LONDON'S OBAMATHON

Witnessing America’s historical events as an expat in London is disorienting, as illuminating as it is jarring. Being an ocean away evokes unexpected feelings of pride (why can’t the UK have stores like Walgreens and Target?) and humility (Brits always seem to know way more about us than we do about them).

In November I watched America elect its first African-American president alongside hundreds of Brits and fellow Americans in London. This festive 12-hour marathon included hob-nobbing at the American Embassy and hitting several late-night clubs. It was a fun, exciting and even raucous affair that ultimately left me feeling a little disconnected, almost lonely.

I watched Barack Hussein Obama’s inauguration yesterday via an internet connection in Brixton. I was among a group of mostly 20-something Brits of diverse backgrounds, our eyes trained on several desktop computers in a nonprofit office space. Screening live from the BBC, whose servers seemed to be overrun with people clicking on to watch, the feed kept cutting out. The Mac wheel of death kept popping up throughout the event coverage, making it impossible for me to catch performances by Sasha Fierce (AKA Beyonce) and Stevie Wonder before the speech (both tantalisingly described by a friend as "cheesy").

I was the only American in the room, and couldn’t help but crack jokes about Dianne Feinstein’s hair and the strange pit orchestra they assembled for the event (Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman seemed bored and under-used if you ask me--which makes some since given subsequent reports that they weren't actually performing live). One young woman in the room noted that Aretha Franklin’s best singing days had probably passed (it was difficult not to agree, but hey, that was a hell of a hat she had on). A younger woman buzzing through the office in a red cape made from a skirt let out a “pshaw” when Obama spoke of assisting farming communities. Some wondered whether America’s national anthem is just a rip-off of the UK’s. Most seemed to agree that Rick Warren was a lame choice.

I met two fellow American friends at a sports bar in Piccadilly Circus later, hoping to see some serious post-inauguration parade action, but to no avail. CNN was going through the ranks of talking heads with post-speech commentary. Boring. There was little in the way of interesting debate happening among the mostly besuited folks around us, so we split. We celebrated the inauguration with sub-par Mexican food blocks away from the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. An order of chips and salsa turned out to be a small bowl of Doritos and some soupy tomatoes.

I didn't find the speech particularly inspiring, especially when compared with the words he had finessed to near perfection for his acceptance speech in November. The morning after the inauguration, a British gossip columnist talked on TV about the tweaking of Michelle Obama’s eyebrows (apparently they were too high, making her look mean or upset). I asked an older British woman sitting next to me at a neighbourhood Laundromat what she thought of it all. “He’s no different from the rest of ‘em. They tell you all of these wonderful things, and then they get into office and fuck all.” ~ GARY MOSKOWITZ