No Need for Special Effects in the New Real America

by Amy Z. Quinn

You'll have to forgive me for something. I had hoped to be able to deliver this column to each of you readers sort of personally, appearing as a hologram in your home or office, or next to you while you're sitting on the can. But dammit, CNN beat me to it, beaming reporters (and Will.i.am) right into its studio as holograms, giving them a bluish halo, like a streaking hockey puck on TV. And since there's nothing people hate more than a hologram-come-lately, I'll just stick to words.

As I write this, it's early Wednesday morning, and a lot of people are waking up, turning on their TVs and seeing an America reflected on the news that so far we've only ever seen invented, in fiction. We elected a black man president of the United States, and he isn't Dennis Haysbert or Lou Gossett Jr., though like them he's got a good voice and isn't tough on the eyes. Forget the West Wing comparisons; to me it felt more like Revenge of the Nerds: The Big Man on Campus teams up with the Hot Chick to try to defeat the Geek/Minority/Other. The competition gets ugly — vicious words, dirty tricks, intriguing sub-plots and ridiculous minor characters — but in the end, the Nerd makes a stand, the Crowd has an epiphany, we realize that we are the Nerd, the Nerd is us, and everybody leaves the theater feeling good and thinking sequel.

On TV, every corny storyline played out, from his granny's poignantly timed death to the 112-year-old black man finally voting for someone who looks like him. Sarah Palin held the best press conference of her short political life, wearing her own clothes, standing outside Wasilla's city hall and refusing to cop to voting for John McCain. Did she write herself in for president? Did she vote for Obama? Did she vote for McCain and just not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing? I was waiting for a swell of Wurlitzer organ music as the whole thing ended. Remember, it's always someone scorned in Part I who comes back to play the villain/villain-turned-friend in the sequel. You could almost see her twirling her mustache, muttering, "You haven't seen the last of me, America!" as she skulks back to her snowbound lair to plot a comeback.

Can anyone except the most ardent Republicans really say there was a moment, one solid moment, in these last few months, in which they haven't known Obama would win? Yeah, there are moments when destiny can be a drag, as those of us who supported Hillary Clinton in the primaries can tell you. Yet it's no exaggeration to say that as the votes were counted and the electoral college total piled up, I began to feel like "change," or at least the feeling of it, was falling from the sky like snowflakes, covering up all the blemishes in our national landscape, filling in the fissures, softening the angles, gathering in piles so deep and with a feeling so tangible I wanted to scoop up a handful of it and rub it between my hands.

In his acceptance speech, President-elect Obama acknowledged those who "rejected the myth of their generation's apathy," as he won easily among Gen X, Gen Y, women and families in all income groups. By midnight, the transformation of the face of "real" America was complete: No longer do we have to accept the Central Casting version of the "real" or "average" American, the balding white workin' dude around whom this country hasn't actually revolved for decades now.

In Japan, people cheered in the streets. In Paris, they toasted the new president with Champagne, and of course in the small Kenyan village where Obama's granny still lives, the celebration was jubilant. And these weren't holograms, either, but real people, fellow citizens of the planet, who perhaps believe again that America is the great nation they've seen in movies and on TV. In one night, Obama accomplished more successful foreign diplomacy than Bush achieved in eight years in office.

Like I said, the whole thing seems like fiction, right down to the special effects and the cheering crowds hoisting their brand-name electronics to capture it all. Except it's actually happening: The feelings are genuine, the emotion is authentic, no holographic news anchors or computerized 3-D graphics are needed. Maybe we need to think of a new name for so-called "reality TV."

Amy Z. Quinn blogs at quinnchannel.typepad.com.