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Globetrottin’

The View from the Mall

Last Wednesday, I was one of the huddled masses who braved the cold for hours on the National Mall to catch a glimpse of the inauguration. While I saw less visually than I might have from 10-250, I stood amid the beating heart of America and watched it change firsthand.

As the political luminaries filled the pavilion at the foot of the Capitol, the crowd jeered its favorite villains. Joe Lieberman and John McCain, Clarence Thomas and Antonin Scalia, the wheelchair-bound Dick Cheney and the still-President George W. Bush, all were resoundingly booed. Some seemed to think it mean spirited, and perhaps it was, but it hardly begins to repay their years of irresponsible mismanagement.

Then the moment of truth came, and even this hardened cynic’s eyes glistened as Barack Obama put his hand on Lincoln’s bible and swore to preserve, protect and defend the constitution of the United States. I’m not normally one for historical sentimentality, so perhaps it was just the wind. Despite Chief Justice Roberts’ bungling, the deed was done and the crowd cheered their approval. President Obama’s speech was not the soaring hopestorm that many of the spectators seemed to want. It was instead a brief recounting of the huge hole we have driven into over the past eight years, and a pragmatic and reasoned pointing toward the way out.

Missing were some of the rhetorical flourishes of Lincoln’s second inaugural (“fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray”), or Kennedy’s first and only (“ask not what your country can do for you”), but Obama managed to hit a few high notes. This engineer cheered himself hoarse at “we will restore science to its rightful place” and “we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals.”

Taking a new tack in the Global War on Terror, Obama pledged to the world’s despots that “we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.” But he ended with a call to service and hard work, imploring all Americans to “brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come.” Having already inspired us during the campaign, now is his time to lead us back toward greatness.

Reflecting on the experience during the long drive back to Boston, I realized that it was the first time in my life that I have really, truly, felt proud of my country. Not because our President is black, but because he is smart. Not because of his party, but because of his pragmatism.

In order to solve the myriad crises we face, concessions will have to be made on both sides of the political divide. But we will redeploy our forces in Iraq to the more pressing battles in Afghanistan and at home. We will face down the financial crisis and re-regulate our economy to better withstand future turmoil. We will finally do something about global warming and lessen our dependence on foreign oil. We will protect women’s right to make their own medical decisions. Our government will be once again by ruled by competence, not ideology.

Watching the decisions come from the White House for the past week has been like living in an alternate universe. But this ‘Bizzaro-world’ is not a Yes Men hoax, it is now reality. From ending military courts at Guantanamo Bay, to reversing the global gag rule on family planning, from refreshing the Freedom of Information Act to increasing automotive fuel standards to match the rest of the world, President Obama has done more in his first week than I had dreamt of for a year.

As his term continues, I know that the gloss will inevitably fade. The political mudslinging will hit our golden boy too. But on that clear cold day on the National Mall, surrounded by two million fellow Americans, things suddenly didn’t seem so bad. And for the first time, I waved my own country’s flag with pride.

Published in the January 28 Issue of The Tech

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St Pete

We left West Palm and drove across the peninsula to Lauren’s home in St Pete. We chilled with her brother Johnny, discussed world travels with her mom, visited the Dali museum, played board games in cafes, waited too long for raw vegan food, watched the sunset on the beach, wasted money on arcade games on the boardwalk, and generally had a great time. We spent one evening at the Blueberry Patch, a post hippie haven going strong since 7/7/77. Despite the trenchant advice to “never follow a hippie to a second location”, we all made it out alive and no one’s mind was permanently altered. I saved my membership card for future visits.

Then we packed up the car one last time, driving north to Covington, the airport, and home. It was a great trip, and we’ll have to work hard to top it next year.

PS: 1/5/09 I haven’t gotten the photos yet from Ruth, but will insert them soon. Until then, dear reader, you will have to use your imagination.

West Palm New Years

We left St Augustine for the Steele residence in West Palm Beach. They were excellent hosts, dragging us behind their boat for kneeboarding, taking us kayaking among alligators, let us drive their vintage Mustang around, keeping us well hydrated with beer, and letting us launch fireworks in their country club. We found a secluded sand trap and rang in the new year under the stars.

St Augustine

Our last day in Savannah, we tried to eat at the famous Paula Dean Lady and Sons restaurant, but the line was insurmountable; apparently you need to show up at 8am for a noon seating. Whatever, I’ll just eat dinner at her home on Sea Island next year. Get working on that, Hannah.

Before leaving town, we stopped by the Mikvah Israel Synagogue, which is the third oldest in the country, and the only gothic Jewish building I’ve ever seen. It being Sunday, the place was locked, but a fellow tourist had called the rabbi to come down and show us around. He with arrived with a “Shalom Y’all” and a Hawaiian shirt, kvetching that we had removed him from his hot tub. Still, he gave us a tour, and was quite proud of their history and collected artifacts, although it went on a little long for my shiksa.

We hoped to find cheap fireworks in South Carolina, and were not disappointed. There was an eponymous shack mere feet from the border, and we bought as many as our wallets and conscience would allow. Then back into the car towards Florida, stopping in Jacksonville for an iPhone. Ruth made me drive the rest of the way, while she played with her new toy.

At Janet and Lou’s beach condo, we began construction of a monument to our lasting glory. Ruth wanted an art deco skyscraper, but it’s hard to make vertical walls without internal support. We compromised on the best one can do with sand, a pyramid. We made a full a Gizan complex, complete with Sphinx and Queens’ tombs.

Had dinner at Hurricane Pattie’s, which like all hidden seafood gems is tucked away by a marina. Their happy hour specials, actually from 3 to 7, include cheap oysters, excellent cajun grouper, and tasty fried shrimp. Ruth was attacked by a giant crawfish, and I posed with my pirate alter ego.

Savannah

After saying goodbye to family, we went back to the airport for a car rental. Ruth managed to get Avis to waive the under-25 fee because of her corporate affiliation, but I’m still angry that this ageism is still around. I own a car, have a (sort of) real job, but they want to charge me $25 a day over the regular cost to drive some compact car? Bullshit.

Got on the road after making our getaway, and then on to Savannah. Stopped in Vidalia for some onions, but they are out of season. Pork rinds and moon pies were a good substitute.

Savanah is beautiful, filled with tree lined squares, which apparently make it easier to subdue a colonial city. I love traveling with an urban planner. We walked along the river, where we had some mediocre oysters at one place, followed by an amazing experience at Bayou Cafe. The first floor was filled with a crowd listening to the blues stylings of Brett (apparently the least black name for a blues player, but that dude could play). Fried catfish, a pound of crawfish, several Sweetwater 420 and Jack and Cokes later, my pool game was still worse than Ruth’s. But she did let me win at darts and take her home.

The next day we took a scenic trolley ride around the city, getting a better lay of the land. Gorged ourselves at the Fiddler Crab, where we ate as many $6-dozen Appalachicola oysters and pounds of crawfish as we could handle. Drunk on seafood, we wandered back to our hotel for an afternoon nap. We found a Victorian ghost tour, complete with properly attired undertaker and foggy night.

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