The Size of Money (Part 2)

Trillions of dollars aside, think of the mere lowly million – a pile of cash you could carry in a grocery bag. How would having a million dollars change your life? Would you, as the Barenaked Ladies suggest, start buying fancy Dijon ketchup? Perhaps not – but you might take them up on another of their suggestions – buying a new car.

Which brings us to the following ditty making the rounds on the web: A letter from a reader of the St. Petersburg Times responding to the newspaper’s solicitation of ideas for “How Would You Fix the Economy?”

“There's about 40 million people over 50 in the work force - pay them $1 million apiece severance with stipulations.
1) They leave their jobs. Forty million job openings - Unemployment fixed.
2) They buy NEW American cars. Forty million cars ordered - Auto Industry fixed.
3) They either buy a house or pay off their mortgage - Housing Crisis fixed.
Like I have been saying, they are bailing out the wrong people.”

At first blush, it’s seems so reasonable – even though it’s pretty obvious that the writer is over 50. But if you do the math, you find out that 40 million million is 400 trillion. So we’re back to the “t” word again.

Let’s just stick with the Barenaked Ladies and fantasize. Enjoy their lyrics:

“If I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
I'd buy you a house
(I would buy you a house)
If I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
I'd buy you furniture for your house
(Maybe a nice chesterfield or an ottoman)
And if I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you a K-Car
(A nice Reliant automobile)
If I had a million dollars
I'd buy your love

If I had a million dollars
I'd build a tree fort in our yard
If I had million dollars
You could help, it wouldn't be that hard
If I had million dollars
Maybe we could put like a little tiny fridge in there somewhere
You know, we could just go up there and hang out
Like open the fridge and stuff
There would already be laid out foods for us
Like little pre-wrapped sausages and things
They have pre-wrapped sausages but they don't have pre-wrapped bacon
Well, can you blame 'em
Uh, yeah

If I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you a fur coat
(But not a real fur coat that's cruel)
And if I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you an exotic pet
(Yep, like a llama or an emu)
And if I had a million dollars
(If I had a a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you John Merrick's remains
(Ooh, all them crazy elephant bones)
And If I had a million dollars
I'd buy your love

If I had a million dollars
We wouldn't have to walk to the store
If I had a million dollars
Now, we'd take a limousine 'cause it costs more
If I had a million dollars
We wouldn't have to eat Kraft Dinner
But we would eat Kraft Dinner
Of course we would, we’d just eat more
And buy really expensive ketchups with it
That’s right, all the fanciest ke... Dijon ketchups!
Mmmmmm, Mmmm-Hmmm

If I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you a green dress
(But not a real green dress, that's cruel)
And if I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you some art
(A Picasso or a Garfunkel)
If I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you a monkey
(Haven't you always wanted a monkey?)
If I had a million dollars
I’d buy your love

If I had a million dollars, If I had a million dollars
If I had a million dollars, If I had a million dollars
If I had a million dollars
I'd be rich”

The Size of Money (Part 1)

Now that we got this here depression on, a lot of us are spending more time thinking about money than spending time spending it like we used to. And thinking about money can be scary. Here, in Part 1 of our series about the size of money, let us examine (courtesy of www.pagetutor.com) just how many bills it takes to make a trillion dollars.

All this talk about "stimulus packages" and "bailouts"...

A billion dollars...

A hundred billion dollars...

Eight hundred billion dollars...

One TRILLION dollars...

What does that look like? I mean, these various numbers are tossed around like so many doggie treats, so I thought I'd take Google Sketchup out for a test drive and try to get a sense of what exactly a trillion dollars looks like.

We'll start with a $100 dollar bill. Currently the largest U.S. denomination in general circulation. Most everyone has seen them, slighty fewer have owned them. Guaranteed to make friends wherever they go.





A packet of one hundred $100 bills is less than 1/2" thick and contains $10,000. Fits in your pocket easily and is more than enough for week or two of shamefully decadent fun.





Believe it or not, this next little pile is $1 million dollars (100 packets of $10,000). You could stuff that into a grocery bag and walk around with it.





While a measly $1 million looked a little unimpressive, $100 million is a little more respectable. It fits neatly on a standard pallet...





And $1 BILLION dollars... now we're really getting somewhere...





Next we'll look at ONE TRILLION dollars. This is that number we've been hearing so much about. What is a trillion dollars? Well, it's a million million. It's a thousand billion. It's a one followed by 12 zeros. You ready for this?

It's pretty surprising.

Go ahead...

Scroll down...



Ladies and gentlemen... I give you $1 trillion dollars...




(And notice those pallets are double stacked.)

So the next time you hear someone toss around the phrase "trillion dollars"... that's what they're talking about.

Apocalypse Now

Every literary child of the Cold War must have read “On the Beach” – Nevil Shute’s ripping good 1957 novel about what the world would look like after the northern hemisphere was devastated in a nuclear conflagration and residents of the southern hemisphere waited stoically for the fallout to come along and kill them. (Instead of Rosebud, think Coke bottle for that “Aha!” climactic moment. But enough hinting at a spoiler…)

So what does a post 9-11 post-apocalyptic novel look like? There are two good examples making the rounds right now: “One Second After” by William R. Forstchen and “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy. Both are worth reading – but for very different reasons.

Forstchen’s book is truly an updated take on nuclear devastation. Instead of radioactive fallout – the greatest fear of every old Cold Warrior – “One Second After” deals with the possibility of a rogue state’s “asymmetrical warfare” unleashing an “electromagnetic pulse.” No fallout, but three well-placed nukes launched from a cargo ship detonate at high altitude and fry every computer chip in America.

The story-telling in “One Second After” is a bit contrived. (Do we really need the hero noticing the tightness of a nurse’s blouse?) And the prose dances a bit too close to the partisan. (Do we really need a foreword authored by Newt Gingrich?) But the scenario played out by the author is fascinating. It forces the reader to consider just how tenuous our modern society’s very existence is. Our dependence on modern medicine and supermarkets that teeter on just-in-time supply chains will shock you. Readers will come away feeling vulnerable.

“The Road,” on the other hand, is fine literature. It is the story of a man and his son walking through an ash-covered post-apocalyptic terrain. The author makes no attempt to describe how it happened or even exactly when. It’s a story of love, faith, persistence, hardship, and occasionally unspeakable horror. And it’s written by Cormac McCarthy, who can describe desolation with eloquence unmatched by any other author living or dead. Readers will come away feeling… well, like they’ve read a great book.

All of this thinking about what happens after The Big One gets dropped can’t help but stimulate the human planning instinct. How should a person prepare?

Stash money in the house? Smart. To a degree. Cash will be very valuable in any emergency where the cavalry can be expected to ride in within a week or two. (Of course, it becomes worthless once the looting starts and the economy breaks down.)

Store food? Also smart. To a degree. But if you get too much, the people with guns will probably just come take it away. And if you have to move, you can’t take more than will fit in a shopping cart anyway. (Shopping carts, apparently, being the most durable vehicles in any new New World Order.)

Be the people with guns? Possibly also smart, but a zero sum game. You’d have to be willing to use the guns against real people and good enough at it to win all the time. And eventually you’ll run out of bullets. (All those people who rushed to buy ammo after Obama was elected already found that out.)

The best apparent strategy: Stockpile cigarettes. They’re light and universally desirable as barter.

You’ll be the most popular fellow around when the Fourth World War, as Einstein predicted, gets fought with sticks.

A Steven Wright Kind of Moment

I saw this box in the lobby of the public library. I tried to take one, but I couldn’t find any.

Who is John Minderbinder?

In the wake of industry bailouts – er, “economic stimulus” actions – and resurgent proposals for soaking the rich – er, “restoring fairness in the tax code“ – comes a new cottage industry: selling copies of “Atlas Shrugged.”

Ayn Rand’s 1957 paean to “objectivism” is suddenly in vogue again. “The Wall Street Journal” is making space for op-eds by the president of the Ayn Rand Institute. Conservative pundits and assorted free marketeers are regularly invoking her ghost on the cable news shows. “The Economist” reports that sales of the book have rocketed to all-time highs.

It’s not a bad thing. In fact, “Atlas Shrugged” should be required reading for all knowledgeable Americans. But only if they are required to read another very thick book at the same time: “Catch 22,” by Joseph Heller.

“Atlas Shrugged” opens with the famous, if obscure, line: “Who is John Galt?” It turns out that John is a brilliant man who has utterly removed himself from society because productive “men of the mind” are inevitably taken advantage of by unproductive “parasites,” “looters,” and “moochers” who use laws and guilt to leech from the value the productive people create. A whole bunch of other men of the mind join him on strike and the world begins to disintegrate as their influence is lost.

“Catch 22” is a different kind of story. Set in World War II Italy, it follows the exploits of an American bombardier named Yossarian who wants to go home because he is convinced that people want to do him harm. (The German Army, to begin with.) But the really interesting character for this analysis is Milo Minderbinder. Milo is a mess officer who becomes obsessed with expanding the buying and selling of goods, which he builds into a “syndicate” in which “everyone has a share.”

Ayn Rand’s objectivism holds that allowing humans to pursue self-interest unfettered will benefit society at large by creating value and stimulating opportunity. Joseph Heller’s minderbinderism holds that human self-interest is largely inclined toward doing what will generate the greatest profit for the least effort – an activity that often involves deception and false value.

One might be tempted to reconcile these contradictory views by explaining Ayn Rand as an anachronism. She wrote during the height of America’s industrial powers. The productive business people portrayed in “Atlas Shrugged” all made things. They invented and manufactured. They didn’t leverage and outsource. (There do not appear to be brokers or investment bankers in Galt’s Gulch.) Could it be that “Atlas Shrugged” is just a figment of a generation?

But Joseph Heller is no acute observer of current events. “Catch 22” was published in 1961 – contemporary with Ms. Rand and long before Wall Street’s current brand of barbarians reached the gate. Regardless, read this partial description of one of the activities of Milo Minderbinder’s “M&M Enterprises” syndicate:

“Milo chortled proudly. ‘I don't buy eggs from Malta,’ he confessed... ‘I buy them in Sicily at one cent apiece and transfer them to Malta secretly at four and a half cents apiece in order to get the price of eggs up to seven cents when people come to Malta looking for them.’ ... ‘Then you do make a profit for yourself,’ Yossarian declared. ‘Of course I do. But it all goes to the syndicate. And everybody has a share. Don't you understand? It's exactly what happens with those plum tomatoes I sell to Colonel Cathcart.’ ‘Buy,’ Yossarian corrected him. ‘You don't sell plum tomatoes to Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn. You buy plum tomatoes from them.’ ‘No, sell,’ Milo corrected Yossarian. ‘I distribute my plum tomatoes in markets all over Pianosa under an assumed name so that Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn can buy them up from me under their assumed names at four cents apiece and sell them back to me the next day at five cents apiece. They make a profit of one cent apiece, I make a profit of three and a half cents apiece, and everybody comes out ahead.’”

Does that sound like Collateralized Debt Obligations to anyone else?

Oh, and don’t forget Milo’s motto: “What’s good for M&M Enterprises is good for the country.” (And his remonstration to any pushback that if you’re not for us, you’re against us.)

For a couple of generations now, many of America’s best and brightest have been marching off to Ivy League schools not to prepare to invent and manufacture things like John Galt did, but to prepare for careers that more closely resemble Milo Minderbinder’s. The helms of farms and factories are increasingly staffed by B and C students while the A students invent and manufacture the exotic financial instruments that, by many accounts, have brought us to the brink of economic ruin. Why? Because out of self-interest, the A students could make more money that way.

In a pivotal “Catch 22” scene, Yossarian wanders the streets of war-time Rome seeking to save a young girl from unspeakable hardship. Milo Minderbinder, who by virtue of his power and connections has more ability to accomplish this than anyone, has just abandoned Yossarian to pursue the latest profit-making opportunity that has presented itself. Yossarian is left alone to contemplate the subjects of poverty and inequality “in a world that never yet had provided enough heat and food and justice for all but an ingenious and unscrupulous handful.”

Readers interested in contemplating these important subjects for themselves should take some of the stimulus money that trickles down to them and contribute to the estates of not one, but two dead authors: Ayn Rand AND Joseph Heller. Just be prepared: “Catch 22” is a whole lot more entertaining.

And, unfortunately, a whole lot closer to The Truth.

Chafftez and Polis – My Personal Yin and Yang

(Rep. Chaffetz (left wing - ha ha!) and Polis (right wing - bwaaaa-haaa-haaa!!!)


Certainly the smart folks at CNN knew what they were doing when they chose two by-every-label polar opposite new Congressmen to feature in their “Freshman Year” series. They had no way of knowing they had selected the very yin and yang of my personal political existence.

Rep. Jason Chaffetz, conservative Republican of Utah’s 3rd District – ranked the most Republican Congressional district in America by the Cook Partisan Voting Index. Until recently, I lived within an NRA rifle shot of this district since its 1983 inception.

Rep. Jared Polis, liberal Democrat of Colorado’s 2nd District – the first openly gay male elected to the House as a freshman and a resident of the semi-autonomous People’s Republic of Boulder. Recently, I moved to this district. (Not to Boulder itself, mind you – I can’t afford that – but just over the border and down the well-maintained public open space jogging trail from it.)

In the less than three months they’ve had in office, I’ve been fortunate to strike up what could pass for a constituent relationship with each. Here are some observations:

Congressman Chaffetz: Actually got me two tickets to the inauguration! (My strategy for obtaining tickets was to write to every Congressman and Senator I had ever given a campaign donation, including Chaffetz’s predecessor. Each of them summarily snubbed me – so much for the influence wielded by political contributors. Then Rep. Chaffetz came through – even though I have never contributed a dime to him. Perhaps his predecessor left him a list. Perhaps I won a random drawing. I don’t want to know inasmuch as it is more fun to chalk it up to fate.)

Anyhoo, when we got to Washington, Rep. Chaffetz was delivering his tickets personally by coming outside the Longworth House Office Building into sub-freezing weather to spare his ticket recipients the hours-long security lines. He was already becoming a media darling for sleeping on a cot in his office and leg wrestling Stephen Colbert. Several weeks later, I attended a House subcommittee hearing on an issue important to a client and saw Rep. Chaffetz stay for the entire hearing. (Unheard of if you’re not the chairman.) He also worked the room, meeting every other Congressman, every witness, and even remembering who I was. The next week, I got a thank you note for sharing my views. This guy is the Energizer Bunny of Congress.

Congressman Polis: Won my vote in November for his sensible positions on education and his real world personal business experience. He also talks about “transpartisan politics and integral thought” and makes his staffers do yoga and eat vegan meals when they’re on retreat in Boulder. I like making up words, too, and getting people outside their comfort zones is almost always a good thing. And I experienced an actual pride moment when I was on hand for Rep. Polis’s introduction at the Out for Equality inaugural ball and I was able to say, “I voted for him.” (For a more colorful account of how I wound up there to say it, see the January 21, 2009, post on this blog.)

Yin and yang. I have voted for both Democrats and Republicans. When I lived in Utah, I was probably more liberal than average. Living in this particular part of Colorado, I’m probably more conservative than average. I disagree strongly with positions taken by both Congressmen Chaffetz and Polis. I respect both Congressmen greatly for the enthusiasm and dedication they are bringing to their new jobs. I hope they can keep it up.

And I hope they realize: There’s a lot of people out here just like me.

P.S. You can see the CNN Freshman Year feature here: http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2009/freshman.year/index.html It’s kind of fun and includes both written diaries from the Congressmen and some interesting video outtakes from the cameras CNN apparently has given them to carry around. Watch the video and you can see Rep. Chaffetz get his butt kicked for the FOURTH time leg wrestling Stephen Colbert and Rep. Polis obsess about blisters because he has to wear dress shoes all day now instead of the Crocs or Birkenstocks or whatever hideous footwear is mandatory in Boulder. Previous leg wrestling butt kick episodes can be found here: http://www.colbertnation.com/video?keywords=Chaffetz+leg+wrestling

Poetry from Old Ebbitt Grill

The guy behind me
Has said
"Sub-optimal"
Three times now
In three minutes
Or less
My G-d!
I fear
I am behind the cliche curve
Once again
I just got used to
Diving deep
And
Applying granularity
To my data
Tomorrow I shall tell
Of sub-optimality
And revel
In the irrelevant relevance
Of Today

New Cabinet Position Recommended

Memo to President Obama
Re: New Cabinet Position

Dear Mr. President,

Before you give your first address to a joint session of Congress tomorrow, may I recommend an action that could solve many of America’s problems today.

I recommend creation of a new federal department and appointment of a Secretary of Penance. This agency could establish enforceable standards for determining when groups and individuals have paid the price sufficiently to atone for real or imagined past offenses against other groups and individuals. This approach would provide a centralized resource for determining:

1. How long classes of people entering the United States seeking opportunity must suffer hardship before entering mainstream society and economic life. (This would ensure equity with previous generational waves of immigrant hardship. Standards may differentiate between legal and illegal immigrants. We may also wish to consider different standards for classes of immigrants who insist on continuing to talk, dress or smell funny.)

2. The size of unpaid tax bills or duration of undocumented nanny service acceptable for people entering government-paid service. (Once again, a sliding scale based on the importance of the position will likely be necessary. This will be a high priority function of the new Penance Department inasmuch as the conservative Institute for American Truth and Righteousness now estimates that 8 out of 10 Americans will be employed by the government by 2012.)

3. The length of time Americans are allowed to loathe specific professions. (Wall Street brokers and bankers are a current high priority for standards development. Mortgage brokers, IRS employees and TSA screening agents should also be addressed soon. Because this is a Democratic Congress and administration, however, class action lawyers and labor union bosses will be exempted from loathing.)

4. The length of time Americans are allowed to loathe specific technologies. (Fossil fuels are up here first, although development of the regulations may be slowed by regional power shortages. Attention should also be given to the proliferation of television remote controls, those Ziploc plastic bags where the zippers are hard to work, and "child proof" prescription bottles. Andy Rooney would be an ideal undersecretary for this Division of the Department.)

5. Steps necessary for celebrities to take after being charged with a crime. (This will likely be the most complex matrix to be developed by the new Department. Allowances must be made for both the type of crime -- substance abuse, prostitution, physical violence, indecent exposure, racist comments, etc. -- and the type of criminal -- for instance, is he or she really, really hot?)

Congress and the news media will resist this change, of course. Congress will see it as an infringement on its Constitutional duty to vent hypocritical outrage every day Congress is in session. (That's 32 days a year, according to the liberal Council of Whiners Wanting More Laws.) And the news media will fear having nothing left to print other than Climate Change induced weather and mass killings by deranged National Rifle Association members. This opposition will be overcome, however, when all parties realize the economic stimulus benefits of creating 123,000 new government jobs that journalists are ideally qualified to fill after their newspapers all go out of business.

America's Inauguration (Part 1 of 6)

Only three times did the much feared violence from overcrowding appear ready to burst forth.

First was the crazy looking white guy. Ensconced in the front row at the Bohemian Caverns and jealously protecting the empty seat to his right, only two possibilities existed. Either he was a delegate from an obscure white supremacist group hell-bent on making a statement at a landmark of American black culture (invisible six-foot-tall white rabbit at his side) or he was the victim of a cruel Craigslist joke. (“I know. Let’s send him up to U Street and make him listen to some withering acid jazz while I don’t show up.”)

Second was only a few hours later – 3:55 a.m. down the street at Ben’s Chili Bowl. The alcohol-fueled hour-long wait for an overcooked chili half-smoke and plate of cheese fries fueled the tension. Note to restaurant owners everywhere: Locking the front door doesn’t just keep people out; it keeps people IN.

Finally, the Surge of the Silver Ticket Holders. A gate was opened or a fence was beaten down. Who could tell? And after hours of creeping forward in sub-freezing temperatures, the masses stampeded into the empty space at the foot of the Capitol’s reflecting pool just moments before He mounted the distant pedestal.

He – who they all came to see.

He – who they all came to hear.

He – who represented the fulfillment of dreams for so many present.

He – whose name was repeatedly, reverently, rhythmically chanted by gatherings of acolytes and admirers, taxi drivers and T-shirt sellers:

O – Ba – Ma!

America's Inauguration (Part 2 of 6)

Frequently reported sterile statistics gave scope to the event. 1,544,000 riders on the Metro subway system on a single day. 1,800,000+ spectators packed onto the National Mall. 130 tons of plastic water bottles, foam coffee cups and little American flags on sticks swept up in the middle of the night after what some hoped would be a “Litter Free Inauguration.”

One of the ubiquitous sidewalk vendors of Obamabilia said it more colorfully: “Hurry up folks! Two million people, only 1.5 million T-shirts! Limited edition! Get ‘em while they last!”

The apotheosis of O-Ba-Ma was part clever showmanship, part chaotic mosh pit, and all bane of headline writers struggling to avoid cliché. Historic. Hope-filled. Record-breaking. Uniquely American. The party started days in advance of the actual swearing in. Organizers pledged superlative after superlative: Biggest, greenest, most inclusive, most star-studded. By and large, they succeeded.

Thematically, the Keep Hope Alive architects of the most effective political campaign since Reagan’s Morning in America wasted no time dialing it up a notch. “Yes We Can” gave way to “Yes We Did” only briefly. The stakes were quickly raised to the iconic. Obamamania became suffused with Lincolnaphilia. A whistlestop train tour down the East Coast duplicated the one taken by Honest Abe prior to his inauguration. A concert was staged on the steps of the Great Emancipator’s shrine. Obama’s hand was placed on the same Bible used in Lincoln’s swearing in. The inaugural address emphasized dark and difficult days ahead.

But whereas Lincoln may have been perceived as an unlikely preserver of the Union and liberator of slaves on the day of his ascendance, Obama was greeted with no such skepticism by the millions gathered to see him on January 20, 2009. Another superlative: Perhaps never has a president assumed office with such astronomical expectations laid upon him. The electors of O-Ba-Ma were ready and waiting for their respective emancipations. They were ready for them right now.

Forgive this writer his Manichaean outlook. He was just a Caucasian boy from America’s Great White West on a journey to Our Nation’s Capital for the inauguration of Our First Black President. This writer had been to Washington many times before as a small tooth on a minor cog in the machinery of Republican hegemony. His Republican friends in Washington, for the most part, had the decency and good sense to evacuate the capital during the main event. His Republican friends back home, for the most part, confined themselves to buying more guns and re-reading scriptures pertaining to the Apocalypse.

This writer’s traveling companion, on the other hand, was a different product of the West. She was also white, but a non-homogenized manifestation of the melting pot. She was a Christian who practiced her Jewish heritage. She had bi-racial children and two decades of experience raising them in a cradle of white suburbia. She voted for Reagan and both Bushes, but had blue signs on every side of her corner lot from the latest winning campaign’s inception. She was fond of pointing out that Obama was not destined to be our first black president, but that he would be the first bi-racial one.

Arriving in the District of Columbia this time, they instantly noticed what was different: A veritable sea of brown faces. Or, rather, a sea of brown faces with smiles. So they plunged in. They shunned the traditional regional balls and familiar venues from Bush years lobbying. They migrated from K Street to U. They signed up for events promoted by the “Hip Hop Caucus” and confederations of gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transgendered and other nominally enfranchised peoples. They sought an answer to the question: How does change taste?

America's Inauguration (Part 3 of 6)

Two enormous mugshot-like photographs stared across the south lawn of the White House from the façade of the Corcoran gallery. Reagan and Obama. White and black bookends to a contemporary middle-aged life. Inside, the Avedon exhibit began with images from the tumultuous 1960s and marched through a stunning five decade parade of American diversity. Visitors to the exhibit could not escape feeling that they were somehow about to witness a climax of that procession.

Celebrities of all stripes were determined to be at ground zero and the hoi polloi responded. Cottage industries sprang up around star sightings and speculation about WWOB (Where Will Oprah Be?)

A measly few hundred thousand folks showed up at the Lincoln Memorial the Sunday before the inauguration for a concert featuring A list musical performances of all genres interspersed by inspirational readings from mostly A list actors and, somewhat strangely, comedians. (“George Lopez?” gasped some in the masses assembled far back in the shadow of the Washington Monument. Was that the highest ranking Latino to be found? And what was with selection of that noted patriot Jack Black?)

People of all ages, shapes and colors swayed back and forth in the cold as they sang along to the likes of Garth Brooks and Stevie Wonder projected on the giant screen video monitors scattered across the National Mall. The biggest reactions were saved for the occasional shot of Obama himself seated in the front row, head bobbing to the vibe. The mounting spirit of conviviality was so strong that when Bono – the only performer to stray from what was clearly a carefully choreographed script – uttered something brief about injustice and Palestinians, the crowd reaction was a collective sigh as if to say: “What? Are you trying to spoil the party?”

Even that most ubiquitous of species – the Washington DC protestor – was in short supply. A small band with a sign warning “baby killing women, porno freaks, sports nuts, drunks, homos, Jesus mockers, and Mormons” that judgment is coming was overwhelmingly reviled by the passing masses

Indeed, good will quickly became the norm. Lines and inconveniences that would ordinarily incite road rage were largely greeted with good humor by visitors who appeared just happy to be there for something like this. There was one exception: Any mention of the word “Bush” was nearly certain to elicit displays of visceral partisanship. It would appear that the new politics of inclusion were not quite ready to include authors of the politics of division that preceded them. As the former president’s helicopter lifted off from the Capitol building after the inauguration, some of the salutes offered by the dispersing throng were not suitable for a family newspaper.

America's Inauguration (Part 4 of 6)

Nowhere would the spirit of fellowship be tested more than at the inauguration ceremony itself. Here the crowds were largest, the stakes highest, and the logistics most impossible.

The ordeal began the day before the inauguration when color-coded tickets were disbursed by the Members of Congress in control of them. Each U.S. representative got 198 tickets and each U.S. senator got 393. Do the math. That’s over 125,000, or, in practical terms, enough to wrap lines of people around all of the House and Senate office buildings waiting to endure metal detector logjams. As the minutes before closing time ticked away and the line lengths remained unchanged, enterprising members of Congress emerged onto the chilly streets and searched for marooned constituents. “Anyone here from Memphis?” shouted one Congressman as he paced the line around the Longworth Building.

It was a scaled-down sneak preview of the mayhem that ensued the next morning. With bridges into the District closed to vehicle traffic, parking lots at suburban Metro stations filled at 6:00 a.m. Metro trains riders did their best imitations of Tokyo commuters. Metro trips that ordinarily require 30 minutes took two hours and trains frequently were forced to move through stations without stopping because of crowded conditions on the platforms.

Emerging from the Metro station at Capitol South still hours before the inauguration ceremony, rivers of people were flowing in every direction. Like getting elected president, getting to your ticketed space at the inauguration ceremony required equal parts ambition, luck and occasional lightning fast cutthroat decisions. We narrowly avoided the fate of thousands of purple ticket holders who lemming-like plunged into the I-395 tunnel – aka the “Purple Tunnel of Doom.” (They were warmer down there, but missed the ceremony entirely.) We also unexpectedly profited from the sudden emergence of a minor motorcade as several black Chevy Suburbans parted the crowds and allowed us to bogart a better position in the silver ticket throng mashed into Third Street.

But restlessness mounted as the freezing throng inched closer to the Mall as minutes to the ceremony raced ahead. A few chilled souls, mainly those carting small children, tried to bail out. But getting back out was no simpler proposition than getting in. It was gridlock.

Just minutes before the ceremony was to begin, the silver ticket line surged forward. Unbelievably, a wide expanse of open space surrounding the Capitol’s reflecting pool remained unoccupied. Officers struggled to head off the stampede. One woman in a wheelchair was pinned against a concrete barrier. But the panic soon passed, the space filled, conviviality returned and O-Ba-Ma became president.

America's Inauguration (Part 5 of 6)

The response to the president’s first speech as president posed a new Zen question: What is the sound of 3.6 million heavily gloved hands clapping? Maybe dogs could hear it.

Let’s face it: 1.8 million people cover a lot of territory, which means all of those crowd photos by all of those pilgrims can each only hold about as many people as you’ll see at a mediocre high school football game. With no stadium walls to concentrate the cheers, the crowd’s response to the president was probably best heard from somewhere in space.

President Obama gave a fine speech, of course – a solid 7.8 on the Obama Speechifying Scale. But the sheer size of the congregation, combined with the sub-zero temperatures and multi-hour commutes, actually worked against any monumental demonstrations of fervor. Chanting was sporadic, localized and short-lived. No one started a wave. Most people clearly felt they’d done their part just by Being There. And as soon as the president stopped speaking, the people began to disperse.

Which is a shame, because the best part was saved for last. Public prayers are often sterile things. The inauguration’s invocation, for instance, was a tortured attempt at ecumenism by mega-pastor Rick Warren. But the benediction was sublime. Dr. Joseph Lowery, who marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., spoke in a voice that was comfortably conversational – seemingly at peace with himself and G-d. He made no concessions to political correctness or pomp and circumstance. His good natured plea for “white (to) embrace what is right” later incited the gun stockpilers back home to begin sentences with ridiculous phrases like, “I’ve never been racist but…” and I don’t think Dr. Lowery cared. Nor should he. It was a marvelous prayer that had even the most uptight downright do-right stiff upper lip Protestants joining in the choruses of “Amen” in the end. Here it is, in its entirety:

“God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, thou who has brought us thus far along the way, thou who has by thy might led us into the light, keep us forever in the path, we pray, lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met thee, lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget thee. Shadowed beneath thy hand may we forever stand -- true to thee, O God, and true to our native land.

“We truly give thanks for the glorious experience we've shared this day. We pray now, O Lord, for your blessing upon thy servant, Barack Obama, the 44th president of these United States, his family and his administration. He has come to this high office at a low moment in the national and, indeed, the global fiscal climate. But because we know you got the whole world in your hand, we pray for not only our nation, but for the community of nations. Our faith does not shrink, though pressed by the flood of mortal ills.

“For we know that, Lord, you're able and you're willing to work through faithful leadership to restore stability, mend our brokenness, heal our wounds and deliver us from the exploitation of the poor or the least of these and from favoritism toward the rich, the elite of these.

“We thank you for the empowering of thy servant, our 44th president, to inspire our nation to believe that, yes, we can work together to achieve a more perfect union. And while we have sown the seeds of greed -- the wind of greed and corruption, and even as we reap the whirlwind of social and economic disruption, we seek forgiveness and we come in a spirit of unity and solidarity to commit our support to our president by our willingness to make sacrifices, to respect your creation, to turn to each other and not on each other.

“And now, Lord, in the complex arena of human relations, help us to make choices on the side of love, not hate; on the side of inclusion, not exclusion; tolerance, not intolerance.

“And as we leave this mountaintop, help us to hold on to the spirit of fellowship and the oneness of our family. Let us take that power back to our homes, our workplaces, our churches, our temples, our mosques, or wherever we seek your will.

“Bless President Barack, First Lady Michelle. Look over our little, angelic Sasha and Malia.

“We go now to walk together, children, pledging that we won't get weary in the difficult days ahead. We know you will not leave us alone, with your hands of power and your heart of love.

“Help us then, now, Lord, to work for that day when nation shall not lift up sword against nation, when tanks will be beaten into tractors, when every man and every woman shall sit under his or her own vine and fig tree, and none shall be afraid; when justice will roll down like waters and righteousness as a mighty stream.

“Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- (laughter) -- when yellow will be mellow -- (laughter) -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- (laughter) -- and when white will embrace what is right.

“Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen.”

AUDIENCE (tentatively): Amen!

REV. LOWERY: “Say amen –“

AUDIENCE (louder): Amen!

REV. LOWERY: “-- and amen.”

AUDIENCE (louder and smiling): Amen! (Cheers, applause.)

America's Inauguration (Part 6 of 6)

But what about those inaugural events? What about sampling the taste of change?

The parties began days before the inauguration itself. First came a night of club crawling on U Street – a neighborhood that’s seen good times, then bad, and now is seeing good times again. The Bohemian Caverns – a basement performance space (yes, it looks like a cave) with links to Duke Ellington, Billy Holiday, Sarah Vaughn and many more was shivering with acid jazz sax and some trepidation about scary guy in the front row. (Sighs, chuckles and smiles all around when he finally disappeared up the stairs.) Then on to a café with Caribbean food and a fine Latin band. Then on to a far hipper night spot – as evidenced by the barmaids who look stylish while utterly refusing to smile. Then on to Ben’s – an icon of a hot dog stand that stood in the same spot all through the good and bad and good times again. O-Ba-Ma had paid his respects there just a few days before. The street was still clogged with people at 4:30 a.m. Note to travelers: The only way to get taxis to stop for you in this situation is to look like you have more money than the rest of the mob.

Another evening found us enjoying the ambiance of Margaret Ann’s bar in the rear of Old Ebbitt Grill. There, we met Damica and her four closest girlfriends out for more drinks after the Wizards game. There was some taunting of a Wizards player unfortunate enough to appear in the next dining room. There was sharing of Georgetown shopping tips. There was – something else, but it’s getting harder to remember…

Then there was the American Scholars Ball – a formal tuxedo and fur coat-clad event sponsored by the Hip Hop Caucus and honoring outstanding black scholars. Held at the Ritz Carlton, the attendees were dressed in fabulous attire and beautiful to see. It was a helpful learning experience to round out the week. It turns out that black people can be boring, too.

Gay people it would appear, cannot. Following the inauguration ceremony, strings were pulled and favors called in to secure a cubbyhole office in the Methodist Building on Capitol Hill – the same building from which Dr. King used a cubbyhole office to plan the March on Washington. Our goals were slightly less noble: We planned to change into a tux and sparkly St. John dress and march over to the Mayflower Hotel for the “Out for Equality” inaugural ball.

Since the history of buildings appears to be relevant to this story, it should be pointed out that the Mayflower Hotel is where J. Edgar Hoover ate lunch for 20 years, where Harry Truman lived for the first 90 days of his presidential term, where in Room 776 Franklin D. Roosevelt dictated the words “We have nothing to fear but fear itself,” and where upstairs in Room 871 Eliot Spitzer conducted an assignation that led to his resignation as Governor of New York. We were there for the Best. Party. Ever.

Stunning décor? Check. Scrumptious food? Check. A packed house filled with beautiful people who also smell good? Check. And the entertainment? Forgive me while I rave. Dave Koz, Rufus Wainwright, Thelma Houston, Melissa Etheridge, Cyndi Lauper – all performing like this was a day that meant something to them.

In between having a wonderful time, two insights surfaced for me – a guy who grew up in the most Republican of states and continues to work in the most Republican of industries. The first occurred when newly elected Congressman Jared Polis took the stage to speak. Congressman Polis is the first openly gay man elected to the U.S. House of Representatives as a freshman. I turned to the people next to me and said, “That’s my Congressman. I voted for him.” Instant street cred, yes, but it was much more than that. Suddenly I felt connected to something broader – something about acceptance and love and, dare we go there, change. Hope even.

Then Ms. Lauper sung her old standard. I recalled when it came out in 1986 and how I thought it was a pleasant enough song. But it took until this moment, surrounded by rainbow-themed decorations, surrounded by people different from me in some ways but the same in most, that the parable became clear.

Whatever colors you are: “Don't be afraid to let them show. Your true colors… are beautiful.”