Inaugurating a President

Obama voter and a clear danger to society.

 

About half the free world must have come to DC in January to witness the Obama 2.0 inauguration and partake in the many related functions that kept the city buzzing for a week, night after night into the wee hours.  We joined the enormous throng at the Washington Mall for the swearing in on the morning of January 21, but we were so far away from the podium it was invisible.  We stood shoulder to shoulder with our compatriots more or less in front of the Smithsonian Castle and close to the CNN booth, which put us, along with Anderson Cooper and friends, approximately 0.9 mile from the action.

Toward the Capitol, the tiny little specks of ant-like people in the distance, including the Obamas, were enlarged into recognizable video images on jumbotrons that had been placed to one side of the Mall.  Thus we could pretend to be in the thick of it while staring at the screens and glancing over a sea of waving flags to the Capitol dome.  It was actually pretty awesome.  But now we know why people come to the Mall with blankets at four in the morning to secure a better viewing spot.

Obama is somewhere below the dome-shaped object in the distance.

A. Cooper is the white-haired guy in the middle.

Smithsonian Castle.

 

 After the ceremony, the plan called for marching over to the north side of Pennsylvania Avenue to find a good spot for the afternoon parade.  Unfortunately, a million of our dearest friends had the same idea.  Because of all the security fences and barriers it took over two hours just to get to the start of the lines through security.  We stood in line, 20 abreast, for another hour and a half.  And just as we were tantalizingly close to the gate, they inexplicably closed it, allowing no one else in.  So we missed the parade.  Again, now we know why people head down to Pennsylvania Avenue at four in the morning to get a good spot on the curb.  Apparently, you gotta choose whether you want to see the swearing-in or the parade.  Can’t have ‘em both.  Next time I think I’ll go for the parade.  One consolation, though, was Kris, the celebrity spotter, spotting Oprah’s friend, Gayle King, who just happened to be wandering up the middle of a side street smiling to her fans.

A parade looking for a parade.

This is not seal fur.

The line to get through security.

All things inaugural were not lost, however.  Some brilliant, or rather accidental, maneuvering on my part had scored us a pair of tickets that night to the inaugural ball—yes, The Inaugural Ball.  We raced home from the excitement of our parade line to slip into our tuxes and gowns, then caught the bus over to Dupont Circle to flag down a taxi, which takes some doing when 35,000 people are headed to the same place you are.  It was icy cold and breezy by then, but since seal fur overcoats don’t often match well with tuxes and gowns, many of us ballgoers froze our petooties off getting into the convention center.  Fortunately, it was warm inside the cavernous center and not too crowded yet. 

We headed for the wine and beer line to loosen up a little, then to the startling array of hors d'oeuvres, which spanned the full spectrum from pretzels to mini cheese crackers, which is pretty much why we were startled.  A cogent display of tough economic times.  Non-stop, high-end musical entertainment filled the hours leading up the main affair.  I especially enjoyed the performances by Mana, Fun! and Stevie Wonder.  When the First Couple finally emerged center stage, the crowd melted like butter as they danced passionately to the intoxicating voice of Jennifer Hudson.  And yes, we were close enough to actually recognize their faces this time, so the historic day ended on a high note.  Kris looked ravishing, by the way, in her midnight-blue dress, while I waddled around like a penguin in reasonably spiffy duds.  We were soon off to Chinatown and a late dinner at an Irish Pub having witnessed a bit of free-world history.