A Brand New Day

I woke up this morning like I do every other morning, annoyed at my alarm and wondering how on earth I was expected to get myself out of my nice warm bed so early when I was still so groggy. I turned off the alarm and started to close my eyes, but then I remembered last night.

President Obama. Repeat that a few times. President Obama. What a nice ring that phrase has to it.

Last night I heard that a lot. I watched the election results roll slowly in at a friend's apartment on 127th Street and St. Nicholas Avenue in Harlem. We spent most of our time making fun of the various pundits and Republicans on the screen, all nervous but optimistic. Then, around 11:00, the screen flashed an announcement: Barack Obama Elected the 44th President of the United States.

And the street outside erupted into noise. We ran to the window to look out and saw huge crowds of people pouring out of their buildings, yelling, running, screaming, crying, hugging, banging on pots and pans and drums and bells, skipping, jumping, laughing. Cars were going by with their horns blaring, with people hanging out of windows and sticking out of sun roofs. FIrecrackers were going off nearby. The noise was almost deafening.

After McCain's concession speech (which was marvelous, by the way; if he'd conducted his campaign as smoothly and kindly, or even been able to deliver speeches that well along, last night might have gone very differently), Connor and I took to the streets. We walked down to 125th, past the Apollo, where everyone was taking photographs of the Marquee: "Congratulations, President-Elect Barack Obama," and through the throngs of people celebrating in every way. There were few police around, and people were running shirtless toward the gathering at the jumbotron on Frederick Douglass Boulevard, hugging strangers, pouring drinks, lighting up who-knows-what cigarettes.

When we finally got to the square, the streets were literally mobbed. Police officers were letting the occasional vehicle through the crowds, but were helpless to keep people off the streets signs, fire hydrants, traffic signal posts, windowsills, and every other available surface. There were people with random musical instruments walking through the crowd, and Obama's face was everywhere, on posters and shirts and hats and stickers and buttons and flyers. And everywhere the word "Obama" was coming out of mouths.

We watched the victory speech in awe, unable to hear much of what was said over the yelling and banging of pots, pans, drums, and other percussives, cheering now and then, letting the intermittent rain hit our faces. Above us, on a sign post, people were beating against the Frederick Douglass Boulevard sign and climbing up the one-way arrows. Behind me, someone said, "Oh my GOD. My President is BLACK."

We were tired and knew it would take a while to get home, so after the speech we left the crowd, herded about by police officers at every step. We walked 20 blocks north to catch a bus at 145th street, and the whole way there people were dancing in the streets, hugging strangers, laughing and crying with joy. Even when we got on the bus at 12:45 am, the passengers were speaking of nothing but our new President.

I was so exhausted by the time I got home that I passed out almost immediately. The excitement of the night, after the long, tense, worried day had drained the last of my energy. I went to sleep knowing that I had just been a part of something gigantic and earth-shaking, and I doubt I will ever see or hear anything like it again. I have never seen so many people so happy. Ever.

I woke up this morning feeling more subdued, but still on my way to work, and even now, I haven't been able to stop smiling. The jubilation has calmed - we must now look ahead to some of the most difficult times we have ever seen in this country. But a new day has dawned, and in it, no matter how hard things get, I think there will be HOPE. I can't remember a time when I felt this country was so full of promise, and I think that many people my age will agree. We have been mired in a torpor of laziness and apathy for a long time. We have been uninspired by our leaders our whole lives and never even thought to look to them as Good Men in whom we could place trust or emotion, much less derive inspiration. But now we've been woken up. I hope. Time will tell.

More Halloween musings, and a religious pamphlet I approve of!

Last night was Halloween. In case my rambling passage from yesterday passed you by. I'm not sure what exactly I was trying to say - obviously. But I was tired and annoyed at the day in general by the time I wrote it and wasn't thinking clearly enough to write anything worth reading. Still, I think there's a little nugget of truth in there somewhere if you dig for it.

Anyway, here I am, shamefully, at work the day after Halloween. I absolutely love Halloween and I wanted to be out till dawn last night, rocking out my fabulous Jessica Rabbit costume (still haven't come across a decent Maleficent costume I could afford... sigh...), then come in here today hung over enough to show what a blowout night I had. But alas, I was thwarted in my attempts at being ultra-NYC-party-fab-cool. By my shoes. As always. I don't know why I always seem to think I can get away with wearing ridiculous cheap shoes - they always kill me.
We stood out at the parade for an hour and a half, waiting for the Project Bueller ((http://projectbueller.tumblr.com/) float to go by, and by the time it passed and we had run after it, singing "Twist and Shout" and reveling in the fun, my feet were so sore that I had to hold on to Connor's arm to walk. So we ended up, rather than floating from bar to bar on the wings of our awesome costumed-ness, sitting barefoot on our friend's couch in Stuyvesant Town. Not that the party was lame or anything - it was actually a pretty great soiree- but I was definitely shut down by my shoes. Didn't want to go anywhere.

Why do I, and other women, keep doing this? Sure, my legs looked good in the 6-inch heels, and sure, they complimented my costume, but for God's sake, why did I think I would be ok to walk around in them all night without my body rebelling against the completely unnatural position into which they forced my body, and the loss of blood circulation they inflicted upon my toes? Why did I think a pair of $10 shoes from Danice in the Bronx would carry me around effectively all night? For that matter, why do we think the ridiculous shoes we buy, regardless of price, are ever a good idea? They are sometiems just as bad to our bodies and comfort level as foot binding was to Chinese women. They have become an implement of female torture in Western society, put into a positive light by the fact that they turn men on, and make women look oh so good. Popularized for women by Catherine de' Medici in the 1530's to increase stature and make one look fashionable, high heels have become a symbol of sex appeal in modern culture. Not only do they reek of sex, but women seem to have turned the logic of trying to attract men around, making the ability to walk confidently in stilletos and other crazy heels a matter of self-confidence and strength. Every day in midtown I see women walking around in five-inche stilleto boots and pant-suits; high-powered business women totter around in less-than-pencil-thin pumps, feeling fabulous because they think/know they look good and they can totally 'handle it.' And by 'it,' of course, I mean discomfort, difficulty balancing, and being forced to walk more slowly than normal in order to pay attention to where they place their feet. WHY?

The funny thing is - I'm ranting on and on about this, and I don't have an answer. Nor am I going to stop wearing heels. To be honest, I don't wear them nearly as often as many women, especially here in NYC, but I do have several pairs of 3-5 inch heels ranging from platform chunky versions to stilleto boots that I have to veer around subway grates and holes in the sidewalk in. And I will continue to wear them because... well... they make me feel awesome and sexy.
What can I do?


Also:
On my way into the subway this morning I was handed a religious pamphlet. Knowing I'd have a while to wait on the platform, I took one, thinking it would be a good laugh. But it was, surprisingly, well-written. And, bizarre-o faith language and fallacy-laden logic aside, it actually made some pretty good sense. It was about how salvation isn't a sure thing, and how even those who have been born again and who are very "good" practicing Christians must keep their eyes open and work at it to be sure they've been assured salvation. I don't really pretend to understand all the finer points of the reasoning in there, or the Scripture, or what have you, but I found no bad grammar, no misused punctuation, no nonsense sentences, no badly used words... In short, it was well written and appeared to have been edited by someone who knew what he or she was doing. There were a few standout sudden changes in point of view, but beyond that it was impeccably put to paper. I was cheered.

I am by no means a Christian, but I have no ill will toward the religion. It works well for some people, and like most other religions I think it's just one way of looking and experiencing the Great Mystery we all seek. And it's not a bad way to go. If you want, you can be an emotional Christian who falls down on your knees in passion and praises your God, or you can be an intellectual, ephemeral, philosophical Christian who uses very important and well-laid out theological texts for study and contemplation, or you can choose from any number of different paths to "salvation" between those two extremes. It's a wide open way of looking at life and what it means, and I think that's great. But I have read some pamphlets in my time that have turned the idea of being a Christian into this ultra-low-brow, horrendously conceived, and badly executed miraculous cure-all for all the ills of life. I have read misspelled words, grammar that a five year old should be able to correct, and arguments that simply made no sense, and I have grieved for Christians who seem to know what they're talking about relying on the skills of some hack who can hardly communicate what he wants for dinner, let alone the finer points of faith and religious dogma. It's just sad.

So Kudo's to Robert Lehigh, editor of "Bible Helps" pamphlets from Hanover, PA. I commend you.

Halloween

Somebody asked me today if Halloween is a real holiday since it's not a Federally observed day off work. I don't quite know the answer to that, and I am in the kind of mood that does not allow for research, but my response was something along the lines of: "Well it damn well should be. There are f***ing spirits walking the earth today! We should be allowed 24 hours of pure revelry!" My friend agreed with me in that same amused tone that people tend to use when I rhapsodize about ghost-hunting, haunted houses, mythology and Maleficent. They see my point of view on these things as mildly morbid and sort of cute, and they nod and smile while I go on about them.
But this is serious stuff, people. Halloween is one day during the crazy rushing around of the rest of the year when we are asked to think about the dead, and the spirits that accompany them and ourselves every day, as entities rather than ideas. We do not celebrate memories of those lost, we do not talk about some sort of historical or religious thing that happened long ago in a land far away, and we don't even have to get together with our families or have barbeques.
Halloween asks us to open ourselves up, using masks and costumes and revelry, to the possibility that there are other things walking amongst us, disguised as people just as we are disguised as whatever we choose. Halloween is a celebration of the fact that that which is usually unseen is nonetheless a part of our lives every day, moving us in ways we don't often recognize.
I don't know if on this day there is any more spirit activity in the world than on other days - hell, I don't even know what I mean, exactly, by "spirit activity." But it's an opportunity to think about what terms like "spirit activity" mean, and how much of it we believe in. We can admit to the possibility of things we ignore or deny every day, including the demented and twisted and morbid parts of ourselves that we turn off to appear "normal" most of the time.
I think that's why the idea of costumes appeals to me so much. I love to don a costume and go to a fabulous party, where real identities can be forgotten and one can let one's sense of self become liquid, fluid, nonexistent. We can let ourselvs forget the rigid walls we spent all day inside of, the restrictions we impose upon ourselves in our everyday life. Most people can't handle letting themselves go this way every day, even if they don't realize it. And most of us can't handle the ideas that Halloween allows us to explore about the supernatural in and outside of ourselves. But on Halloween we are allowed to do that, briefly. Why not take the opportunity, open ourselves up? Eat some candy? Admit to the possibility that maybe what we see isn't all there is?
So this year, for the sake of your sanity, let yourself go. Put on a costume and go out, and don't just wear it - become it. Let yourself be lost in the wildness, put on another identity, and for goodness' sake, go throw eggs at something! Go sit in a cemetary and dare yourself to take some pictures. Dance in the street. Get lost in a strange neighborhood. And keep your eyes open.