So I was fortunate enough to attend the inauguration of Barack Obama on the 20th of January. Here's my story:

We arrived via the MARC trains at around 9am. While Bethan and her friend Carrie stood in line waiting to enter the seated area, I made my way down toward the National Mall. At first, I was very close to the Capitol building. Then I figured out there was no way I was going to get in that close. From there I joined a large herd of people as we attempted to make out way down the street from 4th street to 17th street. It took about an hour and a half. Everyone was packed in shoulder to shoulder, from one side of the street to another, and stretching down the avenue for blocks. 

I managed to come up along side of a long row of porta-potties. There were people up on top of them looking in towards the jumbo-trons. I was stuck there, in the same herd of peolpe attempting to find a place where I could catch a glimpse. There was a kid who fell off the top of the porta-potties, and we ended up having to pass him out to the EMT's in the road. He was fine. I also spend about 15 minutes helping older folks hop over the security barriers from the lawn to the road,  seeing as that section of lawn had come to a dead stop. No one was moving anywhere.

After I managed to get out, I found my way down to 15th street, where I was able to find a patch of grass with a pretty clear view of a jumbo-tron just as Aretha was singing and Biden was being sworn in. I watched up to Obama's swearing in from that location, chatting with the people around me who were the most friendly, inviting people I've ever met.  I hugged a few of them after his swearing in, then moved to behind the Washington Monument to listen to Barack's speech. It was moving. The response from the 2 million plus people was amazing.

After the speech, we were all herded out like sheep (sardines, lemmings, whatever) towards 17th street and Constitution ave. Again, people were shoulder to shoulder all the way up 18th street from constitution up to K street in DC.  From the Hilton hotel we watched the parade, before heading out for dinner, then shopping at the cheesy merchandise kiosks.

 I couldn't believe the openness and welcoming atmosphere of the entire day. Everyone was in such a positive and uplifting mood, even despite the intense crowding.  This was an event I will never in my life forget. For a few pictures from my perspective, you can view my webshots http://travel.webshots.com/album/569730109aIzPxZ

So back in the 90's, (wow it feels wierd to say that) I was like any other normal boy. This was before I started getting really heavy into music. I was a huge, and I mean HUGE Chicago Bulls fan. It was during the prime Jordan Years (1993-1998) and I was obsessed. I used to play basketall in my driveway all the time, lowering the hoop to 8 feet and dunking all over. 

In college, one of my suitemates let me borrow the Bulls Dynasty DVD, which contained a bunch of their best games, and a documentary and some other cool stuff. It was really interesting watching it. Keep in mind, I hadn't watched a basketball game since probably Jordans last title game with the Bulls in 1998, and here it was, 2005, and I'm sitting through something like 4 games in a row. I was as excited as I used to be. Watching that team play is still something that is magical to me. That was the epitome of Basketball in my mind. No Kobe Bryants or Carmello's or LeBron's- just Jordan, Pippen, Kukoc, Rodman, Kerr, Longley, and Harper.  

Check out the Photo Galleries!!

 
Scott Tofte

Eisenhower 

John Schmitt and Friends

Throughout my life, there have been many bands and musicians I have looked up to. As a singer and songwriter, I love Don Henley and his work with the Eagles. As a pure pop performer and entertainer, I have obsessed over Michael Jackson. The list goes on and on. All of these acts have something in common with relation to me: I obsess over their music. I listen to it repeatedly, sometimes for months at a time. It may come down to not feeling fulfilled during my day if I don't hear a particular artist.

The bottom line, however, is that I have to hear them. Such is not the case with one particular musician. Drummer for the Police, Stewart Copeland. 

When I listen to The Police, and more specifically the percussion within their tracks, I am mystified. It moves me. It tugs at my heart the way that a death in the family would, but in a more positive way obviously. I suppose the best analogy would be hunger. Or starvation. Simply hearing Stewart Copeland's playing does not satisfy me. It only makes me more hungry. I need something more than aural pleasure. I need to feel it. I need to become him, or as close as I am possibly able to. I may listen to and admire Don Henley, but I emulate Stewart Copeland.

So I stumbled across a couple pictures the other day, and was caught by how similar they were. First a little background: My brother, sisters and I all attended school at Vernon-Verona-Sherrill central schools from elementary through high school. My father was the head guidance cousellor for 30+ years there. Well my bro played a bunch of sports, chiefly baseball and basketball, and I was the volleyball MVP and captain at points during my 4 years of highschool. The picture on the left is me, probably either 5 or 6 years old wearing my brothers Varsity Basketball jersey (notice the Scottie Pippen number). The one on the right is his son, my nephew Zach wearing my Varsity Volleyball jersey more than 10 years later (with Michael Jordans #23 on the front). Nothing really that special, but a cool little image comparison...