I don't know if there is much that I can say about last night that won't have been already spoken.
I joked around on the phone with an American friend that the little election pizza, beer and CNN party was merely us being "just another group of opinionated Canadians". However, despite the fact that this is not my election, I will be damned if I didn't feel a swell of pride as Barack Obama stood before a crowd, uttering the words "Yes we can" with utter conviction. People had real hope in their eyes again.
I'm sure we all heard the cliche that tonight, history was made. However, I received an email from a Black friend today that really drove this home-- he said that he woke up this morning, and the thought that there may actually be an African-American president made him want to cry, as ten years ago, he would have never expected this to even be a possibility in his lifetime. How phenomenal for this to have been proven wrong.
(I also learned today that my mega-crush, Jon Stewart, has hairier knuckles than expected. I would just make him wear gloves.)
Rather than belabour the point any further (and, as I write this, I am still anxiously awaiting the results of Proposition 8, the results of which may diminish some of rose colours on my glasses), I will direct you to a delightfully non-political and comical post I wrote over in the land of Libby of In This Skin about why your job is nowhere near as horrible as my first (fast-food) job. It has tales of grease, polyester and maltreatment. You know you want to click.