SEATTLE People scream. Honk. Ignite bottle rockets. Big rebel stuff for Ballard, the neighborhood of lye-cod, ya, you betcha!
Still I don't trust it.
My cousin Jenny and I waif into the George and Dragon in Fremont. Why does the aura of fryer fat add authenticity? Never mind, it's here, it's visceral. The bouncer cards us as we robot-lock on McCain's concession speech.
"It's real?" I ask.
He beams. "Couldn't be realer."
Those smiles rip around the bar. Not one hipster can hold back. The president elect takes the mike and many start chanting, "yes, we can" like a gospel choir between his statements. Waves of hooting overtake the crowd: Obama! USA!
I turn to my cousin. "This could be the biggest moment of our political lives," I pronounce. All liberals are given to portentousness tonight. Forgive us: we have so little.
She shoots back, "what if a woman's elected?"
"No matter how awesome anything is ever, it probably won't be a biracial president with a message of hope after mismanagement and a recession."
We mull for a second. Then she says, "hungry?"
Oh yeah! Jalepeno poppers for the new world order!