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" NEW YORK CITY -- This was my election day. A friend who thinks I&amp;#039;m apathetic asked me if I had voted yet. Before I could answer, she answered for me: Oh, my God, you&amp;#039;re not gonna vote, are you? Do you realize it&amp;#039;s your civic duty, and it&amp;#039;s a privilege? And on.  Later, on the phone and reading e-mails at the same time, I have a conversation with my stockbroker about money and my parents&amp;#039; house. He&amp;#039;s saying maybe the walls should be painted because of the smell of cigarette smoke. He is defending why stuff matters, and I&amp;#039;m looking up the weather in Belize. I&amp;#039;m imagining wet wool.  In between happy hour and my friend&amp;#039;s election-returns party, I wander around the Village. I go into a Halloween store and try on the political masks.  Later, at the party, people are very involved. They are young and interested and in love with stippled faces. In partisan T-shirts under work cardigans, they are cross-referencing nytimes.com with cnn.com with what is said on all the best television channels, and they are discussing interactive maps. Concentrating on the bluing of Virginia, I try to measure the length of their care. Immaturely, I try to match it. They&amp;#039;re here because they have a stake, their parents or their boyfriends implanted a chip or a chad, they care because someone else does. They care because everybody does. I&amp;#039;m here because, on preordained historical nights, being around people is better than being alone. Until you are around people.  Much later, in the street, New York City is drunk and loyal to something outside themselves. College kids howling. Dads and their sons chanting. The laughter is vibrant, the scene is dramatic. For me, it feels like sitting in a box up high, above the urgency and wonder of the groundlings at the Globe. It really does feel historical, sometimes if for no other reason than everybody is aware that it&amp;#039;s historical, and the feeling is frothing out of their pores like cheap beer, and the taxi drivers are speeding down the streets with their hands flailing out of their windows and honking. I&amp;#039;m not drunk, not in any sense, but I have that feeling that I wish I were.  THE OBAMA DIARIES: NOVEMBER 4, 2008  TOM JUNOD: How the Obama Blogosphere and Joe the Plumber Helped Me Cope with Death  ROBERT KURSON: Obama&amp;#039;s Fellow Illinoisan and Classmate on Run-ins with Mr. Cool  LISA TADDEO:  SCOTT RAAB: Happy Tears for Obama on the New Jersey Turnpike  TOM CHIARELLA: One Sunny Day in Indiana and One Victory Beer for Obama  CHRIS JONES: How McCain Lost Himself Before He Lost the Election  JOHN H. RICHARDSON: It Ain&amp;#039;t Over &amp;#039;Til It&amp;#039;s Over, But Sen. Joe Biden Is Feeling Good   "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/a5448/obama-election-night-0109/>