It wasn't until Obama walked on stage that someone said it. "It's really happening." We'd been hollering and drinking and clapping for a good hour but suddenly everyone became very quiet. It hadn't registered until just then, that this wasn't a distant event. We'd changed the course of the river, and it was going to effect us all. Obama was going to be president. There'd be young children running around the white house. We'd have a thoughtful leader for the first time in almost a decade. And on top of all that, in addition to every other joy, we were going to get a puppy.

Obama could have said "My fellow Americans, poop poop poop poop poop" for half an hour, and we would have loved it. He seemed subdued, but he gave a fantastic speech, as he always does, about the road ahead. McCain actually gave a hell of a speech earlier, too, in which he essentially said fuck you to the crazy people who'd stuck with him towards the end of the campaign; that they needed to grow the hell up. They didn't like that speech; it was the old McCain, from a decade ago. Thanks, John.

We all called our friends. I told my brother, who'd been getting out the vote in Florida since Thursday, that I was proud of him. We all hugged, and a bunch of us began to walk home, up along fifth avenue.

There was a small crowd of people across the street. "Whoo!", one of them said. "Whoo-hoo!", we said back. "WHOOOO!" they responded. "WHOOO-HOO-HOO!" we said, and clapped.

"Suck it, North Dakota!" someone added.

A few blocks further down, someone honked their horn. "WHOOO!" someone else said. "WHOOOO-HOOOO!!!" we responded. "They're probably actually honking to get traffic moving," I said.

A bit further along, a few ladies were smoking in front of a bar. "WE'RE GETTING A PUPPY, AS A NATION!" we informed them. "WHOO!" they said. We all smiled.

A bit past that, some kids ran by with lit sparklers.

Three blocks from home, there was a huge crowd in front of a bar. Some people were dancing in the street. Traffic was partially blocked. "WHOO!" they cried. "WHOOO-HOO!" we responded. Horns honked. "WHOOOOO!" we told the horns.

More sparklers appeared, burst into life, diminished. "We won!" someone said. A cop car appeared, and honked. "WHOOOOOOOOO!" we all said. The cops waved at everybody, smiling, and drove on.

"Was America like this before? Did we just forget about this?" I asked my friend. "No," they said. "No, this is new." Another cop car appeared, looked at all the people dancing and waving their illegal sparklers around, and honked and waved. "WHOOOO!" we said to the cop car. They drove on.

A block after that, my friends and I parted ways. My neighborhood was a little more subdued. Some women were sitting on their stoop, drinking coffee. I smiled at one, and she gave me a goofy smile back. "WHOOO!" I said, and jumped up and down. She waved. "WHOOO!" she said.

I've been home for twenty minutes. I can still hear honking, and people saying "WHOO".

This is really happening. Tomorrow, the hard part, but for tonight, I'm just happy that it's all real.

Whoo.

I HAVE A LASER AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME.

35 watt CO₂. Yes. Yes.

Hey, Kai! BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE LAZYWEB! It's an Intel Lubbock/Cotulla prototyping board with all the trimmings. I can't believe it actually took me this long to get around to getting this thing chugging.

There are wheels within wheels, beside wheels, which make the wheels rotate around escapements and cams which are themselves arranged to perform the function of a wheel. The Obama campaign and street money in Philadelphia. Still wrapping my head around this.

The Gulden Ratio: the perfect proportion of mustard to meat.

Well, okay. Barbot makes the medium time.

Party pictures are making me well aware that I am the least photogenic Resistor. That means I get to operate from the shadows! Muah-ha-ha!

Anyway, Barbot 2G is going to be more strictly rack-mounted. Do any flipsidians have access to a 19-inch equipment rack (the sans nipple sort) that they could drag out to the site? If so, I can have an automated boozamaton at your service.

The great irony of this project is that I still don't drink. Much.

(5:57:13 PM) A: i love how all my "polyamorous" friends are always complaining about "drama"
(5:57:39 PM) J: i know VERY few people who have pulled off poly-ARMORY for very long with success.
(5:59:05 PM) A: you are a genius
(5:59:15 PM) A: and i am going to embark on my new polyarmorous lifestyle right away
(5:59:28 PM) A: hey, speaking of polyarmory, how was the biennial?
(5:59:35 PM) A: THE ARMORY SHOW IS GOING ON NOW TOO
(5:59:41 PM) A: TRULY NEW YORK IS POLYARMOROUS
(6:00:08 PM) A: i am secure in my polyarmory
(6:00:21 PM) A: although is GREAVES me to say it
(6:00:35 PM) A: the polyarmory scene may be PLATE out
(6:00:39 PM) J: STOP IT
(6:00:47 PM) A: i'm just MAILING it in
(6:01:30 PM) A: i hear that there's a lot of work by HELMET NEWTON at the armory show
(6:02:22 PM) A: oh, come on. you got to come up with something, after i throw down the GAUNTLET like that.
(6:02:37 PM) J: stop, you are hurting me.
(6:02:45 PM) A: oh, come on. you can hammer something out!
(6:03:21 PM) A: i'm CUIRASS what you'll come up with!
(6:03:47 PM) J: HAHAHAH
(6:03:53 PM) A: YAY! YOU LOLLED
(6:04:26 PM) A: i think i'll stop now. i can't top that one.

(Twiddles thumbs, patiently awaits Ori.)

Before you vote today, remember this, and this.

I've been trapped in my building all night due to this, next door. Had a couple of drinks with the very sweet and funny Russian family in the apartment next to mine. They have some visitors from Chicago with kids who are stuck here as well. Nothing like giant armored trucks, police robots and screaming snipers on the roof to bring neighbors together. No cops made it into our building; all our information about the situation so far has come from local blogs.

There's nothing to do at this point but sleep. Except for the police negotiator outside my window with the megaphone. They're incessant, but I'm sure every line of patter was plotted and rehearsed and field-tested a thousand miles from here. They've hoisted a phone in a bucket outside his window and are pleading with him to pick it up. Now they're appealing to his community spirit, telling him the megaphone is keeping up the neighbors. Which is true. But dude, the guy's drunk, and has a gun, and is threatening to hurt himself. I'll be late for work tomorrow. Come on.

Now the cop is trying the neighborhood angle, trying to sound like a local, but he's talking about stuff that's about twelve blocks north of here, around Union Street. I know my landlord used to live up there around forty years ago, but I don't know if this guy ever did. I've only met him a couple of times. Argh.

Okay. Let's see if I can sleep through megaphoned negotiations.

(Also, every time the guy says "bucket" through the megaphone it sounds like "fuckit", as in "grab the phone out of the fuckit", which is driving me nuts.)

Update: looks like they got him out, and no one is hurt. Whew. Bedtime.

A huge chunk of the dream I had last night just popped into my head. Sort of a realization that it was a dream, and thus distinct from memory and bound to fade.

I was on a trip abroad with R and D. It turned out towards the end of the trip we were in Israel. We had a flight the next day, or in a few hours, either the next leg of the trip or the flight home. My family appeared, they were also travelling and we had a day of overlap. I suddenly realized that I was about to leave but I hadn't visited my grandfather's grave. My father said no, it was too late, there wasn't time. I started bawling like a baby. Next we were in a building with sliding glass doors, like an airport, but not an actual airport. There was some sort of cafeteria that we stopped by. Then, on the way out, there was a man in a courtyard, either doing or selling drugs; my dad remembered him from last time we were there, years ago. The dream went on for a bit after that.

This is the easiest place to put this before I forget everything.