Here we go, kids...

Sit Down Fer A Spell. Kick Yer Shoes Off. Blog A Little...

Yes, it's me...and...we're here!

We hot-footed it out of New York 'round about 1 a.m., accessing good ol' I-95 with a quick slash onto the N.J. Turnpike off the Lincoln Tunnel's Garden State outlet. Fueled with Sunoco, (after a bout with a shy-as-hell gas cap lock button—putting the button under a floor mat..really?) and fine home-made brownies whipped up by a delightful last-minute passenger from “the gig” (Thank you, Ms. B.B.!), we ate up the miles quickly before ending the trek in Arlington where we're headquartering ourselves. We got our Brownie-Baking Beauty to her destination, than motored over to the credentials site, got those (with tea and oatmeal for my Miles Davis-meets-broken-glass-and-razor-wire voice) and then made excellent time in getting to the Hilton Washington Hotel for the Emily's List luncheon celebrating Secretary of State-designate Hillary Clinton, Speaker of the House Pelosi, and Labor Secretary-designate Hilda Solis.

It's quite heady when you step back for a minute and realize that in a matter of hours literally, “our long national nightmare will be over”. The Mayflower van will back its green and gold ass up to 1600 Pennsylvania and depart with the accumulated personal detritus of an eight-year-long series of kidney punches to America'a prestige and psyche.

Rolling into town there were the peaceful sights of a butter golden-lit U.S. Capitol looming off to our left in the pre-dawn sky, the Washington Monument's spire poking above trees and every short thing that seemed to try to occlude it from view.

And then, there was the silent standing army of thousands of Port-A-Potties almost “guarding” massive swaths of the National Mall area. I didn't catch myself in mid-sentence quickly enough before saying aloud, “Well...that's a shit-load a' Port-A-Potties!!”...but hey...there they were.

It was eerie on the drive down. Very few cars and no traffic..but that could be the result of many holding off travel until today—which should be a simply awful prospect when you consider the millions who will descend upon—and in too many cases, condescend to this amazingly complicated city. In New York it was all “push-push / shove-shove”...but the lettered and numbered streets of D.C. were typically early-Sunday mornin' empty.

“This is a Southern town still.” Jesse noted as we drove. “Folks are either at Church, or at home reading the paper.”, when our passenger asked why there weren't people camping out early—as New Yorkers surely would.

Me? I'm burnt. Dog tired. It's why you haven't heard from me since Thanksgiving. My work schedule has been abysmal, yet if you can believe it—oddly rewarding, especially since I consider myself one lucky Black duck to even have a job, what with the hemhorraging of jobs everywhere around us. Beat? Whupped. Yeah. I suppose I am. But then, I could be working—or rather, NOT working for Circuit City. You'll hear from me again this Inaugural weekend and beyond, as my crazed life does its post-holiday re-stabilizing.

I'm just glad to be back. With eyes open, and senses all a' jangle as I sit, stand, walk, cheer and am struck agog by the event I never thought I'd live to see, playing out before me in real time. Months ago I called the spectacle of what would transpire when millions of folk would just sort of impromptu “drop in” on this place. And I can see it now.

My sisters are here.

Friends have cadged and cajoled tickets for this and that from any relative with a chit to cash in.

A bevy of co-workers “got the day” and are holed up with friends, family and ex-es down here to be close by when the roof is torn off the sucker down here in Chocolate City.

The “Be-In” is on, folks...and we “be-in” it. Color me tall, dark, and stunned.

Somebody needs to pinch me. Sara, do the honors.