They're still honking

And drumming...and whooping...and kazoo-ing...even though it's 3 a.m. on a weeknight and the drizzle won't stop.

Of course, this isn't just anywhere in America, but 16th street NW in Washington, DC--and everyone's excited about the new neighbor, who can't move in soon enough.

Since it's been the most covered, blogged, tweeted election in history, I know this will be the most discussed, iReported, Facebook status-updated election night ever. And although the bandwidth's free, there's something gross about piling on; Prez-elect Obama's already called on Americans to sacrifice, and I'm tempted to spare you my workaday observations in order to wake up early and weave malaria nets or modernize the Tennessee valley.

However, mine was an unusual night, at least measured against the three LiveJournal entries I've read so far. Who else drank with the Republican National Committee, cheered with the AFL-CIO, beat the crowds to the White House, and crunked in a drum circle?

(Admittedly, my tireless girlfriend...but anyone else who cops to such an evening was either getting paid for it or isn't in any shape to blog tonight.)

Everything started tame--watching the election results slowly trickle in via CNN, punctuated only by Princess Leia's holographic appearance. Seeking a more active evening that didn't involve Star Wars jokes, we decided to walk the mile to the White House--anticipating that it would be a rallying point, good or bad--and hit up several election parties en route.

First stop: The Capital Hilton, where the RNC was hosting their "election night celebration." Oh, and what a celebration it was! The...muted conversations and the...conspicous lack of excitement. Honestly, the lobby bar felt like a doctor's waiting room, except fewer sniffles and more ruffles.

From Election night in DC

Who can blame the RNC for just going through the motions? It took guts to even show, given that every pollster in America predicted an Obama landslide and massive Congressional losses.

Really, it was the most depressed (if well-dressed) "viewing party" I'd ever seen; there's no comparison. When the Quakers make the NCAA basketball tournament, I dutifully troop to the DC Penn Club-designated sports bar to willfully watch them lose...but there's always the chance that they'll win, or at least make a game of it. McCain never had that chance tonight.

Who shows up for such bloodletting? In the corner, rank-and-file congressional staffers, looking blissfully drunk...standing by the TV, young Heritage analysts, frowning over some bad joke...to our left, a mildly perplexed foreign couple, guests of the hotel who had nothing better to do. "Celebrities," even in the downgraded DC-sense of the word, are hard to come by here. That might be a gussied-up Ross Douthat, cornered by two boring-looking brunettes, but he disappears within seconds.

At the bar around 10:15, a lanky Southern suit was trying to talk himself into optimism, with all the confidence of a guy still waiting on $10,000 from his Nigerian pen pal.

"Well, I see [McCain] adding these states...North Dakota, Wyoming, they're turning red on the map...makes me wonder, you know," he trailed off. His two drinking companions--aware, perhaps, that such states are the electoral vote equivalent of Baltic Avenue in Monopoly--just nod.

Next stop: The AFL-CIO headquarters, where the Bush Legacy Tour bus is parked out front (guaranteeing it gets a quick visit from us), while a band inside the building plays...something peppy. It's hard to pay attention to the actual music, because the hum of conversation is so loud here, unlike at the RNC party. The crowd's actually energized, if much more laid-back...and, hey, Real Americans! I didn't know they were allowed to live in DC.

From Election night in DC

This is more like it. We're at the party just a few minutes, when Virginia's called for Obama.



Within seconds, it's official.



Cheering, kissing, grinning, we peel off as the excited crowd tries to wake Samuel Gompers.

Next stop: The White House and, after dashing through two crosswalks, we're there within seconds.

But it's eerily silent...even for oft-deserted downtown DC...there are fences up in odd places, police standing around the perimeter.

From Election night in DC

The residence appears more cordoned off than usual; should we not be here? We stop and ask a black security guard, just to check; you're fine, he says. I ask, "heard the news?" He grins and offers "It's a new world," gesturing us to walk around the barrier fence, getting closer to Obama's House.

Only problem--there's no Obama. In fact, there's not much of anyone. Yes...in our haste, we were the first pilgrims to the White House tonight.

From Election night in DC

So we take a couple pictures.

On the walk back, we pass the Hilton, with RNC-partygoers already dispersing into the night...just as cars (or even scooters) begin to speed up and down the street, randomly blaring their horns as passengers cheer and wave.



Further up, throngs of people start streaming by, drawn (much as we were) down 16th street, down to the White House. "Come with us!" one girl wails. Should we double back? Too late now!

Next stop: The intersection of 14th and U, where traffic has ground to a halt. Cloverfield-style, we stride closer.



Drums play and people clap...it's one of the biggest open-air celebrations of Obama around the country. And it's all one man's doing; no, not Obama, Ken Quam.



Wandering through the crowd, taking note of the many news crews interviewing the many many hipsters, we make our way across the packed street.

Final stop: Busboys and Poets, a jammed bistro filled with patrons jamming to a remixed "Rapper's Delight." Like the AFL-CIO party, if it was ethnically diverse and had a much higher Q rating.



The skirt-clad woman next to me has a beatific expression on her face--she's experiencing the greatest moment of her life, or maybe she just has really squinty eyes. Either way, she smells funky. I start to remember the downsides of a liberal coalition.

Then, on the TVs, Obama appears. I have video, but it doesn't do the moment justice...there's screaming, weeping. "He's beautiful," cries the older woman standing in front of me. He delivers his acceptance speech.





What else can I say? You can pick up the thread in the Post, the Times, wherever, for the next four years, maybe more. And you can read this days or weeks after tonight; maybe, I'll sound like just another sap, suckered in by the happiest mob mentality in generations. Or maybe election day 2008 turned out to be the start of something good. Maybe what if who knows?

But I know for sure that it's 4 a.m. on November 5, and there's still cars honking and people hooting.

We all want to believe in something.