They're Yelling His Name in the Streets of Chicago

The pubs and sports bars were packed just a few hours ago.  Lushes watched and yammered mindlessly with trumped-up anticipation.  Iowa, or some other predictable and relatively small state, flashed in blue on a big screen.  Everyone cheered as though a well-executed bunt, that everyone knew was going to happen, had advanced the runner to second.

Later, the Woo People of Wrigleyville, who sound their slurred yawps of "WOOOOoOO" as they stumble through the night, got in on it the only way they know how, "WOOoOO OBaMAAAAA!"   A passionate yell indeed, though no different in spirit than a Cubs win, or a loss for that matter.  To many people in my neighborhood, this election was sport.

I get a very different vibe from the families in the co-op across the street.  To me, they're a refreshing exception in this neighborhood, as people who care for eachother.  They enjoy a tighter community than the singles and young professionals in the ivory towers next door.  Or me in my loft converted office, writing, working and doing nothing all day, monitoring the street from my second-story window.

One family returning home from Obama's victory speech marveled at the accomplishment and what lay ahead.  They were truly happy, with hope in their voices.  Things will change because they have already changed.  Obama, their guy, Chicago's guy, will be President.  They congratulated themselves realistically, not as spectators, but as though they made something meaningful happen.  Something that mattered.

Maybe they did.  I didn't.  I watched as usual, dispassionately.  But I can't help but feel a little better about things.