Anyway, my night started off at the pre-ball VIP reception, which was held in the basement lobby area in front of the IMAX theater. My editor wrangled a ticket for me, along with the tip that orange-colored clothing (the official campaign hue) was encouraged. After briefly considering wearing a neon-orange prison jumpsuit – or something involving a traffic cone or even a metal street plate -- I decided on a black strapless number. That brought up another dilemma: Where to put the name tag that was handed out at the door? I settled for a haphazard placement on my skirt. One thin, expensively dressed, blond-ish matron had another idea – she stuck it to the bare skin above her tube top. Hello, my name is … dork!

As expected, the patron party was really pretty schmoozy and stuffy, temperature-wise. City Council members and political bigwigs mixed it up with corporate sponsors. Orange ties with dark suits were prevalent, along with other orange accoutrements, like the Oompa-Loompa tan.

I managed to have a brief chat with the mayor, who was very affable. We talked about West Virginia, where he grew up and went to grad school.

“I was born in Morgantown,” I told him.

“Oh, I drove a cab there. I saw some interesting things,” he said before he was accosted by more fans.

Interaction thus complete, I headed upstairs and met the rest of my group. We wandered around the Great Hall, which was crowded but not unbearably so because a tent outside provided some room for the overflow. Again, the people-watching was great; a cross-section of KC was well represented. The crowd varied from the yuppie-ish types in suits, women in what my co-worker Nadia dubbed the Vanna White dress, two guys in khaki shorts, polo shirts and flip-flops and a whole lot in between.

I talked with a guy in a tie-dyed suit and an equally tie-dyed ruffled shirt. Don said that he got his After Six suit at Sir Knight. He took it to a woman in Olathe who specializes in dying things, but she said that she couldn’t do his suit, due to its high polyester content. So she affixed the rubber bands on it and he spray-painted it. He also has a matching Cat-in-the-Hat hat to go with it, but his wife thought it was too much. Then, speaking of orange jumpsuits, I ran into Bill, the instantly recognizable Crossroads guy who usually acts as a trolley guide on First Fridays, among other things. He sported an orange-and-yellow track jacket and orange pants. He was also a Funkhouser volunteer, specializing in doing things to yard signs, like making them flaglike. “That was all the rage on Ward Parkway,” he said.

To sum up the rest of the night: the ceremonial parts were kind of boring and loud. Then we were summoned outside to watch the kick-ass fireworks display by the Liberty Memorial. After the show, people lingered outside in the balmy night.

My friends and I decided to end out night at One80, where we spotted the mayor’s daughter, Tara Funkhouser. She’s tall and beautiful and was rocking a long black dress that exposed quite a bit of back and cleavage. I asked her how her life’s been affected since her dad got elected. “Not that much since I’ve been home,” she said (she goes to school in Pittsburgh). “It’s different. I’m recognized more, but it’s not bad.” Later that night, I saw two duders talking to her and her friends. “She’s the mayor’s daughter, dude!” yelled one of the guys. That’s smoove.

So, yeah, my first inauguration was all I expected. Talk about a city that works – at least for that night. -- Jen Chen