Not enough can be said about how inspiring and heartening the Immigration Marches were yesterday. Imagine: People caring enough about their rights, their families and the country to take to the streets and be unified behind a cause instead of behind their own vanity and self-righteousness (like, I don’t know, say the rest of the American left). Maybe there could be a new labor movement or at least a shift away from the sense of impending doom we currently call reality. Sorry, don’t mean to get all Daily Kos-y on your asses, but the March went right by my office here in Chicago and it must have flipped on my pontification switch.

Actually, there was only one thing that bothered me about the day. I was out at lunch, watching everybody going by and counting Che t-shirts (11 in under 20 minutes) when this big black town car came skidding up to the sidewalk. And out hops this woman in huge sunglasses and a full-length fur. It took me a second, but suddenly I realize it’s Sophanie Mishap. We never actually met, (thanks internerd!) but I recognize her from the headshot her publicist sent out when the feud began. Her manservants jump out of the front seat and out of the trunk they start immediately assembling a huge chair, like lifeguards or tennis judges sit in.

As soon as it’s together, SM is up in it and her goons pass her one of those giant ’20s cheerleader megaphones. She starts screaming at the Marchers, demanding to know where Julio, her gardener, is. She’s absolutely indignant, claiming she knows people at the INS and yelling if everybody doesn’t get back to “their owners” right away she’ll report them. For some reason, she urges every white person who walks by to “Remember the Maine.” It put a real damper on the whole day.