So I guess we’ll just start semi-randomly working our way backwards here, starting with a call I made to Apple to find out how to get music from my tape deck into the iMac. The person I spoke to asked, “May I have your first name?”
“Linda.”
“ ‘Linda’! Very excellent! How are you today?”
After I got done chuckling, I asked how he was.
“Good, good. I’m always very excellent,” he confided.
Every now and then, we get into a thing at work of offering extravagant compliments to each other for the smallest accomplishments. Emily sent a note this week saying she had taken ownership of a certain problem ticket, or something like that, which means nothing whatsoever has happened yet; it’s just an administrative move.
I wrote back, “I swear, nice work!”
Bill chimed in: “Nice work, ladies!!!!!!!!!!!! QBQ!”
That was so funny that I didn’t even bother to remind him that Emily and I don’t like to be addressed as “ladies.” “QBQ” is a reference to QBQ! The Question Behind the Question, a pop psychology work on customer service skills our manager had us read, followed by Our Iceberg Is Melting. Next week, we’re going to have small-group discussions on the latter, and take a test to make sure we’ve fully comprehended the principles.
Next, how about that PRESIDENT BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA?! Even though it was seemingly obvious and had been for some time that he would win, I got a little freaked out every time someone spoke of Obama being “a few points” ahead of McCain, and would hasten to Pollster.com to rest my eyes on their electoral vote projections, which were very heartening and turned out to be quite accurate.
I couldn’t quite see the people who helped Bush steal at least one election doing the same for McCain, but I was still hugely thrilled and relieved when, at the stroke of 8 p.m. Pacific Time this past Tuesday, when the polls in California closed, the TV station I was watching—the one with George Stephanopoulos; he’s so cute—called the election in favor of Obama.
Soon I could hear people rampaging on Valencia St., and went out to join them. People were honking their car horns, grinning and waving to those on the sidewalk and hanging out of their car windows, mostly passengers, but in one case, the driver himself. Hundreds of people appeared on the sidewalks and finally, unable to contain themselves, surged into the intersection at 19th and Valencia, blocking the street completely as they literally jumped for joy and waved their hands in the air and chanted in unison, “Yes, we can,” and “Obama,” and even “USA!” I’ve never heard a group of San Franciscans chant “USA” before, because that usually means, to many of us, the government that is doing something we strongly disagree with.
But on Election Day, it meant the country that voted in the smarter, steadier, more sober candidate—even if his middle name is HUSSEIN; honestly, I could see that having been a deal-breaker all on its own—thus making history.
The celebration, similar to those occurring in hundreds of places nationwide, I'm sure, continued for hours, ratcheting up a few notches when the marching band arrived, at midnight. I often hear this group outside, generally at 2 a.m. But if ever an occasion called for a brass band and booming big drums, this was it.
I submitted to KQED several weeks ago a Perspective on cycling, my third. The first said that it’s good to cycle. The second said it’s good to take the lane when you cycle, because it’s safest. This one says it’s good to STOP AT THE FREAKING RED LIGHTS when you cycle, and I had a nice anecdote to begin it with, and a little scar on my elbow to look at when my natural vehemence ebbed.
I received some suggestions for improving it, and then, after procrastinating for many, many weeks, I finally sent in a revised version. (I got a note back from Mark T., the Perspectives editor, saying, “I was wondering if you’d gone on a circumpolar bike ride.”)
I arranged to record it the morning after Election Day and was met at KQED by two African-American women at the front desk. I don’t like to assume anything about other people’s political preferences (though, as it happened, I did put my foot in my mouth not two hours later that same day, by making just such as assumption).
At the Bike Coalition’s volunteer nights, for instance, I never thought it was impossible that there could be a McCain supporter in the room, and I heard there was an incident at Eugene’s Sunday night meditation group when someone started to gripe about Sarah Palin, offending two McCain fans, who stomped out, understandably enough.
But these two seemed suspiciously cheery, so I ventured an “It’s a great day, huh?” and it turned out we all thought it was, for the same reason. One was wearing a t-shirt with a big picture of Obama on it. She said she figured that since she had been compelled to wear her union’s red t-shirt every Friday for some period of time, it ought to be OK for her to wear an Obama t-shirt on this one day. I would certainly think so.
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