Thank you, LSis. I couldn't have asked for a better Happy Due Date present.

I am so grateful to have such a funny, kind, ridiculous, handsome family. In one night you and TFin managed to pick me up a 19-year-old, take me to the VFW, and crack up a whole team of cocktail waitresses. I loves yaz.

END SCHMALTZ.

It is a universal truth that a bleary morning's avant-garde fashion statement is the afternoon's sartorial question mark. Note to coworkers: "Ooh! Look at you!" does not a compliment make. Particularly when accompanied by a look of confusion usually reserved for listening to Sarah Palin try to explain the military-industrial complex.

That what-the-hell-am-I-wearing epiphany, brought on by an angry encounter with the ladies' room full-length mirror, was only one in a long line of startling realizations yesterday. Sometimes there's so much lesson-learning in my life that I fear I'm part of some elaborate hidden-camera after-school special. "This week, on 'K Falls Down': K discovers that the disquieting tingling in her extremities is directly linked to her tights cutting off blood circulation."

So what's a self-pitying sausage to do? If you've been dutifully graphing my moods and culinary proclivities, you'll find a crowded square at the intersection of Cranky and Mexican Food (although frankly, a disturbing number of roads in my life lead to Mexican food).

We received our menus, at which point I was disappointed to find everything spelled correctly, and therefore not spirits-lifting.



The menu at La Paz has changed a lot since the last time I was there, and not necessarily for the better. It used to be that La Paz was the place to go for flavor combinations you couldn't find anywhere else. Now the options are truncated and the platings are far less inspired. White plate, white tortillas, lettuce topped with peaked tomatoes, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The kitchen is a little stingy with the chips, too, though the red and blue versions in the mix are a nice touch. They're delicately salted and not greasy, but they look a little like they ran through a rock tumbler before they got to the table. With the jagged crumbs you can choose between a red salsa (OK, but a little too sweet) and green (tastier, but the consistency of water, which makes dipping a Sisyphean effort).



MJ ordered the cheese dip, which is inexplicably trough-size. Seriously, you can wash your feet in this bowl. It's nicely spicy and chunky with onions, but it created a rather Alice in Wonderland–like table with all the confusion in scale—tiny dental cups of salsa and handfuls of chips next to a vat of melted cheese (downside: the queso came out with a skin on it, which was less than appetizing and seems like a pretty simple fix).



LSis ordered the tortilla soup, a meaty broth swimming with avocado and studded with white-meat chicken and tomatoes. She proclaimed it good but also "super salty" (I believe that was prefaced with the prediction that it would give me an immediate coronary event) and she noted skeptically that the chicken tasted peculiarly "gamey."



I don't think it knocked her pants off (that's right. What good is having your socks off?), because I caught her eyeing my plate. I ordered the burrito gordo. Memo to Mexican restaurants: I'm sure that word has another connotation, one that implies that you're getting a lot of really great stuff, but I do not like having to request a dish that has the word "fat" in it.

You can have the more-to-love burrito with chicken, beef, or spinach, rolled inside a flour tortilla with guacamole, pinto beans, and sour cream. I chose the spinach, natch. When it arrived at the table, I was pleasantly surprised to see the pretty presentation, but less thrilled to find the tortilla smothered in extraneous cheese dip. NOT NECESSARY. I just ate a bucket of the stuff; my arteries can't take anymore.



Really, though, isn't that pretty? It's an enormous portion, accompanied by mundane refried black beans and some confusingly seasoned rice (it came out crunchy, with the distinct whiff of heat lamp about it, and tasted like ... teriyaki?). Still, that's at least two solid meals there, if not three. I doggy-bagged the heck out of it.



The service was cheerful and relaxed, if lacking a little something in the pacing. When the plates are the size of planets, you probably want to give people the opportunity to take breaks between bites before you pounce on them with the check.

LSis was delighted to discover that her first wimpy glass of Chardonnay seemed to only get more full as the night went on. MJ was bouncily giddy to hear the decidedly early-90s soundtrack overhead.

The highlight for me, because I'm not generally a beer drinker, was the crisply chilled and effervescently carbonated draft ale (bonus: thanks to that night's specials, it only cost $2.00). Well that, and I was relieved it was dimly lit. I still have no idea what I was wearing.

La Paz
99 Euclid Avenue
Birmingham, AL 35213
205.879.2225

Yesterday: Up until a ridiculous hour in the morning, giggling over Cabernet with ladyfriends.

Today: Running on very few functioning cylinders and recharging for tomorrow night's FIESTA with LSis and TFin (and JLB in spirit. Get well soon!).

Result: Brain cell depletion requiring haikus.



Oh delicious chips
Your low-fat dip delights me
Greek yogurt kicks ass.



Camera feature makes
diabolical taters
out of lovely spuds.



Accursed tofu.
Although you claimed otherwise,
you're not a burger.



Nightmarish photo
for the purpose of showing
the patties of doom.

---

Pretty autumn leaves
do little to distract you—
this post is crappy.

This week's Things That Appeal To My Bizarre and Often Questionable Sense of Gadgetry and Knickknackery comes a day late and so, so many dollars short. This week has been unquestionably marked, carrying with it a pall of disappointment and fear.

Good news:

1. STILL EMPLOYED.
2. Finally hopped on board the Twitter train, allowing me to indulge in even more voyeuristic time-killing activities (suck on it, Facebook).
3. STILL EMPLOYED.
4. J has, due to non-use of heat on the Woodside, been ridiculously snuggly.

Bad news:

1. Formerly brilliant red/orange/yellow-green fallness outside my window has deteriorated to sagging brown levels.
2. Meeting with New York Honcho who decides our magazine's fate was peppered with "I really can't tell you" and "I can't promise you anything" and "[XYZ] is your title? What [the fuck] is that?" Luckily, my job didn't seem to stump him, though my attempt to deliver it confidently and without stuttering? FAIL. And I wasn't even intimidated by this joker. Just forced to be coherent before 10:27 am.
3. Co-pays go up 50% next year.
4. JLB is in the emergency room in New York and I'm worried for her. Nothing life-threatening, but we need to get her home, stat.

On balance, that puts my mood firmly hovering somewhere between "Meh. Whatever," and "Ooh! I found a quarter!"

I'd love to sneak into Online Editor's office for peanut-butter-cup pilfering, but maybe I should just get some of these.



The election collection is timely, but those itty bitty Thanksgiving birds are just too cute. I won't be eating any pea-brain poultry this holiday, but I can make an exception for truffled turkeys.

But with the death of 2008 comes the need to add to my list of resolutions I have no intention of keeping. And though my attempts at "healthy eating" are more along the lines of remembering that an entire sleeve of Thin Mints tastes a lot better than it feels, I think this could help.



I love Heidi's recipes, in part because they're sneaky. They manage to sound and look delicious, whilst containing old childhood enemies like butternut squash. Only she could get me to eat pumpkin seeds AND LIKE IT.

I also like this.



A lot. I would kill that green green grass before you can spell "pesticide personified," and I'm pretty sure J would (ahem) make it his own, but I appreciate the concept of a snooty umbrella stand getting a modern comeuppance.

Speaking of snobbishness, were I a person of either style or substance, I would have to have this.



It's called the "editor's suitcase," which I believe qualifies it as having my name written all over it.

As do these.



I can see loads of them filling up L Sis's china cabinet. Because her favorite color is red and her cabinet is Danishly Modern, not because she's a lush. Sheesh.

Why did no one tell me this happened?



The second I married myself to the notion of the Dijon Le Creuset, they went and made a set in that incredible cadet blue/gray. Of course, now that I think about it, a mixed bunch would be DIVINE. All right then, it's decided. I'll take both.

I want both of these, too.



I tend to think salt-and-pepper shakers trend too much toward silly and/or boring, but I like that these are low-profile and fun.

Unlike this, which is gilt and lovely and girly.



Regardless of my penchant for leaving dishes in the sink for a period of time usually reserved for elephant gestation, I think I need more plates. Especially when they're delicate and free-form and Tiffany blue.

But let's be frank. I am not, in fact, girly. I am wearing a dress and sitting Indian style right now, like a kindergartner. And because I have been on a hunt for the perfect lunchbox, I was overjoyed to discover this.



It's so "I superglued my hard hat to this here steel beam," don't you think?

I'm grateful to have a place to bring my lunch every day. A place that continues to supply me with mortgage payments, at least for now. And you can help. BUY PRINT.

Then put it in here.



Because if you're going to do a good deed, you deserve to buy yourself something pretty.

I know I won't be the first to post this. But find the time to watch it. These are the words behind my silent scream. The ones that fill my chest to bursting and seriously challenge my hate moratorium.



"This isn't about yelling and this isn't about politics and this isn't really just about Prop 8 ... This vote is horrible. HORRIBLE."



Luckily, the antidote to hate is love.

I know, you're jealous. Due to my ever-increasing fame, I fear I must remain anonymous in this photo of me, M, and my acerbic soulmate, T Gunn. I don't want to be photographed in my pajamas at airports or become increasingly inane or be forced to embark on a pseudo-lesbian relationship. However, M looks adorable and I give 10 points to my hair, which proved unusually cooperative.

TG was in town to emcee a Liz Claiborne fashion show, which was sort of cringe-making and long and peopled with an odd assortment of "just like you! models." Verdict? Oxymoron. Also, houndstooth appears to be "in," but the scale of the pattern is such that no one who has recently consumed a meal won't look like a sofa.

Our seats left something to be desired.



I can't bat my eyelashes at a style guru from that distance.

Having endured a solid hour of upbeat, inoffensive tunes (You make me feel like a natural woman! Turn the beat around! Vogue!) and a parade of allegedly sophisticated separates, they turned us loose for the Q&A.

Question: Should there be a category in hell for People Who Ask Questions That Are Not Interrogatory? ("I just love you and watch your show all the time and think you're so great and Project Runway is my favorite thing of all time and I want to become a fashion designer and so my question is shoes and belt.")
Answer: Ohholyjesusyes.

He did dish some dirt—favorite designers per season (Kara Saun, Chloe Dao, Laura Bennett, Jillian Lewis, and "Do I have to pick one?"—yikes) and least favorite (Wendy Pepper, Zulema Griffin, Vincent Libretti, Victorya Hong, and "bless her pointy little head ... KENLEY"), and most dramatic moments (Keith Gets Caught with Pattern Books, Laura Accuses Jeffery of Cheating). I was a little surprised not to see Jack Goes Home with Staph Infection on that last list, honestly.

But that was the highlight of the first part of the event, pockmarked as it was with co-commentary from a horse-haired twit of a marketing lady who more than once referred derisively to height deficiency as though it were a choice. On the subject of heels: "You don't have to be short, ladies!" No, YOU don't have to be short. Asshole.

Then we were set free to make our mandated purchases ($100 worth of Claiborne for the photo op) and started waiting. And waiting. To be fair, they did try to entertain us. We got some pointless swag:



Empty accordion folder meant for starting a "style file." All about how, in order to turn your day ensemble into night duds, you must carry half the contents of your closet in a very large handbag, if the "fashion" show was any indication.



Estée Lauder would make up your face for free so you wouldn't look pallid next to Timmy, but the whole endeavor seemed rather unhygienic. Watching those brushes go from face to face to face ... I don't think so. I'll preserve my pasty whiteness for posterity, thank you very much. And don't think I don't know you're sizing me up. I realize "Can I offer you some lip gloss?" means [SHRIEK OF HORROR AT HIDEOUS GLOSSLESSNESS].

I did attempt to look some combination of inconspicuous and stylish (snort!), but not everyone was so concerned. This was my line mate.



Honestly, that blur is all about guilt. Frankly, she seemed like a very nice woman, quite chatty and up for a bronzer touch-up and some conversation with the EL army. But this was her self-admitted "dressy game-day outfit" and I just ...

Straight to hell with me.

I shored up the best of my witty banter (T: "I'm flying back to New York tonight." K: "Lucky.") and abandoned it all immediately in favor of trying. to. keep. the. blush. down. A fruitless endeavor. I'm worthless around celebs. I'm afraid of being remembered as That Girl Who Tripped on the Velvet Rope, so I tend to stutter and ... trip on the velvet rope. Not that that happened. Ahem.

Post photo? Better swag. A full 365 days of Tim Gunn for my very own self.



2009 is looking up.

Currently: Bloated with fun, smelling of smoked ham, and mock strangling a Chihuahua.

Leaving: Little time for coherent blogging. Content yourselves with brown dog masquerading as hippopotamus.

Things that are harshing my buzz today:

1. The deathly pall that's descended over the office since the Chief sent out an e-mail announcing our meeting with the head honcho had (GASP!) changed times. People are liable to have a collective heart attack should she so much as sneeze, so everyone's muscles are cramping in this crouched-with-bated-breath position.

2. Weekend forecast: Freelance avalanche.

3. I recently discovered that my wallet's contents—copay receipts and an expired Blockbuster card—have no worth as currency.

4. A scheduled Sorry We Laid You Off; Here's a Quarter Inch of Wine! party in 45 minutes promises to be pained and sad.

5. Sometimes people who purport to be fiercely protecting their "values" put me on the outside. And even though raising the population in Judgment Town isn't my goal, it still makes me sad to see otherwise lovely people become snarly and insular.

(But! A coworker made me a CD, news from the vet's office says R has to lose no teeth—yay JLB!—and I found $0.58 I didn't know I had, so all is not yet lost.)

And it's a comfort to know that English as a Second Language and its corollary, The Confused But Well-intentioned Editor, can always make me laugh.



Someone tried to FIX IT! by turning "loes" into "loses," but I think the problem was purely a dyslexic one. I did appreciate the kindly accusatory tone: People fall down here. It's their shoes' fault. Especially because, without that warning, the likelihood that I would be one of those face-planted people is 100%.

Unfortunately, that accusatory tone permeated the meal, too. The general feeling of the staff seemed to be, "Why are you here, again?" We tried to explain that we were interested in lunch, but that only seemed to grumpify them more. Apparently the literal translation of "Can we get some more salsa?" is "Can we trouble you for a kidney?"

Strange, because the local.yahoo.com reviews say things like, "great staff" and "friendly wait staff" and "the atmosphere and overall feeling was intensely comforting." (Note: Oxymoron? I prefer my comforting to be more soothing, less intense.) I'm willing to wager that we just caught them on a cranky day, but the unappetizing combination of an inch of dust on the plastic greenery and the 20-gallon industrial tubs of margarita mix on the bar didn't appeal to me.

I've been disappointed in the food at Los Amigos before, but I was willing to give it another try. Purely based on adorableness, I wanted to order the Taco Salad.



It comes in a "flower" tortilla, you see. HEE!

But I lost control of myself and ordered the huevos rancheros at the last minute. It astounded even me. I did not see it coming.



And get this—it was delicious. The eggs had perfect runny centers, the rice wasn't greasy, and the sauce? Fire-breathing, just like I like it. It came with steamed flour tortillas, too, which was an unexpected—and welcome—twist. The softness soaks up the yummy yolks, as opposed to becoming chewy Frisbees, as the traditional fried corn tortilla is wont to do.

Verdict: Food spotty, service surly, floor slippery. Enter at your own risk.

Los Amigos Mexican Restaurant
3324 Clairmont Avenue South
Birmingham, AL 35222
205.324.5896

I have some serious choices to make. I hope dear L Sis doesn't take it personally, but things must change. Either we must stop hanging out so often, or she needs to develop a fictional life so that her blog posts do not interfere with mine. And because she's just so darn entertaining, I suggest she develop a hysterical pregnancy or pick up a pretend narcotic habit. Or craft a side business doing bizarre things to pets.



Not that that's going to stop me from posting identical pictures from Tuesday night, mind you. At any rate, she's moved on to reporting on workplace hate speech, so I think I'm in the clear.

The evening had a rather inauspicious start. Number of finger foods prepared: 0. Number of trips to the grocery store to assemble the FIVE ingredients needed: 2. Number of full containers of food dashed to the ground, causing major spillage: 2. Number of clumsy elbows dunked in chocolate: 1. Number of expletives hurled into the dark night: countless.

It's official—I cannot hurry. When I hurry, I do things like discover I have an inability to differentiate the 1/4 cup measure from the 1/3 cup measure. Bonus: No one died from accidental brown sugar overdose. I brought a grammatical nightmare, Smoked Salmon with Avocado and Wasabi Cream Cheese Finger Sanwiches.



Meh. There were some raves, but also a lot of leftovers. In part because there was so much good food to be had (A, I want that chili recipe YESTERDAY) and I arrived fashionably (read: 90 minutes) late. In my defense, it's time-consuming to clean oats off your floor when you don't own a dustpan. But mostly I blame the organic avocados. Publix was fresh out of the regular variety, shiny with pesticides and shot full of hormones. These weren't pristine and spearmint-color on the inside, and despite the lemon juice's best efforts, they went gray-brown fast. The salmon was just angry-making, laced as it was with artificial color that wouldn't even fool a blind person. Only the cream cheese and wasabi salvaged the misspelled little bastards, so this one goes firmly on the not-making-again list.

I did redeem myself with Pumpkin Muffins, tossing out the hateful nuts and raisins to make room for lovely, melty chocolate chips.



I could have gone for something denser and more pumpkiny, but they were still delicious. Possibly helped by the fact that I've been craving them for weeks. The pumpkins natural orangeness makes it a cinch to keep from overmixing the batter—you know you're done when everything is orange, and that process doesn't take very long. I think JLB snuck them over to her neighbor's plate in a reinterpretation of the Brussels-sprouts-in-the-napkin charade, but I'm pretty sure SisInLaw snuck two in her purse, so it all evened out.

Verdict: Tasty, but completely steamrolled in the cleverness department.



Touché, SisInLaw. I am outmatched.

I can't describe the energy at 11 Bonita that night. There was blue-state Jell-O, spiked with raspberry vodka and served in plastic cups on a silver tray (for the elitists).



TFin was a blur of boundless excitement.



With every state won, we allowed ourselves to unroll the optimism, bit by bit. When the threshold passed and the magnum came out,



we jumped around and we screamed and we lost it. We laughed through our tears and hugged each other until we thought we'd break. And we forgot that our jobs are tenuous and our bills are mounting and our friends in California lost their grip on humanity.

And we made a toast.



Because these times, they are a-changing.

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference.

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states.

We are, and always will be, the United States of America.

It's the answer that led those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment change has come to America.

A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call from Sen. McCain.

Sen. McCain fought long and hard in this campaign. And he's fought even longer and harder for the country that he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine. We are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader.

I congratulate him; I congratulate Gov. Palin for all that they've achieved. And I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead.

I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart, and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on the train home to Delaware, the vice president-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.

And I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last 16 years the rock of our family, the love of my life, the nation's next first lady Michelle Obama.

Sasha and Malia I love you both more than you can imagine. And you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the new White House.

And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother's watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight. I know that my debt to them is beyond measure.

To my sister Maya, my sister Alma, all my other brothers and sisters, thank you so much for all the support that you've given me. I am grateful to them.

And to my campaign manager, David Plouffe, the unsung hero of this campaign, who built the best -- the best political campaign, I think, in the history of the United States of America.

To my chief strategist David Axelrod who's been a partner with me every step of the way.

To the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done.

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you. It belongs to you.

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington. It began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston. It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give $5 and $10 and $20 to the cause.

It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep.

It drew strength from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on doors of perfect strangers, and from the millions of Americans who volunteered and organized and proved that more than two centuries later a government of the people, by the people, and for the people has not perished from the Earth.

This is your victory.

And I know you didn't do this just to win an election. And I know you didn't do it for me.

You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime -- two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century.

Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us.

There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after the children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage or pay their doctors' bills or save enough for their child's college education.

There's new energy to harness, new jobs to be created, new schools to build, and threats to meet, alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term. But, America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there.

I promise you, we as a people will get there.

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as president. And we know the government can't solve every problem.

But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And, above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation, the only way it's been done in America for 221 years -- block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began 21 months ago in the depths of winter cannot end on this autumn night.

This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were.

It can't happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice.

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility, where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves but each other.

Let us remember that, if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers.

In this country, we rise or fall as one nation, as one people. Let's resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long.

Let's remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House, a party founded on the values of self-reliance and individual liberty and national unity.

Those are values that we all share. And while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress.

As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.

And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices. I need your help. And I will be your president, too.

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world, our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand.

To those -- to those who would tear the world down: We will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security: We support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright: Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope.

That's the true genius of America: that America can change. Our union can be perfected. What we've already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight's about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing: Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons -- because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America -- the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.

At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination.

And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change.

Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves -- if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment.

This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.

Thank you. God bless you. And may God bless the United States of America.