Grown Ups Talking

I watched the first Obama press conference on Friday with somewhat bated breath. I didn’t want my new hero to screw up. It’s the same anxiety that grips parents when their kid is pitching a baseball game or performing in the school play.

Then I remembered that President-elect Barack Obama is not mine to worry about, but a public servant of the highest order, that has to measure up to my standard – that of the voter. It’s just that this election was so emotionally charged for me that I have to begin to disengage my Obama-as-Superman mindset and start evaluating his efforts on a more practical level. (Secretly, I still enjoy feeling passionate about the possibilities ahead and hope about a new leader.)

So my first practical observation comes at the prompting of some colleagues, who said that during the press conference, Obama was very serious and did not come off as having very much fun. To that I say: thank god.

Since Reagan, we have been brain washed to seek an entertaining president, not a leader. But I don’t want a comedian, I want a president. I don’t want some in the Oval Office that I can have a beer with, or kibitz with after work.

I’d much rather like Obama for his strong policies, for the way he puts the economy back on track, for the way he helps the middle class, children, older Americans, and the sick. I’d much rather enjoy his musing on foreign policies, ending the wars, and planning for energy independence, than hear him tell a joke.

His seriousness, pragmatism and smarts now, will mean he has the last laugh later. And that makes me very happy. – Chianti

So he won and all the days, months, and agonizing weekends of cajoling strangers has finally paid off and all the union, move on, barack dot com organizing has resulted in a substantial mandate from our American brethren and sisteren to give Obama the right to go nuts and carry out his destiny as a card-carrying, lunatic middle of the roader.

At the end of the day, he is the man for the job. The black/white, man/woman thing is irrelevant, what really matters is that he is the better candidate in a flawed system that can only allow a certain amount of humanity furthering politick-ing to ever happen in any given happenstance.

Who am I kidding? It’s fantastic. My mother and grandmother were both civil rights activists. They’ve both passed on, but I can hear their joyous shouting from the Great Beyond! Woo Hoo!

See, I am essentially a cynic. It is difficult for cynics to deal with success. You have to unclench yourself from hardened postures of smiling grimly and ironic know-it-allery.

But at the moment, I’m finding it hard to walk around without a smile on my face.

Good times.—Pomerol

Yes!!!

An early morning skirmish with a late design job, then some merciful free time to stroll along the promenade and admire the fall colors.

Yes we have some fall colors in Brooklyn, not many, but very highly concentrated and gorgeous.

I have to remember to vote tomorrow. Those of us approaching impending middle-age try to maintain our holding-it-all-together normalcy while our hormones go berserk. The fact is, it would be very easy to forget. Then at mid-afternoon you realize vaguely that you forgot something. Oh no! Must Vote. If it’s not too late.

The even more ridiculous thing is that some people still haven’t decided who to vote for. This primary process has people in a state of uber self-importance. One gal I heard being interviewed listened to whatever debate/interview/proseltizement was going on, and having heard the arguments declared her intention of doing some “serious research” on the subject.

Give me a break. John McCain keeps trotting out “those bastards in Washington” and “cut taxes cut taxes". He acts like the economy’s trouble would fit in a thimble. The economy’s troubles won’t fit in a swimming pool. Enough of the Reagan arguments of the 80s. Time has moved on.

Just remind me to vote in the morning. And Happy Fall.—Pomerol

We watched the New York Marathon runners run by for quite a while this afternoon. Over 39,000 runners participated in the annual galloping around New York celebration. The slipper and I watched and wondered and grew irritated, mainly because our access to Central Park was blocked by all these crazed trotters. They just kept coming and going like discount day at the whorehouse.

It’s been difficult blogging lately. The chattering world is now so saturated with commentary, observation, invective, strident determinations, superfluous detail, baseball-style statistics, that it feels like anything we say has already been said many times. You just sit and watch them run by, the pundits, and pray that for the brief period they are in your sight that they will say something fresh.

But that’s what it’s turned into, a verbal marathon. President Bush has been wreaking mischief, but all anyone cares about is McCain and Obama’s latest contrived soundbyte.

Please vote Obama, get this over as quickly as possible and allow the new government to start tackling the world’s woes. That’s what it’s all about, right? — Pomerol