January the 20th

Union Station, Washington, D.C. (6:47 p.m.)

Pandemonium. Haggard looking people try to avoid the crowds, finding a nook to rest. Two girls and a little boy play pattycake. A guy with a striped shirt sits in the middle eating a slice of pizza looking content.

Chicago (6:43 p.m. EST, 5:43 CST)

Mid-50's man on #8 bus responding to question from bus driver: "It was nice. He didn't cover all the bases he could have. It could've been half-an-hour and he only talked for 17 minutes. He could have really, really shamed the outgoing president. He did shame him a bit, but he didn't go into detail."

Concord, Mass. (6:19 p.m.)

The cold hangs in the air and shows no signs of an early departure; the cars go by on Laws Brook Road carrying in them the office executives, accountants, lawyers, doctors and professionals that inhabit such an upper-class suburb as this. A whirling siren carries across the Pond from the highway where car accidents on the wintry ice are regular and non-fatal. Nobody walks the streets and there are no dogs barking. An ambulance pulls up across the street. Now, when there is some semblance of emergency, people will venture outside under the guise of giving aid to the people who live in the house outside of which stands the ambulance.

Train to Wellington, New Zealand(6:00 p.m. EST, noon NZDT 1/21)

At noon, nothing happens. The train keeps rattling south. I wish I had a radio, a television, an American friend. A few hours later I join Lou, an Australian mother, and her 6-year-old daughter, Charlie, in the viewing lounge at the back of the train. We talk about the scenery, and our home towns, and then Lou brings up Obama. "What did I tell you, Charlie? About why today is special?" she asks. The little redhead looks up from her coloring book, scrunches up her freckled nose and quickly recites, "A black man is the president of the United States of America."

"I want her to remember this when she gets older," Lou explains. "This is historic."

Pearlington Recovery Center,Pearlington, Miss. (evening)

6:00 p.m.    I log onto the internet to read the New York Times. The headline reads, "President Obama Pledges a Remade America" with a quote from his inaugural address: "We cannot help believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve."

I call my parents as I walk to the dinning hall tent. I ask them if they watched the address. My father caught glimpses of it at the grocery store he works at in De Pere, Wisconsin; my mother has been watching clips of it on television since she got home from work; my younger sister watched it with her high school English class. I told them the reason I felt so good was because that, in my life, I have never experienced such a positive defining moment in the history of our nation.

I go to the kitchen, where my teammate, Walker, has prepared a dinner of stuffed peppers.

After dinner, I walk down First Street, a winding asphalt road through the middle of a marsh, to the home of Beth and Larry Randall. Beth and Larry own and run the Pearlington Recovery Center. Beth is lounging in the front room of the house with a pale-skinned girl with stringy black hair and a boy with a goatee. The room smells strongly of smoke and wet dog. Beth introduces the black-haired girl, who is named Tracy. Tracy was previously in the AmeriCorps NCCC, but is now moving to Pearlington. Tracy asks me if I want a beer. Before I respond, she yanks a bottle of Bud Lite out of the refrigerator, uncaps it, and shoves it in my hand. I walk into the living room and turn on the television. Beyonce is singing "At Last" while Barak and Michelle Obama dance with each other.

        "This is a fantayland!" I exclaim.

Nicole, who is also watching the Neighborhood Ball, agrees: "It doesn't seem real."

Beth invites a neighbor boy, Dakota, over to the house to talk to Nicole about AmeriCorps. Dakota is a tall, blonde, 16-year old boy wearing white sneakers and khakis. He is interested in joining AmeriCorps, and Nicole tells him about it. Beth's son, Adam sits on the steps leading down to the living room. Beth bursts into the room and lies on the couch.

        "You peel out of that driveway again I'm gonna beat your ass with a shoe," Beth yells at Adam. "I'm gonna beat your ass with a shoe."

Beth announces that she has a box of brownies. Nicole goes to the kitchen to bake the brownies.

9:57    The brownies are done baking.

Chinatown, Washington, D.C. (6 p.m.)

"'I was there' collectables, 5 dollars."

"Buy one, get one free, 5 dollars, Barack Obama posters."

"'I was there' keychains, one dollar, one dollar."

"Washington Post, fresh off the presses, 5 dollars."

"Obama flags, one dollar."

"It's only money folks, it's only money."

"The Obama pens, 3 for 5 dollars."

"Barack Obama DVDs, y'all, Barack Obama DVDs."

London (5:56 p.m. EST, 10:56 p.m. GMT)

I'm with some British friends in their house. One of them is channel surfing for Obama news as we finish a dinner of burgers and chips. For dessert: sweet potato pie, Obama's favourite. All day people here have been saying how excited they are, for some reason that terrifies me.

New York City (evening)

5:35 p.m.
I enter Southern Hospitality, a bar at Second Avenue between 76th and 77th Streets. I had noticed it the day before on an About.com site listing inauguration events in New York City. Of all the ones listed, this seemed the most random, with promises of "Obama shots, Hillary Pickelry (fried pickles), Left Wing Right Wing platters." All the TVs inside are tuned to CNN, and there are two random bunches of balloons attached to the beer taps. There are maybe 20 customers, and I don't think anyone is watching TV.

5:38 p.m.
I leave Southern Hospitality and walk north up Second Avenue. At Pie, a place offering "pizza by the pound" between 80th and 81st Streets, there is a "recession special" offer of a small cheese pie for $10. There are five closed-down storefronts between 81st and 82nd, two between 82nd and 83rd and three between 83rd and 84th.

5:48 p.m.
I go into Two Little Red Hens, a coffee/pastry shop on Second Avenue between 85th and 86th Streets and start reading the Times.

5:55 p.m.
I order a small mocha. There are a wide selection of $4 cupcakes available, and one man behind the counter tells a customer that everything is "super-homemade." I hate the Upper East Side

6:18 p.m.
I finish my coffee and the Times. The place is quite busy despite its small size, with a steady stream of customers moving through. A woman sitting near me has engaged the workers in conversation. She has discovered that all of them are not native New Yorkers. They're originally from Missouri, California and Virgina. Two elderly men sitting behind me are discussing "abstract existentialism." I think I hear Picasso mentioned. The woman who was talking to the workers starts talking to me about the Times and asks whether I think there will be any Tuesday editions left on news stands. She worries that they'll be sold out because of the inauguration. Her 94-year-old mother had requested she pick up one. I tell her I think the Times probably ordered a larger run than usual and that copies are still available.

6:25 p.m.
I leave Two Little Red Hens and go to an apartment building at Second Avenue and 85th Street to tutor a student for two hours. We sit in her living room. Her TV is turned on and muted, tuned to CNN until I leave. We discuss vocabulary, geometry and reading.

8:35 p.m.
I leave the apartment building and walk south on Second Avenue. Between 83rd and 84th Streets, I notice a bar called Ship of Fools. It has a notice in its window advertising newly acquired Australian beers. I go in and order a James Boag's, a Tasmanian brew I like and haven't had in years. It's tremendously overpriced. There are about 10 customers in all, most lounging around the bar. There are also 15 TVs, all showing sports, but no one is watching intensely. The bar is a typically bland Upper East Side establishment.

8:46 p.m.
Someone switches one of the TVs to CNN, where Anderson Cooper is blathering with some pundits.

8:47 p.m.
A man walks in and sits down two tables to my right. He asks to see the Tennessee-Vanderbilt college basketball game, so the TV that was on CNN is switched to ESPN.

8:51 p.m.
I hear three guys at the bar talking about CNN's political coverage, but before I can really start following their conversation, the bar starts blaring a bluesy rock song that drowns out the sound of anything else.

8:59 p.m.
I leave and walk south to 79th Street to catch the crosstown bus.

9:03 p.m.
I get on the bus and dial up a friend in California. I talk to him throughout the bus ride.

9:23 p.m.
I get off at Broadway, still talking to my friend. He's considering moving back east and taking a job in Massachusetts.

9:27 p.m.
I get to my apartment building and pick up the mail before taking the elevator home.

9:57 p.m.
I finish talking to my friend.

9:59 p.m.
I talk to my brother. He says that he watched the inaugural address at work, where everyone ceased their efforts for several minutes to watch the speech. He says he enjoyed how Obama began by thanking Bush but a few minutes later completely trashed his policies by saying achieving security does not mean sacrificing our ideals. That was followed by a cut to Bush looking peeved. I also enjoyed that moment.

Fulton Street, Brooklyn, N.Y. (4:48 p.m.)

A large man wearing a green winter hat stood outside a supermarket on Fulton Street in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. It was mid-morning, and he was depositing soda cans into a machine marked "Redemption Center." The man had accumulated $3.10 in earnings. He reinserted a remaining can that the machine had repeatedly rejected. On the small yellow screen flashed,
"* * * Please Wait * * *."

Later in the day, in nearby Grace Agard Harewood Center, senior citizens ate a post-inauguration lunch of chicken, rice and green jello, along with miniature cartons of milk. After lunch, a deejay with the moniker Big Lou played James Brown in the party room downstairs. "When you're dead, you're gone, so let the good times roll," said a white-haired woman as she finished her lunch. The seniors drifted downstairs. At first the dance floor was empty but when Big Lou played the electric slide, the dance floor filled.

Palo Alto, Calif. (4:30 p.m. EST)(1:30 p.m. PST)

Stanford graduate students meet for a design review inside their "sound-isolating" couch prototype. The inauguration parade plays on mute in the background.