We live in an interesting time. Television news programs and reality shows resemble Saturday Night Live sketches. The most trustworthy news source on my BBC-less cable lineup is Jon Stewart's Daily Show. When “real tv” reaches the surreal and Comedy Central produces the most thoughtful political commentary du jour, I can’t help but think something is amiss in media today. Frustrated with the world as I know it turning upside-down through the picture tube, I set out on Saturday to experience a media event through something other than my television.

I attended the peace demonstration at the UN, spawned by a combination of curiosity and idealism. I am not a political activist; I am merely a person who is disheartened by war. I realize, based on my limited knowledge of history, that war is probably inevitable. But that doesn’t stop me from holding onto the hope that the world’s problems could be solved without bloodshed. Clearly there are a few hundred thousand people in New York, and a few million people around the world who, at least on Saturday, shared my hope.

I arrived late, joined by three Brits who, like me, were nursing a hangover. My friend Beth was already on the scene, instructing us by cell phone which route to take to meet her. By 2 p.m. the demonstration area was teeming with people, who spilled into the streets and avenues far beyond 49th Street and 1st Avenue. Police had barricaded the streets as far up as 60th Street and Lexington Avenue, where we arrived. Latecomers like ourselves were denied access to the throng of people three avenues away. We wandered up to 66th Street, where we finally crossed eastward along with a growing crowd of fellow walkers. By the time we were midway down the street, my friends and I looked at each other with excitement and surprise. So many people were walking down the car-less block that we were, in fact, marching. Despite the fact that the city did not grant the organizers the right to march, that was precisely what we were doing.

At each avenue we gained more people, and although we were swept up with the chanting (“This is what democracy looks like!… Tell them what democracy looks like!”), we were a bit confused about where we going. With the speakers and main stage of the rally sixteen blocks south of us, our northward path seemed counter-intuitive. Harlem? La Guardia Airport? The Guggenheim? I couldn’t imagine what important political destination lie on the Upper East Side or beyond. Still, we eagerly followed the crowd.

As we arrived at 1st Avenue and turned southward, it was finally clear that we were joining the other demonstrators downtown. By this time it was 3 p.m. and the temperature had dropped to “I can’t feel my thighs”. Huddled in a mass of bodies, we tried to keep warm, entertained by the signs brandished by our fellow marchers.

Hippies, hipsters, and high school kids were among the diverse crowd. Regardless of everyone’s purpose for being there (anger towards Bush, disgust with war, picking up your morning bagel at the wrong time and getting swept up in the sea of people), it was empowering to take over the streets that were normally bustling with buses and cabs. On one street we passed two cars, their drivers and passengers looking at us with curiosity and some degree of impatience, but not with the fear that has permeated the city for the past “Code-Orange” week. A friend of mine was further uptown and witnessed a violent skirmish between police on horseback and the crowd, but downtown with the Glamericans (more on them later), the peace march was exactly that -- peaceful.

Although I hadn’t given much thought to what I was getting into on Saturday, once I was there it became clear. I was a small part of a greater whole, and came away with a profound respect for the drive of my fellow New Yorkers. When I could no longer feel my hands and my friends’ bellies ached for brunch, we left the demonstration. We walked away with a small feeling of accomplishment, and a short list of the most memorable signs we saw that day.

Anti-Pres
Even though I’m not a big fan of the Pres, it shocked me to see how many people chose anti-Bust sentiment for their signs. Ranging from unflattering cartoons to the more direct, here are the highlights of this category:
-Stop Mad Cowboy Disease
-VotetoImpeach.com
-Bomb Texas They Have Oil Too
-The Idiot of Mass Destruction
-Bushit
-Stop THESE Warheads (photo of heads of state)
and our favorite, Eat Another Pretzel, Asshole (raised high by a bearded 30-something in a mesh cap)

The Old Standards
Beth, while waiting for us to arrive, had encountered some guitar-strummers who lead a round of Kumbaya. This, she believed, was a little too much. For me this moment came when I heard the cracking voices of Caucasians singing We Shall Overcome. I suppose every war protest is going to have its share of the old standards. This trickled down to the following signs:
-Veterans Against War
-Not In My Name
-No Blood For Oil
with some timely newcomers, phrased as questions:
-Is the Media Pro-War?
-Would We Go To War if Iraq’s Export Was Broccoli?

The Glamericans
Perhaps the highlight of our day was encountering the Glamericans, a posse of drag queens and their fashion-fabulous friends. Bedecked in feather boas and snakeskin cowboy hats, the Glamericans were chanting “Makeup, Not War”. Even their posters were adorned with feathers, and the following catchy slogans:
-Glam Not War
-Baby, I AM The Bomb
-War is So Last Century
-My Sign’s Peace, What’s Yours?
-Sexy Peace
-Botox, Not Bombs

Los Angeles Checks In
When I returned to my apartment I landed on the CNN on Steroids channel, which was covering the demonstration in LA. Martin Sheen and Rob Reiner spoke in support of the US Troops, but with the hope of a peaceful resolution that will keep them safe. As the correspondent shouted to the camera over the din of the crowd, one left-coast rallier held a sign with Hollywood flair. I See Dead People, it read. Only in LA.

Who knows if any of this will make a difference. Even though millions of people gathered worldwide to voice their pleas to stave off war, I have a feeling it’s going to happen anyway. When and if it does, there will surely be more of these in the future. I should start thinking now about what my sign will say. There’s a lot of competition out there.