Obama-rama!

I would have given anything to have been in the US on November 4th, surrounded by my friends, family and fellow Americans, eating "Joe Bite-ems" cookies and drinking "Obama's White House Cabernit" wine (Jazmyne Crunk, you are a genius!). However, I was still here in Argentina.

Although some Argentines really have no idea about the U.S. elections (when my Teens 4 students hear "McCain", they think of a popular brand of French fries, and an unnamed housemate remarked on November 3rd, "oh, Obama is black?" This was closely followed by, "wow, good-lookin´") the majority know enough, certainly more than your average US citizen could tell you about Argentine elections. Election day, all the front pages were about the elections, from normal comments on the match-up to the less subtle titles ("UN NEGRO EN LA CASA BLANCA?") A lady at the restaraunt where I always buy my vegetarian empanadas remarked, "I want to name my dog Barack."

10 p.m., November 4th found me pacing anxiously around my house, waiting for a call from James, an Oregoner I had met a couple of days earlier at a bar. I sniffed him out as a fellow expat when I overheard his drunk Argentine buddy explaining, in simple Spanish, how to hit on a señorita argentina. Normally I avoid people from the motherland, but it was 5 days to election day, and desperate times call for desperate measures.
ME: "Where are you from?"
JAMES: "Los Estados Unidos."
ME: "Nice, me too! Obama?"
JAMES: "Obama."
ME: "Do you have cable?"
JAMES: "Yeah."
ME: "Wanna get together to watch the elections?"
JAMES: "Okay."
Done and done. But fast-forward to Tuesday, and no sign of my only connection to one of the most historic moments in the history of my country! The three channels on our TV were showing semi-nude water-dancing competitions, a game show and a soap opera (granted, the soap opera I am addicted to, but TODAY WAS NOT THE DAY!). The two computers in the house were occupied by their respective owners. I was a wreck. So, I did what I always do when I feel the hyperventilation a comin'.... called the mothership.

My mom was in New Mexico being lawyerly and making sure the voting process was legal (a.k.a. partying it up with her fellow Obamaniacs). She reminded me that it was only 5:00 in New Mexico, and that nothing had happened yet. Phew. Finally, James called, and I ran-walked the 20 or so blocks to the hostel where another American, a Californian named Bradley, lived. Relieved, I planted myself in front of the tv.

The truth is, for all the nerves, I didn't pay that much attention for the first few hours. Every time I would see that a state had been won, it was only after 2 percent of the vote had been counted. So, a little more wine and chitchat, then glance again. 3 percent. 4 percent. McCAIN MAKING HIS CONCESSION SPEECH!

I couldn't believe it was over. Although we watched McCain´s speech in dubbed Spanish, the Argentines were gracious enough to let us change Obama´s to English. In that moment, I didn't care that I was with a bunch of perfect strangers far far away from the US of A (but not as far as to be included in Obama's "forgotten corners of the world").

Yesterday, when buying sunscreen, the pharmacist asked me where I was from. It was the approximately 1,327th time I've been asked that question, but the 1st time I felt excited and proud to give my answer.