Be Careful What You Ask For...

Yesterday I wrote about wanting and needing some sort of smack in the face, a real world version of Cher's classic treatment of Nick Cage in Moonstruck. In thinking about it, writing about, and even HOPING for it, I really wasn't prepared for it to come so quickly, clearly, or from such a seemingly mundane corner.

But last night in Iowa 100,000 folks I don't know said "Snap Out OF IT!" and made Barrack Obama the winner of the Iowa Democratic Caucus.

I've been struggling with these candidates and I'm still not fully confident in any of them, BUT... Barrack has one big idea that he's been talking about since his big speech at the 04 Democratic Convention and that is the Quality of Hope.

I believe in Hope... and right now, this morning, amid raging storming California rains, I believe in Barrack Obama.

Watch the speech... and READ the speech (below) it says more than I could anyway.

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Thank you, Iowa.

You know, they said this day would never come.

They said our sights were set too high.

They said this country was too divided; too disillusioned to ever come together around a common purpose.

But on this January night – at this defining moment in history – you have done what the cynics said we couldn't do. You have done what the state of New Hampshire can do in five days. You have done what America can do in this New Year, 2008. In lines that stretched around schools and churches; in small towns and big cities; you came together as Democrats, Republicans and Independents to stand up and say that we are one nation; we are one people; and our time for change has come.

You said the time has come to move beyond the bitterness and pettiness and anger that's consumed Washington; to end the political strategy that's been all about division and instead make it about addition – to build a coalition for change that stretches through Red States and Blue States. Because that's how we'll win in November, and that's how we'll finally meet the challenges that we face as a nation.

We are choosing hope over fear. We're choosing unity over division, and sending a powerful message that change is coming to America.

You said the time has come to tell the lobbyists who think their money and their influence speak louder than our voices that they don't own this government, we do; and we are here to take it back.

The time has come for a President who will be honest about the choices and the challenges we face; who will listen to you and learn from you even when we disagree; who won't just tell you what you want to hear, but what you need to know. And in New Hampshire, if you give me the same chance that Iowa did tonight, I will be that president for America.

Thank you.

I'll be a President who finally makes health care affordable and available to every single American the same way I expanded health care in Illinois – by--by bringing Democrats and Republicans together to get the job done.

I'll be a President who ends the tax breaks for companies that ship our jobs overseas and put a middle-class tax cut into the pockets of the working Americans who deserve it.

I'll be a President who harnesses the ingenuity of farmers and scientists and entrepreneurs to free this nation from the tyranny of oil once and for all.

And I'll be a President who ends this war in Iraq and finally brings our troops home; who restores our moral standing; who understands that 9/11 is not a way to scare up votes, but a challenge that should unite America and the world against the common threats of the twenty-first century; common threats of terrorism and nuclear weapons; climate change and poverty; genocide and disease.

Tonight, we are one step closer to that vision of America because of what you did here in Iowa. And so I'd especially like to thank the organizers and the precinct captains; the volunteers and the staff who made this all possible.

And while I'm at it, on "thank yous," I think it makes sense for me to thank the love of my life, the rock of the Obama family, the closer on the campaign trail; give it up for Michelle Obama.

I know you didn't do this for me. You did this—you did this because you believed so deeply in the most American of ideas – that in the face of impossible odds, people who love this country can change it.

I know this—I know this because while I may be standing here tonight, I'll never forget that my journey began on the streets of Chicago doing what so many of you have done for this campaign and all the campaigns here in Iowa – organizing, and working, and fighting to make people's lives just a little bit better.

I know how hard it is. It comes with little sleep, little pay, and a lot of sacrifice. There are days of disappointment, but sometimes, just sometimes, there are nights like this – a night—a night that, years from now, when we've made the changes we believe in; when more families can afford to see a doctor; when our children—when Malia and Sasha and your children—inherit a planet that's a little cleaner and safer; when the world sees America differently, and America sees itself as a nation less divided and more united; you'll be able look back with pride and say that this was the moment when it all began.

This was the moment when the improbable beat what Washington always said was inevitable.

This was the moment when we tore down barriers that have divided us for too long – when we rallied people of all parties and ages to a common cause; when we finally gave Americans who'd never participated in politics a reason to stand up and to do so.

This was the moment when we finally beat back the politics of fear, and doubt, and cynicism; the politics where we tear each other down instead of lifting this country up. This was the moment.

Years from now, you'll look back and you'll say that this was the moment – this was the place – where America remembered what it means to hope.

For many months, we've been teased, even derided for talking about hope.

But we always knew that hope is not blind optimism. It's not ignoring the enormity of the task ahead or the roadblocks that stand in our path. It's not sitting on the sidelines or shirking from a fight. Hope is that thing inside us that insists, despite all evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us if we have the courage to reach for it, and to work for it, and to fight for it.

Hope is what I saw in the eyes of the young woman in Cedar Rapids who works the night shift after a full day of college and still can't afford health care for a sister who's ill; a young woman who still believes that this country will give her the chance to live out her dreams.

Hope is what I heard in the voice of the New Hampshire woman who told me that she hasn't been able to breathe since her nephew left for Iraq; who still goes to bed each night praying for his safe return.

Hope is what led a band of colonists to rise up against an empire; what led the greatest of generations to free a continent and heal a nation; what led young women and young men to sit at lunch counters and brave fire hoses and march through Selma and Montgomery for freedom's cause.

Hope—hope—is what led me here today – with a father from Kenya; a mother from Kansas; and a story that could only happen in the United States of America. Hope is the bedrock of this nation; the belief that our destiny will not be written for us, but by us; by all those men and women who are not content to settle for the world as it is; who have the courage to remake the world as it should be.

That is what we started here in Iowa, and that is the message we can now carry to New Hampshire and beyond; the same message we had when we were up and when we were down; the one that can change this country brick by brick, block by block, calloused hand by calloused hand – that together, ordinary people can do extraordinary things; because we are not a collection of Red States and Blue States, we are the United States of America; and at this moment, in this election, we are ready to believe again. Thank you, Iowa.

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Yeah... I'll second that... thank you Iowa... Now let's see what they do in New Hampshire next week.

Not Much Bang... Mostly Just Whimper

It's three days into the new year and I'm sitting listening to Miles blow the blues while the first real winter rains pitter and splat outside the window.

Normally at this time I'm all fired up and ready to go... running along on a little left over Christmas cheer (it's still Christmas until Saturday remember!) and chomping at the bit to get into and on with all of my heart felt, bouyant, and hopeful new year's resolutions. By now I've usually been running at least twice and am making plans for my first 5K or 10K of the year, on the way to my first big race (this year I'm hoping to make up for last year's aborted attempt at a return to the Big Sur Marathon), and I've usually already laid out plans for at least a couple of major business projects.

But this year... everything's kind of slow. I want to be up and movin' but I'm feeling mostly lethargic and still. I think this comes, at least somewhat as a residual effect of the moving process I'm presently engaged in. On January 1, I had to be out of the place I've been living in for the last eighteen months, but I'm not really settled into a new place of my own. I have found work space and I'm mincing through the process of setting that up, but I'm still looking for a place to live. This rather discombobulated situation makes it hard to party hardy as the new year gears up. I'm once again floating in a sea of confusion - do I move this way or that, what road do I take, what star do I follow, what new resolution do I break?

I get the feeling that I'm not the only one feeling this sense of torpor. There seems to be a lot of it in the people around me, even in the country as a whole. Partly its the season - the post-partum holiday psychosis, and the daunting "Oh shit what do I do now?" sense of beginning again. I also think it has a lot to do with the politics of the year, starting out on the long - often boring - road to finding a replacement for our present Pretender in Chief, the sluggishness in the economy and even the lethargic nature of the virtually non-existent real estate market.

In the midst of all of this I'm pretty sure that the best remedy might just be for someone to stand in front of me like Cher in Moonstruck, slap me across the face and yell "Snap out of it!"

There... I feel better already!

So... Happy New Year to you! If you've got any other sure fire solutions to the new year blues (besides Miles and Moonstruck that is), how about you let me know.