Obama! Spring Break! Whoo!

I really like Obama. Honestly and deeply like him. I like hearing him speak. I like his story, his policies, his platitudes. I like him in a way that is counter to my cynicism, that is objectively, very foolish. And I am not naive, I know that he is an American politician, which is to be a huckster and a liar and a snake-oil salesman. But in Obama, I am okay with the deceptions and compromises. I can live with them, because he is at the very least self-aware. He knows who's going to vote for him and he knows what they want to hear and how to say it, how to perform and present himself to them as the vehicle for their frustrated optimism and vestigial idealism. Unequivocally, the "youth vote" (as it were) is his major strength, the true devotees and zealous converts. The Baby Boomers and the Union Workers and the Frustrated Republicans are being swayed, seduced and shown the light, but slowly and with the passionate guidance of these college students. Anyone over the age of 17 and under the age of 30 is chomping at the bit to vote for the Obamanator. We're ready to go. Get us to a booth, and we know what to do.

Unfortunately, the most common criticism is also the fairest observation: Obama really doesn't have much to say. Not yet, anyway. He has some outlines. Some ideas. A clear and (to me) fairly comforting voting record. But Hilary's had her marching plan ready since the impeachment days. That is irrelevant, and I feel that he (or at least, his incredibly clever staff) understands that. That the youth vote would not be won with a PowerPoint presentation and a pragmatic attitude. For better or worse, this (perhaps more than any) is to be a race won by image.

This is fairly abhorrent, and I apologise for my fellow 20-somethings. But hear us out: We've got a lot on our minds. We've grown in dark times, many of us only just remember the milk and honey days of Clinton's presidency, and the rest suffer the pain of fallout. And yes, compared to these latter days of the Shrub, I do think Clinton's time in office has a comparative sylvan quality. That's neither here nor there, though. We've seen tragedy and bloodshed at an astonishing rate, defended by bloodless and cowardly people. We've seen photographic evidence of government-sanctioned torture. We're in a post-Nixon America. We were born suspicious and we were born cynical. We never had ideals to compromise. Remember, the last election. How many of you out there loved making the distinction: "I am voting against Bush, not for Kerry". C'mon, let's see those hands. I confess.

But Obama. He stands up so tall and speaks to clearly. He's so...well, he's so fucking presidential. I can understand why America misses Camelot still. It's not an accident that several members of JFK's family, including his daughter, have passed the torch to the present candidate. Obama is the president in an action film. He is a pretty picture, and please forgive us for being shallow. But that's all we need from our candidate. We're sick of reality, and Obama has promised we'll never see it. We've seen too much embarrassing human-ness in our leaders: aggressive idiocy of Bush2 and the sleaze of Clinton. Obama promises with each step of his campaign that he'll keep his skeletons, his perversions and his spelling mistakes out of the evening news. He'll never cry or freak out at a primary. No blue dresses. Don't worry kids, Obama's here and he's got it taken care of.

That's just what we wanted to hear.

Secret Cartography: Please Don't Shoot Me.

There are some rules you can obey. They can help you get around. They may keep you safe.
Pay attention to your surroundings. Square your shoulders; don't look like a victim. Don't show off money or expensive toys, like iPods. Look alert, don't appear nervous. Try to fit in. Stay away from small, poorly lit streets.

All the advice I've ever gotten means the same thing, at the end of the day: there is nothing you can do. None of these rules work. Nothing can keep you safe.

I live in arguably the most dangerous city in America. About two years ago, the murder rate spiked dramatically and hasn't abated yet. This is not inner city violence, segregated to "bad neighborhoods" and late nights. Philadelphia is a city of neighborhoods: Queen Village is another world from Kensington and neither are like Strawberry Mansion. And when something awful happened in a poor neighborhood, a dangerous neighborhood, it was okay. Not great, of course. But easily ignored. And it was easy to get around. Stay to the nice neighborhoods, with nice people, and you will be safe. Only the foolish, the suicidally naive and the badly intentioned ventured beyond such invisible and subtle boundaries, but now children and police officers have been shot in broad daylight. The unrest in the city is bold and shameless, never showing respect for the leylines that are class and privilege running in the streets.

When I was in second grade, a boy was beaten to death on the steps of my parish church, because some other kids felt like hurting someone badly.

My cousin was murdered when he was 21. He hadn't been a cop for a year.

For those of you with good memories: There was a shooting outside the house, my Fort, eight months ago. Zach and I were sitting on the same couch I'm posting from when we heard it.

There is no rule to follow. There's no direction to take. There never was any place safe.
I live in fear. Everyone does, I think, and I won't deny my own. Any place and time could be the wrong one. I make myself sick sometimes. I've lived here as long as I've been alive.
I am not making some tiny plea to stop the violence. I haven't nearly such an idealistic spirit. I'm just telling you, I feel lost now. I can't comfort myself with behavior rules and made-up boundaries. I can't map my movement by time or street. There's nothing to do, no secret cartography. Nowhere to go.