Okay, oops. Ann Coulter was born in New York City and then her family moved to New Canaan, Connecticut. My point remains, though, that Coulter has helped me out in developing an intense and irrational hatred of a state that has never really wronged me in any substantial way.

Listed in order of increasing competence, outlets NY Mag, IvyGate, and MetaEzra have commented on Coulter’s claim that the Ag School is a “Plastic Ivy,” a claim launched in order to devalue fellow alum Keith Olbermann’s “plastic” degree. Since it’s all been said before, we’ll just say that squabbling over whether or not a school can be considered part of a group that is, essentially, an ATHLETIC CONFERENCE is elitist, polarizing, and therefore typical of political discourse nowadays.

Back to the top 10 reasons I hate Connecticut:

1) It created Ann Coulter.

2) It has the highest per capita GDP of any state.

3) Its motto is “Full of Surprises.”

4) Yale is there and has a way better gay scene than Cornell, even though it’s WAY smaller. Whatever. I’m not bitter. New Haven’s a crime-y, rape-y, shithole anyway.

5) It’s full of boring WASPs who stole New York City’s money from immigrants like my great-great-grandma Ida Bowes. At least we immigrant ethnics are brash, loud, annoying, and serve calorically loaded items other than booze at parties.

6) It’s called the Nutmeg State and NOBODY KNOWS WHY. Also, nutmeg is an altogether pedestrian spice.

7) I thought that the etymology of its name came from the “connecting (short) cut” between New York City and Boston. The Connect-I-Cut! But instead it’s just some Native American word for “place of long tidal river.” Pfffff.

8) We always got stuck in traffic there for HOURS when we were going to visit our cousins on Cape Cod, meaning it makes me think of being trapped listening to Sheryl Crow CD’s on repeat, while the stench of Aunt Susan’s farts grew ever more putrid.

9) An old guy got hit by a car in soulless insurance capital Hartford (one of my Top 10 American Cities, deffo) and nobody helped a brotha out.

10) Do I really need a tenth reason to hate a vast affluent wasteland? Okay, fine, for all y’all Clueless fans: They’re virgins who can’t drive.

What I was struck by was a mixture of confusion and, as I later determined, idiocy.  As it turns out, Aretha was refraining “Let it ring,” which I suppose should’ve been painfully obvious to any decent patriot. Why I choose to highlight this moment: among all the hubbub, my mishearing mirrored the general ludicrous clusterfuckery of the day: We were pissed off with the some 240,000 ticket holders that Congress meted out (but luckily weren’t turned away). We were among the record numbers of cattle-to-the-slaughter metro riders. And yet it was all worth it to witness, in the frostbitten flesh, a historic moment so I can count myself as a primary source.

We made our way over to the Inauguration around 9:30, crossing over carless highways and swigging the last remaints of last night’s Cap’n Morgs in public.  We were “silver” ticket holders, which meant that we would’ve been able to nuzzle up with the Reflecting Pool and see the black speck of Obama’s semblance, had we managed not to stay up until 6 in the morning. By the time we arrived  (12:04, to be exact), fellow silvers had managed to pack all the way up to the Pool — so we were left to squint at massive TV screens.

The ceremony was typical at times, and Obama’s speech fell under that specter, unfortunately. Aretha sang. Yo-Yo Ma and Ithzhak Perlman played. Elizabeth Alexander poemed. Leaving the place before the parade proved difficult, as many  other participants had the exact same idea. We ended up wandering to the opposite side of town we wanted, laboring under misconceptions about the DC grid system. Apparently, M St. SW does not turn into M St. NW. Who knew?

Right before I got back to my trusty MacBook to sit down and write this, I remarked that I was confused about what Aretha was saying at the end of her song. John-David corrected me, as he is one of those clever patriots who attends College Dems meetings. But I still want to believe that she said “Let it rain.” Obama is replacing an administration that might be handily compared to a drought: arid desert wars, an illiquid economy, and the complete lack of a presidential sex scandal. (Thanks for sowing your seeds in the barren sands, Clinton.) Maybe a young, hip Obama-ministration can wash away the stodgy second chapter of the Bush era… If not, let’s hope Michelle finds her own little intern manservant to make it with. How’s that for change?

UPDATE: Even more pictures!