Election Night 2000, and Today
Nov. 2nd, 2004 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pantryslutFor years ago today, Election Night-wise, I was still living in the apartment on Webster street, though I had begun the process of buying a house that I no longer live in.
I was alone in the house; my former roommate was still living there, I think, but as he wasn’t a citizen I think he found somewhere else to be for the evening. Steven was on vacation in Baltimore visiting his mother. We had both already voted absentee.
I remember spending a lot of time on the phone with him, discussing the increasingly improbable course of events that night. I may have also called my parents, though I can’t recall doing so. I spent a lot of time flipping channels on the TV that we inherited from the previous roommates, the first set we had ever owned.
At some point in the night, after the East Coasters had toddled off to bed, I decided to go for a walk.
The streets were quieter than usual, but there were still people about. And everyone was eager to talk to each other, to check in, to share their amazement. “At this one moment,” someone I ran into on the bus said, “everyone in the city, maybe the country, is talking about the exact same thing. Isn’t that incredible?” And he smiled. I remember the smile.
And he was right, it was incredible. The sense of unity was probably a false one, created by living in a distinctly politically homogenous city, at least when it comes to presidential elections. But still, there was something in the air. To me, it felt like something suspended, paused. We were in a liminal space, not for minutes, but for the foreseeable future – days, weeks, who knew? And it felt like anything could happen.
Most of us aren’t very happy with what followed. But that’s not my point. I’m getting a little whiff of that feeling again; it’s been in the air for the past several days, if not weeks. A lot of people don’t like this sort of uncertainty. And I understand that. But I also understand that there’s a sort of magic that we’re experiencing. I recognize it this second time around. I kind of like it.
I was alone in the house; my former roommate was still living there, I think, but as he wasn’t a citizen I think he found somewhere else to be for the evening. Steven was on vacation in Baltimore visiting his mother. We had both already voted absentee.
I remember spending a lot of time on the phone with him, discussing the increasingly improbable course of events that night. I may have also called my parents, though I can’t recall doing so. I spent a lot of time flipping channels on the TV that we inherited from the previous roommates, the first set we had ever owned.
At some point in the night, after the East Coasters had toddled off to bed, I decided to go for a walk.
The streets were quieter than usual, but there were still people about. And everyone was eager to talk to each other, to check in, to share their amazement. “At this one moment,” someone I ran into on the bus said, “everyone in the city, maybe the country, is talking about the exact same thing. Isn’t that incredible?” And he smiled. I remember the smile.
And he was right, it was incredible. The sense of unity was probably a false one, created by living in a distinctly politically homogenous city, at least when it comes to presidential elections. But still, there was something in the air. To me, it felt like something suspended, paused. We were in a liminal space, not for minutes, but for the foreseeable future – days, weeks, who knew? And it felt like anything could happen.
Most of us aren’t very happy with what followed. But that’s not my point. I’m getting a little whiff of that feeling again; it’s been in the air for the past several days, if not weeks. A lot of people don’t like this sort of uncertainty. And I understand that. But I also understand that there’s a sort of magic that we’re experiencing. I recognize it this second time around. I kind of like it.
