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notes from the cheddar rebellion, day 12
Feb. 26th, 2011 12:46 amChronicling the events of the last two or three days would take a sharding long time, so here are at least a few highlights. Definitely more to follow.
This is what democracy sounds like: drums, tamborines, moroccas, at least one set of sleigh bells, assorted noisemakers, at least one conch shell, vuvuzelas, at least one trombone, one saxophone (played amazingly well), cowbells, bagpipes, one or more guitars, shoes crunching in snow, footsteps on frozen pavement and ground, snores of sleeping protesters (sorry, but it's true), voices by the thousands, cheers, chants, boos and hisses, coffee being brewed, horns honking in support, spontaneous singing (all fairly in tune), and intelligent conversation breaking out at the drop of a hat.
This is what democracy smells like: Pizza, hot coffee, snow, clean wet marble, feet (eww! but that happens when people are in close quarters), peppermint, clean clothing and humans, coffee breath (eww, but it's true), various restaurants cooking up a storm, cigarette smoke (eww!), mingled hints of perfume and cologne, lilac perfume oil (mine), hot chocolate, spring rolls, and the scent of clean laundry on the breeze.
I'm learning the words to songs written before my parents were born. I'm finding out about episodes in Wisconsin and Midwestern history that I never knew had happened. I'm making friends in corridors and on sidewalks, and running into everyone from old college pals and familiar faces from the Fortress to coworkers and my boss. Nineteen-year-old kids are talking politics, literately, in the streets. People who could be my grandparents are standing side-by-side with parents holding tiny kids on their shoulders. Retirees are striking up friendships with people less than half their age. People are curled up in sleeping bags on the capitol floor, telling stories to their children. We're terrified, sure we are. But we're proud, and we're thrilled, and we're all in this together and we know it. There is no animosity between police and protesters - heck, the two groups aren't anywhere near mutually exclusive, and everyone knows it. We're all on the same side. Private sector workers are here, public sector workers are here, kids are here, conservatives are here, liberals are here. The police are sleeping in the capitol in solidarity tonight.
This is the city I want to live in. I know it won't always be like this, but the fact that it is like this right now is enough. You couldn't pry me away from Madison now, and I doubt I'm leaving later unless something serious drives me out--touch wood that it won't. I'm so proud. This is Wisconsin. I've always been proud to be a Wisconsinite, but now... I never knew I could be this proud of my state. This is everything about here, about us, plain as day and amplified a hundred times. This is home. Forget Walker, forget last night's travesty of a vote, forget vague daydreams of Oregon, forget frakking Colorado; this is home.
... Uh. So much for keeping this entry brief. Oops. :)
Settling in for the night, so I'm rested for tomorrow. I'm nervous, and a little desperate, but I'm excited, too. Tonight I need to chill, because tomorrow is going to be huge. Must. chill. out. or tomorrow I'll be exhausted, and there's no way I'm missing anything.
... Where's that oldtime radio archive again? Oh, right. :)
This is what democracy sounds like: drums, tamborines, moroccas, at least one set of sleigh bells, assorted noisemakers, at least one conch shell, vuvuzelas, at least one trombone, one saxophone (played amazingly well), cowbells, bagpipes, one or more guitars, shoes crunching in snow, footsteps on frozen pavement and ground, snores of sleeping protesters (sorry, but it's true), voices by the thousands, cheers, chants, boos and hisses, coffee being brewed, horns honking in support, spontaneous singing (all fairly in tune), and intelligent conversation breaking out at the drop of a hat.
This is what democracy smells like: Pizza, hot coffee, snow, clean wet marble, feet (eww! but that happens when people are in close quarters), peppermint, clean clothing and humans, coffee breath (eww, but it's true), various restaurants cooking up a storm, cigarette smoke (eww!), mingled hints of perfume and cologne, lilac perfume oil (mine), hot chocolate, spring rolls, and the scent of clean laundry on the breeze.
I'm learning the words to songs written before my parents were born. I'm finding out about episodes in Wisconsin and Midwestern history that I never knew had happened. I'm making friends in corridors and on sidewalks, and running into everyone from old college pals and familiar faces from the Fortress to coworkers and my boss. Nineteen-year-old kids are talking politics, literately, in the streets. People who could be my grandparents are standing side-by-side with parents holding tiny kids on their shoulders. Retirees are striking up friendships with people less than half their age. People are curled up in sleeping bags on the capitol floor, telling stories to their children. We're terrified, sure we are. But we're proud, and we're thrilled, and we're all in this together and we know it. There is no animosity between police and protesters - heck, the two groups aren't anywhere near mutually exclusive, and everyone knows it. We're all on the same side. Private sector workers are here, public sector workers are here, kids are here, conservatives are here, liberals are here. The police are sleeping in the capitol in solidarity tonight.
This is the city I want to live in. I know it won't always be like this, but the fact that it is like this right now is enough. You couldn't pry me away from Madison now, and I doubt I'm leaving later unless something serious drives me out--touch wood that it won't. I'm so proud. This is Wisconsin. I've always been proud to be a Wisconsinite, but now... I never knew I could be this proud of my state. This is everything about here, about us, plain as day and amplified a hundred times. This is home. Forget Walker, forget last night's travesty of a vote, forget vague daydreams of Oregon, forget frakking Colorado; this is home.
... Uh. So much for keeping this entry brief. Oops. :)
Settling in for the night, so I'm rested for tomorrow. I'm nervous, and a little desperate, but I'm excited, too. Tonight I need to chill, because tomorrow is going to be huge. Must. chill. out. or tomorrow I'll be exhausted, and there's no way I'm missing anything.
... Where's that oldtime radio archive again? Oh, right. :)
