It is several days after the election, and I still feel like I'm walking around
in a Burl Ives Christmas song. I'm pretty sure a guy doffed his cap to me today. People seem full of hope. This is America, though, it can't last. Pleased and proud as we are, Obama hasn't been on American Idol, so we're bound to lose interest soon.

That's why President Elect Obama needs to waste no time in harnessing this feeling, and ask something of us. We'll spend. We'll save. We'll do laps. We'll wear sweaters.

My parents are a part of the greatest generation. They pulled our nation through the depression and world war II and, when they heard the call, they collected rubber. My generation rode out the Beanie Baby crash, ran up both credit card debt and the nations weight, and brought us reality t.v. and the s.u.v., but it's not all we can do. We've grown up collecting box tops, and shoes. We've earned free donuts by getting our cards punched with every dozen purchased. We're the "a-thon" generation. We've jogged, walked, and pedaled thousands of miles, because someone said it would cure cancer.

It's our turn now. Just ask us. We'll bring an unwrapped gift. We'll bring canned goods. We've adopted freeways, and been up all night with night feedings.

What do you need us to do, President Elect Obama? We could form a bucket brigade to bail out the banks. We could collect Band-Aids (not the useless little ones) for the health care system. We could take shifts forming human pyramids to hold up our crumbling bridges. The entire country could hold a progressive dinner party to feed the homeless. We could all commit to wearing the same clothes two days on a row to save water, energy, and time. I'll go three, because I care more than the others. We can carry road mending materials in our cars and fill pot holes during traffic jams. We can put a wishing well on Wall Street.

Our leadership has told us that we have a long, hard climb before us, which I would welcome, because I love the outdoors, and I could use the weight loss, but I have a bad feeling it has nothing to do with climbing.
I'm waiting. I'm punching my glove. It's oiled and ready. Pitch it in here, sir.