We talked about going out and partying it up in the big city of San Francisco. And, who wouldn’t want to party for this inauguration in a town with such fine citizens as laughing squid, who document the wonderful hack of renaming Bush Street in downtown SF.
In the end, we stayed home. Bellies full of grilled steak, hearts full of good byes to George and Dick. (M. has embraced the home life and realized cheaper eating and the joys of suburban grilling.)
At my work, folks were plenty glued to televisions in most of the conference rooms (and fun it was watching Cheney’s limo drive away and Bush’s helicopter fly into the horizon in a room with people similarly smiling to see the moment take flight, as it were). A lot of people have connections, and personally, I’m pretty sure I could get quite a few foreign policy wonks who will be tapped for jobs in the new administration to return my call. However, there’s always an insider reserve going on politics wise in my place of employ, kind of a cool think, like not squealing at a celebrity and demanding an autograph.
M.’s work is at a whole other level, though. Unapologetically and un-self-conciously, they partied it up. He reported flags all around and special meals in the cafeteria. Better yet, he brought home this special munchie from the self-same cafeteria, which also sells holiday pies and such befitting various occasions, to share in our new deal in DC celebrating dinner:
I think he’s speaking to M. and really moving him. Deeply.
Happy days are here again.
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