(Based on a rough draft written in a packed Spitfire bar this morning): I never saw so many people in a bar prior to 9 a.m. since the last soccer World Cup. It’s now 10:37 a.m. and the place is still quite full, just not to standing room only. According to reports, the scene was just as packed and festive at the other viewing parties around town and around the country. Lots of hugging and kissing and clapping and cheering. A spontaneous chorus of “Na Na Na Na, Hey Hey, Goodbye” ensued when the Bushes boarded the helicopter. A lot of people, including myself, seem not to want this moment to end. Yet it must.

Or must it?

What if the joy, the celebratory spirit, carries over into people’s everyday lives? To work, school, commuting, recreation, family, lovemaking, feeding, grooming, worshipping, checkbook balancing, and all the other things normal American humans do in their normal lives?

I’ve never known such a world. The many corporate attempts to create all-positive spaces (Disneyland, malls, casinos, porn) invariably reveal a heap of sadness, a face of tragedy glaring from behind the comedy mask.

But Obama’s positive thinking is a very different flavor from an incessant/manic corporate positive thinking—and from the neocons’ bullyish swagger.

It’s a positivity that recognizes the negative, while vowing to overcome it. Not to hide troubles behind slogans and forced smiles, but to solve them. To create a new reality the hard way, the only way that ultimately works.

Thus the call to begin the real work, invoked by Obama during the eat-your-vegetables passages of his inauguration speech.

How far will he, and we, get about rescuing the economy, health care, education, and the planet?

One thing we do know: That incessantly repeated Pepsi commercial with the song “My Generation” totally blows.

Yet the fact that one of the world’s most aggressive marketing companies wants to hop on the hope bandwagon reveals something. I don’t know what exactly, but something.

So we’ve finally had it. The Big One. The Perfect Storm (Western Washington version). The utter catastrophe the TV stations breathlessly threatened/promised every fall and winter since at least 1991.

I won’t disparge the impact this has had on the homeless (who deserve a better lot in life year round).

And the big snow’s timing has left thousands unable to leave or enter the area for holiday reunions; not to mention leaving already-troubled retailers bereft of holiday shoppers.

And, no matter what week it occurs, a snow like this will be tough for car commuters and truck shippers. This time, it also hit bus and train travelers hard.

But damn if it isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

And the most joyous.

The first non-sticky flakes of Saturday the 13th were all the “white Christmas” miracle I’d come to expect here in the ol’ Puget Sound convergence zone. It was lite; it was white; it went away.

The local newscasts (which, like their counterparts on stations across the country, are built and budgeted exactly for these huge visual-crisis moments) promised/threatened an even huger blast the following Wednesday.

It didn’t happen.

Those of us who’d been through this in the past figured, “Ah, of course. They’ll always threaten but not deliver.”

Then, in the predawn hours of Thursday, the big snow came.

And came.

And came some more.

For four days.

Without getting into crude sexual puns, let me simply state how much I’ve loved it.

As I’ve written here in the past, snow in Seattle is a rare treat. It turns us all into children. Most of us can’t do our normal daily dreary work lives. All we can do is play, and coccoon, and enjoy the company of whoever’s closest to us, and reconnect with those in our most immediate vicinity.

And enjoy the blanket of pure precipitory wonder.

But by this point, even a Snow Miser like me feels a little melancholy while walking through the winter wonderland.

Can there be such a thing as too much beauty, too much joy?

When does it turn into, as the cliche goes, a “great and terrible beauty”?

Sooner for many other people than for me, that’s for sure.

But now, I’m starting to feel the ten-day itch.

At some point, any holiday from the ordinary must conclude.

Lovers who’ve ignored the world beyond one another’s arms must resume doing whatever they do to stay fed. Children must return to school. Trucks must be able to get stuff to and from us. The wheels of commerce must turn again.

But the visceral memories remain—of street sledding on flattened cardboard boxes, of mugs of cocoa or Irish coffee thawing frozen fingers, of strangers becoming instant allies inthe great adventure, of our normal wintery dim grey turned blinding white.

A final thought: It just so happened that this snowapalooza occurred around and on the solstice, the day after which everything becomes just a little brighter. This has been the last winter solstice of the Bush era; the economy’s in the undisputed dumps, the nation’s civic fabric is in tatters, but the hope of better times already beckons.

If anyone has a reasonable explanation for this, please tell me.

It took trekkin’ to seven stores, but I now have my yummy centennial Hydrox pack. Yay!

Kress IGA, that is, as of 7 a.m. this morning. I’m happy.

The “Save Our Sonics” rally outside the new Federal Courthouse on Stewart Street was far more exhilarating than anything seen on the KeyArena floor this past year (except the Obama rally).

The organizers scheduled it to coincide with the start of the city’s lawsuit trial inside the courthouse and with game 6 of the NBA finals. With the help of the local sports media, they drew more than 3,000 people to the courthouse steps.

Sonics legends were there (Gary Payton, Xavier McDaniel) to spur on the shouting. So were several men, and at least one boy, in Slick Watts getup.

As per the organizers’ permit, the 4:30 p.m. rally lasted just over half an hour, long enough to be covered live for the 5 p.m. local news. It served to drive home a crucial point in the city’s case against Clay Bennett and co.: We don’t want a settlement. We don’t want to be bought out of the team’s arena lease, at any price. We want our team. Period.

…blogged about Friday’s huge Obamapalooza at KeyArena. Allow me to interject a few thoughts of my own.

First, it was a spectacularly attended event. Here are about half of the people who didn’t get in. KeyArena was filled above its official capacity, far surpassing any SubSonics crowd this season. They’d said the doors would open at 11. I’d shown up at 10:15 a.m. The line was still snaking around the Seattle Center grounds. I barely made it into the upper nosebleed seats.

They all showed up for what turned out to be a simple, direct spectacle. The Obama campaign showed some of its commercials on the DiamondVision screens. Local musician Jake Bergevin showed off the pro-Obama music video he’d made with Pat Wright and Matt Cameron.

Warm-up speakers were kept to a brief, all-local lineup of Mayor Nickels, Rep. Adam Smith, and Gov. Gregoire.

The Sen. Obama gave the 50-minute version of his current stump speech. No podium, no graphic “slides,” only a few strategic banners. He essentially said what he’s been saying these past months: “It’s easy to be against something. But people want to be FOR something.”

You already know what he says he’s for: Peace, prosperity, affordable health care (sans mandates), unions, civil rights, competent government, choice, economic fairness, eco-sanity, gay rights (though perhaps not gay marriage), people coming together to work for a better tomorrow.

Some pundits have claimed the biggest differences between Sens. Obama and Clinton right now are their personalities and their brand images. If so, the question then is which of these personalities, which of these brand images, is most capable of trouncing Sen. McCain and the walking ghosts of the Bushies.

The Moore Theatre threw a delightfully casual centennial party Monday evening. It was a textbook lesson in how to mount a fun, populist gala. It hewed to the spirit of the Moore’s original purpose as a vaudeville palace.

The above view is from the now seldom-used top balcony. Originally, this was the only part where black patrons could sit; it was accessed from a separate side entrance.

Theater personnel gave informal tours of backstage areas. Buskers performed outside and throughout the lobbies. Free drinkies and snackies abounded. Original posters and playbills hung everywhere.

Civilians were invited to consume wine and popcorn on stage, while one act after another appeared: Operetta, tap dancing, trapeze, burlesque, modern dance, standup comedy, folk music, soul music.

The night started with an old-time theater organist. It closed with a pick-up rock band, including guitarist Kurt Bloch and singer Kim Virant.

Would that all theatrical parties were this much fun. (Hint hint, Seattle Repertory Organization.)

With a high “five” from John Curley to the big ‘KING Mike’ balloon/float, the downtown holiday shopping season is among us.

I know I’m not the only one who saw something subliminally S/M-like about the real woman locked up inside a giant snow globe.

Then, at the Black Friday parade’s conclusion, always comes the fake snow shot out from TSFKATBM (that’s “the store formerly known as The Bon Marche”).

The passing parade witnesses the demolition of the former Frederick Cadillac showroom, used more recently as the Teatro ZinZanni dinner theater, for a mega-high-rise condo project…

…and the arrival of what’s officially called the Seattle Streetcar, but is already unofficially known as the South Lake Union Trolley (for the acronymic possibilities), on a test run up Westlake Avenue. Passenger service is still tentatively scheduled to commence some time in December.

Drew Carey was at the George & Dragon pub in Fremont on Monday afternoon.

During a typically packed UK soccer day (there was a satellite TV match showing between Arsenal and Reading), Carey showed up in a chauffeured minivan with a small entourage. He plugged his recent status as a goodwill ambassador for U.S. pro soccer (you know, that game where nothing’s made up and the points do matter). Specifically, Paul Allen and partners have recruited Carey as a minority investor in their Major League Soccer expansion team, to launch at Qwest Field in 2009. (Rumor has it that somebody else sought the franchise, but they bid over the actual retail price.)

Carey’s big promo point during the speech (which he repeated that night as a Monday Night Football booth guest): The team will offer “club memberships.” For a projected $100/year, hardcore fans will (1) get an exclusive package of merch, and (2) get to vote every few years or so about the team’s future, even getting to fire the general manager.

He also got in a well-received dig about how such a fan-empowerment schtick might have helped with “that basketball team you used to have.”

Here are some beautiful, haunting photos of toy factories in China. The series oscillates between three extremes: The official “fun” expressed in the products themselves, the regimented factory atmosphere, and the close-up portraits of individual humans (mostly female) on the production lines.

Turns out I’m not the only one who’s become fascinated by old blank signs.

…autumn unofficially arrived last night, in the form of a spectacular thunderstorm.

This morning, the skies over Seattle have returned to their diffuse, impressionistic low-light pattern. It’s refreshing, it’s cool, it’s beautiful. Really.