to buy day pass and give up fake info to prevent the corp. from knowing which of their overpriced menu items I prefer. They do have the awesome sausage/egg/cheese buns in the mid-atlantic region that we don’t have in Lexington. I would sign a petition to get those into the bluegrass market.
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