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At first, we were just going to sit in my house and watch the results, perhaps with some alcohol on hand to dull any sad news. But Monday night, we went to Rockefeller Center to do something I'd never done there before: ice skate. And when we arrived we noticed that the square was decked out as though it were planning for a New Year's celebration, with large screens and flood lights and tents. We skated over a clear but buried map of the US. We went to Magnolia Bakery and got election-themed cupcakes (and when Sue's came out with an elephant on it I exhorted her to return it and get the donkey one, to the amusement of one of the staffers). It became clear that the city was gearing up for a party. That alone seemed to radiate confidence in the outcome, for New York doesn't party for John McCain.

So, on Tuesday, we arrived back there at 7 p.m., and already there was a crowd; MSNBC had put up two large window-washing apparati that had been covered in blue or red, and bore the name of Obama and McCain, respectively. Trailing out the bottoms of these machines were wide swaths of matching curtain, and as the electoral votes started to tally each machine rose toward a large projected "270," leaving a tongue of color waving to the floor below it and giving all of 30 Rock the impression that it was an enormous thermometer of democracy. We stood with the crowd and craned our necks, watching as the votes tallied, checking on our phones to CNN and FOX to make sure we could believe the results. We kept waiting for something to go wrong, for one state to head into recount territory, for a revisit to the nailbiting 2000 and 2004 elections. It just never happened.

Every time a state was called for Obama, the place went up. We cheered and jumped and hugged; the first time I was standing there for a big state's call (for we had been eating dinner during Pennsylvania's moment), was Ohio. The place seemed to quake. A few minutes after it was called a random and impromptu "Yes We Can!" chant went up, and I shed my first tears of the night. Everyone was talking to people they didn't know, was all smiles and sharing of stories, even walking respectfully around each other as they maneuvered the crowd, which is an experience I have never had in New York City in my life.

It was like a New Year's Eve that mattered. A New Year's Eve that was going to affect all of our lives and this great hope we all shared.

Everyone was waiting for Obama to rack up the 215 that would make anything else irrelevant, for once California came in that would become 270. He was at 207, and the polls were finally about to be closed - everyone in the crowd knew how important that was, that those 55 votes would slide over and we'd be eight votes away. MSNBC had a clock up; so we counted down. Thousands of us, counted down like it was New Year's, expecting to only be cheering the polls closing - however as soon as we got to zero we got the best and most fitting surprise: they called the whole race. Game over. An already enthusiastic cheer turned into pandemonium. We hugged, we cried, we jumped. We chanted "Yes We Can!" and very quickly it turned into "YES WE DID! YES WE DID!" Cell phones were produced, Twitter might have exploded, Cheryl and I hugged and felt proud that we had canvassed in Pennsylvania, that we had done some small part above voting.

We waited with stiff nerves for the speeches. At first the John McCain speech wasn't going over well; people didn't seem to be happy that it started all about race. But that ebbed as John McCain became the guy we liked in 2000, and liked throughout the first half of this campaign season. As he spoke with honor and dignity and took blame and called on his followers to come together. Granted, it has probably been written for weeks, and it is the speech that he has to make to ensure he has a life in the political world at all after this grueling and, because of him, oftentimes exceedingly ugly campaign. But it was a great moment for him, and a fitting and elegaic end. His nostalgia was evident, and he seemed sincere, and by the end of his speech people were clapping for him and nodding their heads.

Jesse Jackson, weeping. John Lewis, having wept enough. Oprah Winfrey standing in the crowd like anyone else, tears sparkling in her eyes. The enormously funny shot of the White House immediately after the concession speech, where thousands of people were dancing right outside its gates. The e-mail that the Obama campaign sent out before he took the stage, reminding everyone that it wasn't just his victory but all of ours. Curling my hands around themselves and pressing them to my chest, seemingly trying to convince myself it had really happened. How could we have considered staying home?

Obama's speech was electrifying. He looked serene and happy, but not giddy or smug. He looked as though the enormity of his job had occurred to him - he looked as though he knows that this was very much the easy part. His call to Republicans was strong and touching, reminding them of their august past and that he won't forget them in the future. As he started repeating "Yes we can," we in the crowd did it along with him. My sister and I hugged.

Afterward, we started making our way to the subway. But something became clear: There was no way we were going home. Cars were driving along honking the whole way, people hanging out of them and screaming. Cheers were going up every which way; we were hi-fiving with each other on the streets. Everyone was videotaping everyone else, absorbed in the reaction. We passed by the FOX building and rejoiced. And then we knew we had to go to Times Square.

I have done NYE in Times Square, and I have witnessed the winning of a world series. This was like everyone's team had just won the world series. We stood at 47th and Broadway and drank it in, the cheering, the running, the people standing out of moon roofs with their Obama signs, the tourists taking pictures with one enterprising man's full cardboard cutout of the President-Elect. A man walked by me with a giant O painted on his chest. Alex scored a Tshirt exulting about the win. Another read, "Have you seen these men? Wanted for war crimes," and showed mugshots of the Bush administration. Every time the lights changed and the signal read "Walk," hordes of people would run into the middle of the street and simply dance until the light changed again or the police told them to stop. Chants of "O-BA-MA" and "YES WE CAN" dominated. There were balloons, and people kissing romantically or affectionately, people crying and simply screaming. No one was mean. No one was angry. No one seemed to mind the traffic it was causing. Obama's picture loomed from all the electronic billboards around Times Square.

It continued on the subway. You could say "Obama" very loudly and start a chant that way. I hi-fived with people I'd never met, and we all talked as though we were old friends. It was some sort of unwritten code that everyone who left at their stop was required to shout "Obama!" as they left.

We trekked home, put on the news, and fell asleep happy.

A midnight vigil at Martin Luther King's grave.

PS: We made another stop at Magnolia bakery, too, where the same laughing worker joyfully told me that all the donkey cupcakes sold out the night before.

Today, I will vote for Barack Obama. Not because he is black, and not because he is a Democrat. I will vote for him because I believe he is the better man running; I will vote for him because I share many of his ideologies; I will vote for him because I have watched this grueling campaign relentlessly and only one candidate showed the wisdom, poise, and leadership qualities necessary to lead a nation.

This is not a time in American history where we can afford to be flippant about our choices. It is not a time when this choice should be about one issue, or even about which candidate will ensure you have the most money sitting in your bank account. If we as Americans care about anything outside our borders, and everything within them, we cannot place a man in the presidency who has shown himself to be rash, impetuous, and strangely (as these qualities don't seem to go together) wooden. This has to be a day about reshaping our image in the world. It has to be a day about maturity. It has to be a day about valuing rationality and the US Constitution. It has to be a day about being smart, about change, and yes, about hope. It has to be a day about inspiration. Words and rhetoric are not enough, but that is not all Barack Obama is about. Read his books. He wrote them. He, himself, wrote them. No one who reads his books, whether conservative or liberal, can deny that the man behind them is that most rare and precious thing: a clear thinker. A wise, discerning, rational voice who is not afraid to wade into complexity and has a knack for explaining himself simply. Trust me. Trust me. It's a lot harder than it looks.

This election isn't about Sarah Palin, although there is one remarkable thing to remember about her: the man who hired her as his running mate was aware that he is a survivor of a particularly lethal form of skin cancer, is older than any newly inaugurated president would be, and that there would be a real possibility that he was picking his presidential successor. A man who put country first would do just that: He would pick someone who has the wisdom combined with the experience to lead; he would pick someone honest, someone wise; he would pick someone who could step in at a moment's notice. The fair accusation of the McCain campaign that Barack Obama doesn't have enough experience has withered under this pick, for Barack Obama has spent 22 months being tried and tested and answering reporters' questions and proving that he is conversant in the issues and would be a cool hand on the till and that there are no monsters so great in his past as to upturn public opinion. John McCain was comfortable putting a woman about whom a simple Google search turned up damning ethics questions a heartbeat away from his job - he was comfortable doing this even though he had met her twice, for an hour - he was comfortable with her many contradictions and questions and, as it has been proven, many lies. That was all fine, because she could energize the base and get people excited. A man who put country first would not think so little of women, so little of the job to which he wishes to ascend, so little of the American people, and so little of himself, as to present this woman as a realistic future president of the United States.

Barack Obama, on the other hand, picked Joe Biden. A longwinded, gaffe-prone, down-home guy from Pennsylvania, who was not guaranteed to bring in even one more electoral vote (in the swingy state Biden's presence on the ticket has surely helped but it did not drive it home), but did add many years of foreign service aptitude, experience and wisdom to an already intellectual ticket. Why? Because the focus is on government, not campaigning. It's about country first.

Our country is in such real trouble, on so many fronts. Today I was notified by the IRS that I'll be receiving a sizable check from the government as part of the Economic Stimulus Package. Well, thank you, Government, but let's all take a minute and realize how bad this is: They are giving me money. It has gotten so bad that apparently the government feels I'm a better steward of this cash than they are, and are entrusting me with it. Our country is in major trouble.

So today I will vote for a man who I believe can turn the tide, can make us start believing in ourselves and the promise of a better nation and world again. I will vote for Barack Obama because he gives us hope.

In 2004, right after I witnessed his remarkable Democratic Convention speech, I wrote this on my blog:

"I'm wary of saying "first black president," more because I really don't want his stock to crash and burn. We're going to burn him out. Let's just keep an eye on him. ... There hasn't been someone like him in...in my life. Not since Clinton's saxophone moment have I watched any political event with actual hope. ... Maybe all a politician can do to inspire change is be a great orator. To bring hope to people the way that speech did. Is a politician more than one who inspires? Is a politician anything if he does not inspire? ... I don't know. All I know is this country needs a little inspiration. We finally got some.

I hope you'll join me, and I hope that whomever you vote for we are on the way to better times here and around the world.

I am in paperwork hell and therefore desperate for fun things to talk about. Therefore I am not going to talk about the 2008 election. Not that it's not fun - it's enormously fun, and at times sadly funny - but it's too much a blood pressure point for me and apparently a lot of the people who read this page. Long and short of my thoughts on the matter: it's all going to work out. Everyone breathe.

Instead, I want to talk about [title of show], which Cheryl and I treated ourselves to after a day of canvassing for Obama in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania. You can read Cheryl's post about that here.

I did not know, going into this show, that I was entering a Fan Zone. Pieces of culture that have Fan Zones are different than others, though the circle is growing wider every day: it may not be the most popular movie, television show or play out there, but there is a strong band of devotees, who will show up every night and scream, post about it on their Facebooks, urge their friends and family to watch/read/listen, etc. I know about this kind of fan because I am one. One thing I truly love about a show will sell me on it for life. This is not usually because the show/movie/etc. deserves it more or is inherently better, but because it has struck the nerd nerve: if only one thing about it is one of the best things they've ever heard, they're sold. Of course, there's usually well more than one thing - but there's one moment that always piques the experience. It's Free Love on the Free Love Highway during the British version of The Office. It's "Seasons of Love" in Rent. It's Defying Gravity in Wicked. It's the fashion show on Project Runway, "Suddenly Seymour" in Little Shop of Horrors, the entire first season of Heroes, the end of season one/beginning of season two of The West Wing, the slide down the pole in Bridget Jones (the book), the what-will-she-wear-now game of Sex and the City.

(One doesn't immediately jump to mind with Harry, but that's really because the first book is full of all those truly imaginative twists on reality that it's like a series of wave peaks throughout.)

And, being one of these fans, and being familiar with the accoutrements of intense fandom, you know exactly when you're walking into a Fan Zone. If it's a live event, it's usually accompanied by a lot of screaming. This happened when we saw [title of show], a fabulous little musical about making a musical. I knew only that it was an "inside" ("meta") play, going into it; I wasn't even sure it was a musical. But as the lights went down and the roar deafened (it was the show's last week on Broadway) I groaned internally. The Fan Zone is almost unanimously a good thing for the material that is the object of the fans' obsession, but to newcomers it can make it hard to understand and enjoy that material. I wasn't sure I wanted to be part of a few hours of incomprehensible screaming that made me think I was a year too old to be a New Kids on the Block fan, and at one of their concerts. (Which I am only allowed to say years and years after being part of the screaming, and years and years after realizing how it can be completely obnoxious to those outside the Zone.)

Thank goodness, that's not how it played out. The show was, sincerely, one of the best things I've seen in a long while, and that happened well before the middle, when the real Fan Moment happened. Because for all the potential annoying character of a Fan Zone, it can be really useful. I was enjoying this charming show - self-aware, unadorned, a hilarious little reflection on creativity that played itself with honesty and no trace of pretension - when I knew we were about to get to The Moment. Why? The screaming went THROUGH THE ROOF. Cheryl and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised, because the woman onstage had just said, "Die, Vampire, Die," and she hadn't said it while simultaneously twirling flaming batons, juggling three apples and a live grenade, and shooting fireworks out of her sleeves, so why was everyone going crazy? Because they knew what was coming, and luckily this pre-emptive hype wasn't enough to spoil the moment.

The song is Die, Vampire, Die, and it's the best exploration of the ridiculous inner monologue that goes on while you are writing that I've ever heard. It's not all Finishing the Hat, it's not all sweet, melodic elixirs of endorphins caused by creation. No. Sometimes there are ugly gnomes playing twstie-tie with your confidence, inside your head, and it's annoying and petty and feels small. What did I call this phenomenon awhile back? Ahhh... Grogsnot! I had nearly forgotten about him. Yes, this is a song about Grogsnot!

Listen to this (it's the audio track set to a picture of the show's playbill, you don't have to watch), if you want to know just how silly, sad, funny, stupid, elating, and unglamorous creation really can be:

And for once not because of Palin.

And "impactful" is not a word, genius. (And no, to the heinously insulting: I don't accept it in urban dictionary, and I don't agree that it's acceptable for it to make it into dictionaries based on people thinking it's a word. It's not. Being used a certain number of times doesn't make the definition accurate. And this is a word that has origins in American Journalism; just in case you thought dictionary.com was the be-all and end-all of looking things up.) It's even coming up with a little red line in my blog entry. You make an impact. It's a noun. Wile E. Coyote makes impacts in sides of mountains. This is a peeve of mine, though I understand how it slides into the pocket of Joe Six-Pack, which, stunningly, is now someone you do want in the White House - personally I think they should keep six-packs far away, as well as those who drink them so often it becomes synonymous with their last name, don't you? Anyway, impactful is up there, for me, with saying you're feeling nauseous. If you're feeling nauseous you're feeling like you are causing nausea - or at least you used to, until colloquial use became an excuse to change the dictionary. They changed the dictionary to suit people's common misunderstanding! No. Here I say no. You're feeling nauseated. Like I am after watching this clip.

But I guess I'm just a crazy liberal, east coast elitist, media mainstream filter whatever-the-hell they're calling it today. To want a president not to think that women are by default emotional and any emotions you feel can be BLAMED ON IT BEING AT A WOMAN'S EVENT. This from the guy who claims that a woman on his ticket makes him the woman's choice!

I just got a call from the Obama campaign about volunteering in Philadelphia. With McCain giving up in Michigan, Pennsylvania just became about six times more important and I yelled this at the campaign worker as if he didn't know, just before I told him I'd be there at my very first opportunity - to stamp out buttons, to bang on doors, to cold call, to drive around the people who bring the campaign staff coffee, I don't care. I'm reduced to urging the guy who calls the volunteer no one's ever heard of to win the election, because sadly IT IS THIS GUY'S JOB. The volunteer workers, the campaign workers, the people on the ground are going to get this thing done. We said goodbye and then I shouted, "See you soon, good luck! DO IT!" He responded, "We will!"

It's not an option. It is an imperative that McCain not be allowed within five city blocks of that oval room. I wasn't going to get too political here but you know what? It's my blog and I'll say it, and I respect if you have reasons to disagree, but not if you disagree without being read up on the issues. I have such a little amount of patience for people who don't inform their vote. There. I'm all fired up and ready to go. That's all.

Now I've got to go get my pass to walk in the breast cancer walk tomorrow. More on that soon.