bad metaphor

For the first time since, well, ever, I am energized and optimistic about a candidate with a real chance at winning the election, and changing the face of politics in my cynical country:

So fired up, that I endured a chilly two-hour wait to go see Obama at the Municipal Hall Auditorium in KC on Tuesday. I’ve only been there a couple of times, and hadn’t noticed the quirky artistic choices on some of the walls before:

I spent entirely too long lingering by this guy while waiting to get in. Eek.

The Power Rangers and that yellow dinosaur chick from Barney (?) having a spot of tea.

I showed up pretty early, or so I thought, arriving five minutes before the doors were supposed to open. Anticipating a good turnout, I was flabbergasted at how many people actually showed up, to a Democratic rally, in subzero blizzarding weather. I would later read that the count was over 6,000. I tried my best to capture the scope of the crowd, juggling my camera and Andy’s camcorder:

The event was more akin to a rock concert than a political rally. I missed Kerry when he came through the area in 2004, but I can’t imagine it was anywhere near as fun. The opening act was a marching band, called “The Marching Cobras”:

I never thought I’d ever describe a marching band as “cool” but these Cobras were pretty rockin’.

This little boy was cute as a button, if maybe not the best dancer on the floor

The sparkliest bandmaster who ever glittered, trying his damnedest to embarrass the guy in the beret from the crowd.

The Cobras did a smashing job of getting everyone fired up – they grabbed people from the crowd to come dance with them, including me (!), and I struggled valiantly to dance, while also taking pictures and juggling my poofy coat and purse. It was a lot of fun, except for maybe the poor elderly Obama supporters who had to plug their ears from all the noise!

Senator Claire McCaskill from Missouri came out to introduce Obama, as did the governor of my state, Kathleen Sebelius (whom you might recall from televised events such as the recent State of the Union Response :kansaspride:).

Then the man himself, who may be our next president (fingers crossed) came out:

Blurry Obama, for change! (of focus!)

He gave an excellent speech as usual, touching on his key issues (health care, Social Security reform, veterans benefits, the environment, etc…more information on his position and policies is available here), responding to some of the personal attacks levied against him (allegations that he is Muslim, that he doesn’t recite the pledge of allegiance, and other various nonsense).

Bloggers, rarely spotted outside of their native habitat: basements!

Looking around, I noticed that yes, there were a lot of young people, and a lot of African-Americans…but also tons of older people, both white and black, Asian, Hispanic, etc. I even noticed lots of middle aged white women, supposedly Clinton’s target demographic, who came out to support Obama. As I was leaving, one woman next to me fanned herself like a Southern Belle: “I shook his hand! I shook his hand!” So hilarious, but so heartening.

I am trying to keep myself from being absurdly optimistic, but it’s hard. Finally, after eight years of increasingly nightmarish and stupid decisions, something good to look forward to in the upcoming year! That our country could possibly, very possibly have as its president an intelligent, articulate and competent person? One who is also black (gasp) and who is named Barack Hussein Obama?

****Removed earlier text and quote about my views on Sen. Clinton’s campaigning. I thought about it and realized it was antithetical to my point, which is that Sen. Obama is the first candidate to come along that I can support in earnest, not merely as the lesser of two evils. Instead, here is a video clip of Obama’s response to this year’s State of the Union Address:

Style and substance to back it up. Spoken like a true President, I’d say.

Today we discovered that the roof rats are not indeed rats, but squirrels. How and when did we make this discovery? Oh, around 9 this a.m., when Elijah was abruptly woken by one of these creatures. Scampering, around in the blankets and ON him.

What followed, I am told, was an epic battle involving the forces of man, cat, and squirrelhood. Quark valiantly defended the apartment by lunging after the intruder, chasing after it, and then, after cornering it, giving it a good stare-down. Unfortunately, he seemed content with merely staring at the squirrel – the poor dolt doesn’t what to do with un-canned or non-kibble prey. It was up to Eli to actually deal with the intruder – poor Eli spent the next half hour chasing after the squirrel with a Swiffer mop, trying to coax it out of an open window or the open door. After finally Swiffing it out of the apartment, Eli watched as the thing turned tail and ran – down into the cobwebbed nether regions of the basement.

In between thwacking at walls and floor with the business end of the Swiffer, Eli called to update me. I think I was actually more upset about the incident than Eli, who was the target of the physical assault (luckily there was a blanket separating him from its little squirrel claws). I tried to contact the maintenance people, marking the third time I have called about the vermin.

“Don’t you worry,” said the maintenance guy. “I got a live trap, I won’t hurt ‘im.” Why he thought I would care about the well-being of the squirrel, I don’t know (sorry, krissy!). I have nothing against them when they stay OUTSIDE, eating acorns and shit, but once they hop on my boyfriend’s face in bed, it’s broom handle / BB-gun / flamethrower time. Suck it, squirrel hussies!

As of now, it doesn’t appear that the maintenance guy has done anything. We’re reluctant to open the basement door, should the squirrel and its basement buddies come flying out. I have, however, taken steps towards finding a new place to live, in addition to advertising my apartment for sublease. What do you think, should I list “free exotic wildlife” as a feature?

(Hey lookit, there’s a new design. Yeah, I know, I switch designs more than I actually post. Whatevs.)

This year I’m kind of slumming it, Bohemian style – my current apartment is situated inside an old ramshackle house in East Lawrence. When I checked it out, I immediately fell in love with the colorful walls (bright orange, blue, and green!) and signed the lease…leaving aside more practical matters such as, oh, would my stuff even fit in that shoebox they generously call a “1 bedroom apartment.” Rent is dirt cheap here, gas and water are included in the rent, and there’s a washer and dryer on the premises. Sure, the laundry facilities are located in the creepy basement, which is approximately 90% cobweb, and yes, there isn’t a single level surface in my apartment. Economy can go a long way to assuage those concerns, and hey, at least I can more or less predict where any dropped change in my apartment will eventually roll.

When it started to get colder, I began to notice noises at night. Something scampering, and it would sometimes come from behind my head. I’ve never really had to deal with mice before, and was a little freaked out, but Elijah assured me they shouldn’t be able to actually scamper into the living area. Previously, we had blocked the only potential ingress for a mouse into the apartment, an inexplicable gaping hole in the floor, with a heavy brick. Both the brick and the cat, whose presence might deter any intrepid mice from the kitchen, settled my fears.

Last night, some dramatic shift in the balance of power must have occurred in the murky realm above my apartment. I heard not one, but at least three distinct creatures, and all auditory evidence suggested that some rodent roller derby was taking place. Even Quark, bless his murmured little heart, was alarmed, and bravely ran head first into the wall to try and deter these dark creatures from their nocturnal shenanigans.

To no avail of course. All through the night, the loathsome creatures thundered through the walls of my plywood-and-corkboard apartment. I think maybe two of them were performing some foul ritual on the third, who whimpered eerily. The haunting whimpers were arguably the worst part: high pitched, nails-on-chalk-board, terrible animatronic screeching. No doubt pleading for its life under great torture. I felt like an unwilling eavesdropper on a rodent Guantanamo.

This morning, after no sleep, I phoned in a report to the landlord, who is notorious in town for owning lots of properties and caring for none of them well. I do hope that if they actually do something about this, they won’t need to access the roof through my apartment, which does have a panel leading up to the attic (it hasn’t been opened in years, I’m sure). I really don’t want the foul, probably rabid creatures to get loose in my apartment to bite and infect Quark. The other alternative, however, is to wait for them to gnaw some sort of portal into my living space. Either way, I dread returning to my apartment to find the half-eaten remains of my cat*.

* – on the bright side, the feline fatty would definitely sate their hunger and spare our lives for awhile.