The Unbearable Lightness of Connection: Face to Face with Facebook

In an effort to remind us that we are writers, as well as readers and teachers, my department head, Paul, asked English Department members to write something, no more than a page in length, that speaks to our role as teachers. Plagued for weeks by the paralysis of integrity--please God, let me write something halfway decent!--I finally came up with the essay below, slightly edited for public consumption. Reading over it, I'm reminded that I've never been particularly good at just answering the question directly.

A few weeks back, I joined Facebook, the ubiquitous social networking site, as an experiment. “So what’s the big deal?” I wondered. Why do students--and full-grown adults--spend hours tricking out spaces and festooning the Ether with their glamorous profiles? Why fritter away time “poking” people, playing Twirl, or taking quizzes to discover what kind of Asian you are or whether you’re smarter than Paris Hilton (and what does it say about you if you need to take a quiz to find out)? Why send virtual snowmen, ZipPacs, morel mushrooms, or good karma to 1,001 buddies? Why broadcast banal, quotidian details to the world? And with just a few extra mouse clicks, how ‘bout saving endangered animals, the rainforest, or greening your vino while you’re at it? Logging on, I am blizzarded by people’s photographic flurries of selves, kids, and significant others, baby announcements, romantic fallout, spontaneous declarations, sexual orientations, political affiliations, and house renovations. Thanks to Facebook, I know that Sheryl enjoys “So You Think You Can Dance” and Truffaut; that Candace kissed Barack Obama; that Liz is “astounded by this modern world of friendship; will she be able to get back to work?” (Liz: ain’t gonna happen, ‘cause Anita’s your guide into the abyss!), and that some Hogwarts ‘88ers still toast with “Oh, L’Amour” champagne flutes (as opposed to my own prom memorabilia, which’d been unceremoniously crated and deep-sixed at the Tank, après-graduation). Then there’s Wild West photo tagging--wasn’t there a “Do Not Resuscitate” sign on my bespectacled, gangly seventh grade self? Not to mention that rather torrid discussion on the ’88 class page about the “hotest” (ay, ay, ay: so much for a quality Hogwarts English education!) Hogwarts faculty member. Who could forget Mrs. Rouser, my freshman Algebra teacher and Fiero-speedster: she of the high-teased hair, black leather miniskirt, and electric blue mascara--gotta love the 80s!--and the day she staggered on her hot-pink, 4-inch stilettos while chalking variable equations and plummeted onto the tiled Bingham floor, like an ungainly exotic bird? Indeed, we are slaves to fashion, nostalgia, and our evolving public identities.

Early on in my experiment, my cousin Ralph commented, “If you haven't already gotten the intricacies of Facebook, you'll soon find you can learn a lot by not doing much at all.” He certainly got that right. And as my illustrious colleague, Jack, confided, there’s a certain voyeuristic pleasure in uncovering what students are really up to. Web 2.0 espionage, here we come! For many, Facebook also provides a notorious haven from homework, a den of scurrilous gossip, and a refuge from responsibility, though there’s genuine pleasure in reestablishing contact with long-lost amici. In my Inbox: messages from a ballet sister I’ve not laid eyes on for 20 years, a classmate turned high-profile lawyer/occasional Cambridge coffeehouse chanteuse, and an activist friend who’s officiating same-sex marriages with his recently-minted divinity degree. Friends: souvenirs of a life.

But arguably, the true attraction of Facebook is that you can literally construct and reconstruct your ideal self: the face you show the world. The site allows you to write your identity; weigh your worth, gauging popularity by friends and virtual tchotchkes acquired; and shamelessly brag in a socially-legitimate way-- like a post-modern holiday letter--and get comments besides! And by posting playlists, photo albums, booklists, causes, links, and sundry artifacts of your persona, you establish a fossil record that asserts your being. Yes, I exist. Yes, I matter. Yes, my thoughts have significance.

On a superficial level, Facebook provides community and connectedness—instantaneously, I’m apprised of my colleagues’, friends’, and students’ comings and goings. And sure, it’s beautiful to find unexpected well-wishes scrawled on my Wall and see loved ones waving at me from distant shores, from Escazu to Stockholm, Maine to Manhattan. That virtual sushi’s not half-bad, either. But ironically, Facebook leaves me hungry for the genuine, the real, the substantial: Eliza’s lush bouquet of spicy homegrown basil; a leisurely lunch with good company and conversation; the coos of Ligaya’s baby; the taste of Everett’s freshly-baked pumpkin bread, still warm from the oven; Charla’s daughter squishing strawberry guavas with Ella on Wa`ahila Ridge Trail: a second generation of friends; Richard and Martine arguing the merits of utilitarianism; Shyrl considering the art of absence, en français, no less; Kai’s illuminating smile; and the resonant strains of Dvorak as Hunter bends over his cello. Truly, it is not through digital means, but by living and savoring the here and now, and yes, by teaching and learning, that we affirm our irreplaceable, measureless, unseverable bond.

Obama Surfs Into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

In a historic election yesterday, Barack Obama clinched the United States Presidential race, becoming the first African-American, Punahou graduate, Hawaii-born, not to mention hapa-haole, bodysurfing, slippah-wearing, plate-lunch devouring president-elect. His inspiring victory speech shows that Obama, like his 19th century predecessor from Illinois, is an astute student of rhetoric and literature. Rich with anaphora, alliteration epistrophe, and antithesis, Obama's words echo Walt Whitman's patriotic optimism and contain allusions to the Great Emancipator's Gettysburg Address, Martin Luther King Jr's 8/23/63 Lincoln Memorial Speech (a.k.a. I Have A Dream) and April 3, 1968 "I've Been to the Mountaintop" speeches. There's something reminiscent of Shakespeare's Henry V's "St. Crispian's Day Speech" in it, as well, and as always, Obama's omnipresent tropes of the "American Dream" and Winthrop's "City on a Hill".

Below is a video of the speech, courtesy MSNBC.com followed by the prepared text of Barack Obama's victory speech, delivered in Chicago, on November 4, 2008. It comes courtesy of National Public Radio.
URL: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=96624326

NPR.org, November 5, 2008 ·

In these prepared remarks provided by his campaign, President-Elect Barack Obama calls himself the unlikeliest presidential candidate. He thanks many members of his campaign, along with his enormous army of volunteers, and he warns supporters about what he calls the enormity of the tasks at hand that now face the U.S. He concludes by telling an anecdote about a 106-year-old African-American voter from Atlanta.


If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled — Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of red states and blue states; we are, and always will be, the United States of America.

It's the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.

I just received a very gracious call from Sen. McCain. He fought long and hard in this campaign, and he's fought even longer and harder for the country he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him and Gov. Palin for all they have achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead.

I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on that train home to Delaware, the vice-president-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.

I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last 16 years, the rock of our family and the love of my life, our nation's next first lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House. And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.

To my campaign manager, David Plouffe; my chief strategist, David Axelrod; and the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics — you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done.

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to — it belongs to you.

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington — it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.

It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give $5 and $10 and $20 to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this earth. This is your victory.

I know you didn't do this just to win an election, and I know you didn't do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime — two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor's bills, or save enough for college. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year, or even one term, but America — I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you: We as a people will get there.

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as president, and we know that government can't solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And, above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it's been done in America for 221 years — block by block, brick by brick, callused hand by callused hand.

What began 21 months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek — it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you.

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers. In this country, we rise or fall as one nation — as one people.

Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House — a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress.

As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends... Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection." And, to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your president, too.

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world — our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down: We will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security: We support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright: Tonight, we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope.

For that is the true genius of America — that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election, except for one thing: Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons — because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America — the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes, we can.

At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes, we can.

When there was despair in the Dust Bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes, we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes, we can.

She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes, we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes, we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves: If our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time — to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.

Thank you, God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America.

Barbara Kingsolver, _Animal, Vegetable, Miracle_

This book documents a grand, year-long experiment: novelist/essayist Kingsolver and her family endeavor to become as self-sustaining as possible, raising their own food and eating locally. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, however, on a deeper level, is no mere Slow Food treatise, but about the family's search to forge greater connection to the earth and discover a true sense of place. Kingsolver's style is by turns, chatty, impassioned, and humorous, although a fellow English Department colleague and I both felt the book was arguably marred by self-righteousness. While Animal, Vegetable, Miracle makes an excellent companion volume to Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, it lacks Omnivore's narrative cohesion, due to its joint authorship. Kingsolver's husband, scientist and professor, Steven Hopp, contributes factual sidebar information detailing key issues in the text, e.g. CAFOs (confined animal feeding operations), the merits of organic vs. industrial farming, and genetic diversity, while Kingsolver's daughter, Camille, provides a collegiate perspective on the family experiment, along with several recipes. While the multiple authorship sometimes results in a disjointed meshing of styles, it doesn't diminish the many wonderful moments in this book, including the family vainly trying to stem their summer zucchini infestation (chocolate chip zucchini cookies, anyone?); the younger daughter, Lily, becoming a proud organic chicken/egg entrepreneur; mother and daughter witnessing the miracle of birth, as the first of their turkey flock enters the world. All in all, a good read, and a definite recommendation for Kingsolver's fans.

Emancipate those books!

Recently, our washing machine's motherboard conked out, so M. and I have been visiting the Manoa Laundry, something we've not done for the past four years. While we were dismayed to find the laundromat sadly decrepit and a shadow of its former clean, well-lighted self, its rolling carts grimy and stripped of their laundry hangers and several of the washers and dryers broken, I chanced upon a serendipitous discovery: a cache of books, Post-its waving like banners from the covers. Emblazoned on them was the following message: "I'm free! I'm not lost. Please pick me up, read me, and help me with my journey."

Inside, I found a bookmark that directed me to the Book Crossing website. Apparently, the site has existed since April 2001. It's an old-fashioned idea--recycling books that one no longer wants--with a digital age, social-networking twist. The wonderfully sustainable premise of Book Crossing: to spread and share literary "wealth" by releasing books for free into the wild. Book emancipators register books on the website, and each book receives a unique Book Crossing ID number. Once you find a book, you have the option of contributing to an on-line journal that tracks the journey of that book, and follow the progress of the text, post-release. Very cool.

To quote Sting, "Free, free, set them free..."

Michael Pollan, _The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals_

After languishing three weeks on the Hawaii State Public Library request list, I finally obtained a copy of Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals It was well worth the wait, as this is an excellent read: easily the most provocative, well-written book I've read in a long spell: informative, investigative journalism, written with panache and wit. The four meals referenced in the title represent four different pathways by which food reaches our tables: industrial-conventional, industrial organic, small-scale farming, and the old-fashioned hunter-gatherer foraging method. I savored every page, from Pollan's wry detailing of his family's McDonalds meal, consumed in typical American-millenial style--in the car, to his experience decapitating chickens, to his stalking of chanterelle mushrooms in the urban environs of Berkeley. Pollan helps us traverse the complex minefield of modern food by asking thoughtful, critical questions about what we choose to consume and the costs of those choices.

Those desiring to read even more of Michael Pollan's work can find a wonderful cache of on-line essays at http://www.michaelpollan.com/.

Sarah McFarland Taylor, _Green Sisters_

Taylor, an assistant professor of religion at Northwestern University, writes an ethnography detailing the intersection of American Catholicism, eco-consciousness, and environmental activism.

Diana Abu-Jaber's _Crescent_

Initially, I confess that after the first few chapters, I was ready to write Diana Abu-Jaber's 2003 novel, Crescent, off as pleasant, albeit gossamer-light, frothy "chick lit": a formulaic plotline, where an attractive, talented, but jaded and lovelorn chef finds amour at first sight with a dark, handsome, literary guy with a mysterious past, and they live happily ever after.

However, I'm happy to report that as it progressed, the novel grew on me and revealed a lot more complexity than was apparent at first inspection. A text rich with allusions, the title Crescent captures the three intersecting worlds of the book: the romantic, the political, and the culinary.

A crescent moon, literally, is a lunar phase: a new moon that is waxing. As a metaphor, it represents a fresh start in life, perhaps even a budding romance, as in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, where the Amazon queen Hippolyta affirms to her beloved, Theseus, that "the moon, like to a silver bow/New-bent in heaven, shall behold/The night of our solemnities." In Shakespeare, the moon bears witness to Hippolyta's and Theseus' wedding and heralds their deepening affection for each other. In this novel, Sirine, the 39-year-old protagonist, hovers on the cusp of middle age. Single and unattached, sought after by many of her cafe customers, yet curiously aloof, she finds love unexpectedly with Hanif Al Eyad,or "Han", Iraqi intellectual and newly-hired linguistics professor in the Near Eastern Studies department at UCLA.

The crescent also has political and religious implications. In conjunction with a star, it is a symbol associated with Islam and Arab countries, and discovering one's Arab identity is a recurring thread throughout the novel. Hanif also bears a crescent-shaped scar by his eye, a remnant of political persecution under the reign of Saddam Hussein. However, before its connection with Islam, the crescent moon was a symbol of Diana/Artemis, the goddess of chastity, and thus it also could connect to Sirine's solitude.

Finally, the crescent moon also has culinary connections, as it shares its shape with gh'rayba, shortbread cookies infused with orange-flower water. Apparently, Abu-Jaber also is a food writer; no surprise then, that the spicing and textures of food are sensuously and lavishly rendered. Food serves as a metaphor for Arab identity and culture, yet as with Proust, it also serves as a trigger for memory. Readers will undoubtedly also find linkages with the film Chocolat , with its pretty confectioner who infuses love into her candies, and Laura Esquivel's magical-realist Como Agua Para Chocolate , where food absorbs the emotions of its makers. In fact, not only does Crescent's format echo Esquivel's novel: both are narratives followed by a cookbook chaser, but Abu-Jaber also gives a sly nod to Esquivel, as Sirine receives an unnamed book as a bridesmaid's present, "about a woman who cried into her cooking and infected her guests with her emotions".

While reading, I also noted several similarities between
Crescent and Shakespeare's Othello . Both works explore themes of exile and straddling cultures, and without disclosing too many "spoilers" for the novel, Crescent, like Othello, also has jealousy, betrayal, a misplaced love token, and has a character, Nathan, who obsessively records every small detail of Hanif and Sirine's relationship, echoing the way that Iago enviously marks the love between Othello and Desdemona.

In regard the book's architectural structure, Abu-Jaber interweaves two narratives, one real, the other fantastical. The fantastical strand, reminiscent of the tales in Scherherazade and the 1001 Nights, features Abdelrahman Salahadin, an ancestor of Sirine's paternal uncle, a Near Eastern scholar, translator, and storyteller. The magical-realist episodes, which begin every chapter of Crescent, chart the adventures of the nomadic, wayward Salahadin, as he travels the world and eventually lands in Hollywood, assuming a new identity as Omar Sharif (yes, I'm serious; you'll have to read to find out how...) While the Salahadin stories seem a bit disconnected at first from the romantic narrative of Hanif and Sirine--there's arguable abruptness created in the narrative, due to the lack of transition between the fantastical and the real--astute readers will discover that the two strands not only parallel each other, but also echo Homer's The Odyssey . No accident that Sirine's uncle describes Hanif as "a hero. Like Ulysses" (18)? Sirine's name, too, sounds like the fabled "Sirens", the women that almost fatally lured Ulysses to his death; yet in this case, the parallel is purely a playful one on Abu-Jaber's part.

So, in sum: Crescent provides excellent summer reading: perfect beach fare with its sensuous lyricism and romance, yet just enough political and literary substance to assuage any guilty pangs.

Reflecting on Technology, Learning, and Education

Yesterday, our English Department had a student guest presenter, a Hogwarts junior, who talked about her experience using various technology tools--blogs, Twitter, podcasting, videoSkyping--and how technology has transformed her learning.

While there were arguably rough moments in terms of her presentation, I admired the student's desire to share her experiences with us (a gutsy move!) and felt her genuine enthusiasm and passion for her projects. In addition, she underscored several important points re: the intersection of writing, learning, and technology, and to her credit, did so more articulately than a few paid adult educational technology consultants I've seen. The salient threads:

1. Writing becomes more meaningful when it is purpose-driven and
generated from one's passions: if teachers can discover and foster
those passions in their students, the caliber of work will increase.

2. It is vital for humans to build a sense of community and converse
with kindred spirits; technology helps to transcend the borders of
geographic distance and time and broadens one's audience.

3. Sometimes the best education comes from our self-directed projects;
it's important for us to find personal meaning, outside of extrinsic
motivators (the A, the accolades, etc) in what we do.

4. While we should uphold standards for student work, our teaching--and
our own learning/professional growth--is enhanced when we provide
flexibility and creativity in how students demonstrate their learning
and meet those standards. There's more than one way to exhibit
excellence. While technology opens rich possibilities for both
research and expression, strong foundational skills in reading,
writing, and speaking remain essential. In fact, they are crucial, now that communication venues and media have increased exponentially, making publishing instant and easily accessible.

As a speech teacher, I was also reminded of the continuing importance of
oral, versus. virtual, presentation and the discussion our department had when
we first considered the junior/senior Speech course some years back: that students
can be so amazingly articulate and cogent in print, yet oral persuasion--and sparring/fielding impromptu questions with intelligent adults!--presents a different set of challenges that often thwarts the best of us.

So here's to straddling both worlds, techie and oratorical, and to upholding the cause of joyful, real learning.

Wild About Worms

In case you've been wondering why there's been such a paucity of posts on "Muse of Fire", it's because I've been shifting energies to "Earth Dragon", a blog documenting my Wodehouse Sustainability Grant from Hogwarts Academy. Check it out.

Baracking the Vote: The 2008 Hawaii Democratic Caucus

On Tuesday, February 19, my toddler and I attended our first caucus. Although I've voted in every single election since I turned 18, bucking Hawaii's trend of low voter participation, I've never bothered attending a caucus. Perhaps it's because I shy away from pigeon-holing myself as a card-carrying anything, preferring the freedom of voting case-by case, rather than according to Party loyalty. However, my caucus apathy also stems from the fact that the presidential nominee already is a "done deal" before Hawaii even commits its delegates.

This year, Hawaii had a chance to shape political outcomes, as the Democratic presidential race between Barack Obama (Punahou '79) and Hillary Clinton (Wellesley '69) has been particularly competitive. The popular voice, for once, could sway the course of events, shifting much-needed delegates to either nominee: how could we pass up the opportunity to voice our opinion? As I told my toddler, "If you don't make your choices, someone else will make them for you."

And so we drove into Palolo Elementary School's driveway at the stroke of 6:30 p.m., when District 20's site opened up for registration. In our possession: a completed blue Democratic Party registration card. We arrived just in time to snag the last space in a schoolyard quadruple-parked with cars, end to end. The school swarmed with people, queuing for WikiWiki Voter Registration forms and blue Party cards. Squeezing our way through the teeming masses, we made our way to the registration table, where a volunteer received my registration card, checked my ID against a list of registered voters, and waved me to a table marked Precinct 1. For the second time that night, we slid into the last possible space.

Seconds later, the cafeteria became standing-room only. Energy electrified the room, cafeteria benches protesting the weight of adults squeezed side by side, excited conversation punctuated by panicked cries for more registration cards, forms, and voter sign-in sheets, and frantic queries to find one's precinct. In other words, absolute chaos.

About ten minutes after we'd sat down, our precinct official ushered the whole lot of us, three tables worth, into the schoolyard, as apparently the Party'd not anticipated the massive overflow of people, and needed to clear space at the front. No room at the inn! As we passed the monkey bars, the toddler queried, "Mama, why are they sending us to the playground? I thought we were going to the Democratic Caucus." Out of the mouths of babes!

Our official whisked us to the covered basketball court and informed us that we'd have to wait there until 7 p.m. "And we've run out of ballots", he said, "so you can just write the name of your preferred candidate on a sheet of paper, if you have one. I'll come back at 7, and then you can vote, and either leave or stick around for the Party meeting...Have you all signed in?" "Huh? What sign-in?", we collectively responded, and our Senator, Les Ihara, scuttled off in search of sign-in sheets...

So there we were, a motely, working-class mix: patrician, lavender-coiffed Japanese ladies in their eighties rubbing elbows with the Rasta dreadlock guy practicing skateboard tricks, 100th Battalion veterans, middle-aged men clad in well-worn zoris and their best shorts, and a posse of activists sporting Obama t-shirts. Students on laptops sprawled on the asphalt floor, while professionals checked email on their Blackberries, to the live slack-key strains of a guitarist playing "Island Style" in the corner. My toddler, the youngest one there, coolly absorbed the collective insanity. One man smiled at us, and tilted his chin in her direction: "Ey, anyone check this one's ID?" Everyone laughed. Then, in the absence of any organization, our neighborhood galvanized in fine grassroots style. "Anyone get peppah?" someone called out, and a lady riffled through her handbag, triumphantly brandishing a pad of paper pilfered from the Las Vegas Fremont Hotel: "Get! Ho, I was feeling so bad fo' taking this, but lucky, yeah? Comes in handy..." So we mingled, laughed, and conversed, ripping our papers to share with our neighbors, passing around pens, and generally had a great time. Neighbors took it upon themselves to make sure that everyone had signed in and that newcomers were apprised of the procedure. When our precinct official returned at 7 p.m., he was shocked to find us lined up and ready to cast our makeshift ballots into his ripped manila envelope. "Whoa! You guys are the best precinct ever!" he said, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

My toddler deposited my ballot in the envelope: a first exercise in democracy. Shades of elementary school elections!, I thought, pondering just how simple it'd be to rig the proceedings, slipping a few extra papers into the envelope. No need to sign one's ballot, not even an inked finger to prevent multiple voting, a la Third World elections-- just sheer integrity and trust metaphorically duct-taping the process together.

That was it. We beat our retreat out of Palolo Elementary at 7:03 p.m., inching our way through the driveway congested with prospective caucusers, onto double-parked 10th Avenue, and went home.

Aftermath:
A political whirlwind has preempted the toddler's usual school-teaching activities with her stuffed animals since the evening of February 19. She's held her own caucus, and Lianne, the teddy bear, is running for U.S. president: a female candidate and a true third party choice, giving McCain, Clinton, Obama, and the newly-entered but omnipresent dark horse candidate Ralph Nader (again?!) a run for their money. The tabby cat, Mr. Mao-Mao, would've run too, but I informed the toddler that he doesn't meet the age requirement, being only 2 years of age. So apparently, he's now working for the Obama campaign...