feeling good, looking good

There have been some developments over the past few weeks. The most substantial of which...

I shaved off my beard.

You see... in late December, I stopped shaving my chiny chin chin. The result... over the last 5 months was a cross between Isaac Hayes and Fu Man CHu.

But that time is over. The reason for the elongated follicles was an impromptu public statement, in which, I vowed not to cut my beard until I moved into my house. In retrospect, I could have used many different tangible symbols of my commitment. Perhaps... I could have vowed to walk barefoot until my house was finished. I could have Barney Rubbled my way through the last five months letting my bewildered instep bare the burden of my conviction. But that seemed a bit too much.

Or does it?

Maybe I took the easy way out with the Manchurian chin. Maybe the presentation I gave for work on Thursday would have been that much more powerful if I walked into the conference room with my laptop, projector, and ashy ankles? well ...minus the ashy part... but what could you say? You would have two choices, dismiss me as a clown, or take me fundamentamentally more seriously than you would have otherwise.

You see where I'm going here?

What if the sacrifices we choose as symbols of our devotion are too trivial? Maybe I need to try more compelling self-challenging tactics.

Should I have stated that until I move into my house, I'm going to speak in Shakespearean diction?

Would thou cast thine eyes upon me with new and brilliant light?

fire in, fire out

I often comment on the incredible shock to the system the growth and development of the human species has had on the earth and its varied complex relationships... kind of like when you order the medium hot Lamb Vindaloo and it burns its way through and out of your body. I continue by talking about China and their burgeoning industrialization... the good and the bad. Imagine a country with the potential to be as wasteful and self oriented as the US with 4 Times the population. It is a bitter pill to swallow.

But it is very easy to understand if you look for the subtle nuances of everyday life. Case and point...I went to the hardware store buy a Swiffer to clean the cork floor so I could move my stuff in on Saturday. The swiffer is a mop of sorts that allows you to take the head off, throw it away, and then strap on a new one. Very efficient, very clean, very.... wasteful. We are a "consume and discard" culture.

Guess what? If China does that... we are all screwed.

So I bought a swifferish substitute that has a Velcro mop head that you can take off, wash it, and then Velcro it back on.

It may take a little more work to rinse it off, but the bigger the world gets, the more we cannot afford to think small.

Oh and in an unrelated, but oddly intriguing commentary on globalization...

nobody talks about fight club

I have neither documentation nor concrete proof... but I believe that there is some clandestine, underground, post-bar-closing, midnight mayhem, bare knuckle... or bare teeth, steel cage, fighting taking place beneath my second floor window. The fighters... well...not sure... but I'm going to say: Possums

either that or some rowdy southeast pigeons.

of cut grass, concrete, and chickens

So I am fortunate enough to tout today as my 28th birthday.[insert pat on back here]

The past few weeks have been physical and emotional roller coasters. Demands for my time, energy and acute decision making have increased threefold and thus the poetic daily diatribe download [growahouse] that I have become accustom to has suffered.

suffer no more.

My father tracked down a local entrepreneur to cut my grass yesterday. So no longer am I the overgrown scourge of the streetscape with my dandelion forest. It was a pleasant experience to come home to an even plain of grass... a clean slate of green.

On Sunday I emerged from a 24 hour jaunt to Pittsburgh for a wedding just in time to organize a massive assembly of friends to help move the concrete countertop into place.

What countertop?

The unfortunate downside of a life transcript such as this is that when you don't have the time to write about something, you are forced to ask yourself if it really happened. In fact I feel that the concrete story deserves its own saga styled moment by moment chronological epic epistolary. So watch out for that in the immediate future.

and then there are the chickens...

I was given a birthday gift of a flock of chickens donated in my name through heifer international.

a gift as divinely inspiring as the gift giver herself.

creature comforts

Conventional wisdom (as well as Red from Shawshank Redemption) states that you need to "get busy living, or get busy dying." Through my final willingness to hear what has been whispered to me time and time again or perhaps it was simple divine intervention... I moved my television over to the house. I have no incredible attachment to my television. Though...it has served me well throughout the ages... several years of college... graduate school... countless moving from apartment to apartment to houses (shout out to Yardley Way) and now to growahouse where it will probably find a peaceful, intentional, and welcoming final resting place.

So I have slept at my house. I have watched Television at my house. I have ordered pizza... I have ordered buffalo wings... I have met the mailman at the edge of the driveway, and I have talked to neighbors over and through fences. I have watched the rain from the second floor window... and on Sunday evening... as I was packing up to head out, a local and old friend drove by to see if I was "home." We talked by the makeshift mailbox and had I a bag of brown sugar to lend him; it would have been a quintessential I am your friendly neighbor moment.

I reached a point where the readiness of moving into the house was not one based on a fictitious timeline or a self imposed mad rush to the finish.

It was a radiant skylight on Easter Sunday... it was an early morning mango.... it was leaning over a yet to be installed kitchen sink and imagining the fruits and vegetables that will find there home here atop a 2 inch concrete slab of a countertop (to be poured this weekend).

It is the recollection of the life and lives that have been on hold whilst the walls were growing.

the man inside

I took some advice and spent Friday evening enjoying a film at the local Magic Johnson Theatre Complex. The advice was not particularly to see Spike Lee's new movie Inside Man with Denzel Washington. The advice was to do something completely unrelated to the growing albatross of an unfinished house that I own and operate.

"Get him out... go to the movies... go to dinner... something."

I think the intent was well placed and it was much appreciated. I felt like a normal person for a brief 2 hrs 9 min + previews. Add that to the movie being mad entertaining and an all around good time...

I feel like it was a night well spent.

on second thought

3:20PM

I go to a hardware store near the house and the locksmith guys in the back, yes... they are exactly as you are imaging "locksmith guys would be,"... anyway... they were extremely helpful and they said they couldn't give me what I need to repair my big front door relic lock, but they gave me a list of a few other locksmiths that might be able to help me. One of these locksmiths is two blocks down the street. I'm on my way.

3:40PM

I stroll into the second key haberdashery and as soon as I pull the lock out of the bag, they know that they won't be able to help me... However, in similar fashion the helpful guys before them, they give me a name of the folks that they think will best be able to help. It was the second time I had heard a reference of a company across town that seemed to be the Mecca of locks. That place apparently closes at 4:30pm... so I hit the streets yet again.

4:15PM

I arrive at the next spot with time to spare. I walk in and there is one customer being helped, but then both guys behind the register say, in unison, Can we help you? I hope so. I have this old lock and I either need to replace it or come up with another idea of what to do next... and... well.. Here it is. So then the mood changes. This guy starts backing down from his helpful beginnings. He says that they don't have anything like that and that they can't help me.

O.K.

I figured as much, but then one guy starts being real short with me and of course now my inherent paranoid black man radar starts flashing. I'm not saying that I knew there was some racial significance to the intent behind his word choice, I'm just saying that part of the wonderful legacy of a nation built on free labor and systematic oppression is that every time something odd happens, I have the privilege of having to be extra precautious of my surroundings so I don't underestimate a situation and end up calling my father from DC Central Cell Block.

Anyway, so now I'm hypersensitive to the way this guy is talking to me and he says that they can't help me and that they are closing and that I should come back on Monday.

Wait a minute... what’s going to happen on Monday?

I'm confused because I'm wondering what I would be coming back for then that we couldn't do now. What special information is going to be formulated over the weekend to help with my situation? Then he says that on Monday they will pull out a few alternatives and we can figure out what to do about the lock. Sorry.

4:20PM

So I bounce to my car in a tuft of irritation, feeling blacker and blacker with each step, get in my car, and start the engine. I turn the engine off and walk back into the shop.

You know... I was about to drive away and then I realized that it wouldn’t be right for me to leave here feeling angry while you get to go home feeling that you can treat people anyway you want. I rushed all the way across town to get here and everyone told me that you guys were the best. And I understand that you are closing soon, but you're not closed yet... and I feel that you were very dismissive and that you could have been more helpful. I just wanted to make sure you knew how I felt. Have a good day.

4:25PM

maybe some peas?

When I first bought the house, I seized every opportunity to introduce myself to any and all neighbors that would stop and listen. One special woman, whose eyes told a story of age and experience, waved an intrigued greeting from her alley side parking spot. We spoke brief pleasantries and then she was gone. Feeling a sense of incompleteness in our encounter, I found myself walking up the hill and around to her front door about 40 minutes later. She was welcoming and genuine. She invited me in, introduced me to her calmingly stoic dialysis bound husband... and we sat and talked in her parlor...

Fyi...old people have parlors.

We talked for just shy of an hour and she told me about her and her husband...the history of my house... the neighborhood... the city.

Flash forward nine months... and a three floors of new neighbor.

We spoke on Friday and she told me that once upon a time, she thought about planting a garden in the space between our homes. She assumed now that like my other street mates, I would exercise eminent domain over the incomplete alley that separates our houses, stretching my lot back an extra ten feet or so…and thus... she dismissed the garden idea.

Having on-site vegetables production has always been a part of the sustainable site vision of growahouse. I never thought about it being a community garden. Even if the community is just my rear neighbor and I.

I think she should have a place to grow her peas

... and so the vision for my garden, not unlike my renewed vision for my life, will have to grow to allow to for other seed planters.

temper temper...(continued)

In retro-retrospect. If I didn't need the plumber for more things, I would have told him exactly where he could take his attitude and his misaligned bicuspid. So maybe the lesson is not as clear as I thought.

Needing him to give me my permit copy and connect my fixtures realigned my perspective and adjusted my tolerance level. All of that is self serving, not to be confused with an altruistic conversational journey. My subsequent calming down resolution phone call to him was more selfish then compassionate. The question I need to wrestle with tonight is not the importance of being right... but this...

Why have I never seen my plumber as anything more than a plumber?

I know that it is not that simple. I know that there is a difference between working with me and working for me (for example accountability). I also know that I was soured because I once tried the late evening kitchen table "I want you to be part of this project" conversation with my contractor and that clearly didn't amount to much personal investment. I also know that if you did a bang up job like my electrician, I would be singing your praises across the information super highway.

I am just not sure how I am suppose to treat you and it’s bothering me, in part, because you seem very clear on how you're supposed to treat me.

culture or character

FACT: LOWES is better than HOME DEPOT.

This is not up for debate. I have long believed this to be an opinion of merit, but tonight I stand before you... a complete believer.

So I bought two bathtubs around the end of November. Now, mind you, at the time... I thought I was going to be a stickler for keeping tight reigns on my budget. So me and my uncompromising will up and decide to buy the cheapest decent bathtubs they have at Lowes. Who needs some audacious soaking tub? So what if the mainstream suburban population is doing the "big" tub thing. Did I even take an actual bath in 2005? Come on... I'm all about keeping things as real as possible. So no whirlpool with foot massaging bubbles. That will teach you... I whispered to the budget... And despite repeated comments from friends and framing inspectors alike, I stuck to my guns. The tubs stay as they lay. I will keep my budget and I will make my deadline.

well.... we saw that the fictitious Christmas deadline went straight to hell with reckless abandon, so that got me questioning...

Is this firm line-in-the-sand attitude working for me?

In short... no.

So last week, I decide to take back the dinky tubs and get a bathing apparatus of substance... of girth... of magnitude... something that befits the front doors, nyahmean?

I buy the new tubs. I rent a Lowes Pickup truck (all before work), drive over to the house, and drop them off. Come to find out... one ends up being broken. I call Lowes just now and in true growahouse fashion... they treat me with unparalled respect and generosity. They start calling other stores. They keeping ending each sentence with: "if that's okay with you." They understand that I had to rent the truck to get the tub to the house in the first place and don't think I should be inconvenienced any further. So now...They are gonna drop off a new tub, from a different Lowes, and pick up the broken one Friday Morning.

That’s what I'm talking about. I don't know if its the way they train those folks over there or if it's just Tracy the Manager, but this woman looked out for me.

And I appreciate it.

the edge

I found myself awake into the wee hours of the morning the other night... contemplating life... snacking on wheat thins... and catching a few minutes of an old favorite movie... The Edge, starring Anthony Hopkins. Long story short. Some guys are marooned from a plane crash in the woods and a bear is chasing them. It's a story about the wilderness, understanding nature, the nature of people, jealousy, vengeance, and survival.

So Anthony Hopkins' character has this interesting line. He says:

" Most people that die in the woods, die of shame."

You know... it's that feeling that I can't believe that this is happening to me... I can't survive out here... I can't do this... I can't...I can't...etc... and then you curl up in a panic ball and eventually starve or die of exposure. The non-shame route involves you eating grubs, chewing on pinecones, killing bears and then using their pelts for protection against the elements.

Granted... its a big leap from grande soy caramel machiattos to "I'm going to drive this spear that I just carved through the heart of an eleven hundred pound beast"... BUT there is a take home lesson:

We have no idea what situations we are going to be thrown into, be they the untamed wilderness or the abyss of trying to manage a construction project that you are emotionally tied to... but when those times come... you gotta decide what you're going to do.

Tomorrow is Thursday.

So... new day... new motivation to survive the jungle.

something from sago

Yesterday morning, we were awoken with the difficult news of the grim fate of twelve of the thirteen miners trapped in the Sago mine in West Virginia. Since then the media blitz has focused on two main agenda items:

The misinformation about the survivors

The past violations of the mine/ regulatory officials and their culpability

We are thinking too small

The miners, the mining accident, the family's trauma, the inspectors, the oversight committees, the federal regulators... they are all symptoms of a larger disease...a disease that we are all infected with.

Reliance on earthen natural resources for energy.

No system is perfect. Okay. Coal feeds the fire of industry. Fine. I get that. I'm not going to begin getting on a soapbox to convince anybody that they should "get off the grid."

Do the research, make that decision for yourself. What I will say though... is that coal is an inefficient power source.

plain and simple. Today's coal-fired power plants average 33% efficiency (energy conversion to electricity)

That, of course, does not consider:

the potential loss of life

black lung disease, asthma, mercury poisioning

erosion, mountiantop removal(exactly as is sounds)

transportation fuel costs and associated pollution

acid rain

global warming effects

I feel a bit preachy. Not sure how that will come off. I feel like I have a 10 million things to discuss about how we need to think larger... to grow our expectations. I just feel like making energy efficient and environmentally responsible choices in how we build our houses or how we get to work or what work we do when we get there... is so paramount to our survival and potential for abundant living.

It takes 1,000 lbs of coal to light a 100 watt light bulb for a year.

grazing for meaning

We look for meaning in many places. Some say meaning is found in the everyday 9 to 5... if you believe in what you are doing. Some long for meaning and find it in round the world adventures that have them defining meaning through the interaction with foreign peoples in foreign places. Others travel to their homelands and reunite with their past in a valiant attempt to prepare for their future. Still others look for meaning through full immersion in the art that inspires their being. I found myself looking for meaning at the final curtain call of the year two thousand and five.

Why?

Why is it important for me to quantify my evolution as a person with milestones of growth? well... I guess it's like driving in a car on a rural highway. You lose track of time and just melt into the semi comfortable existence of a passenger side bucket seat... until... yes...until... you pass by a string of houses. The houses wisp by and all of a sudden you understand more empirically that you have been and currently are... moving.

moving forward.

Growahouse is my tangible recognition that I am not standing still.

Thanks for listening.

Cheers to you all. y un bueno ano nuevo.

one year, one day

Yesterday marked the 365th day after I closed on the property. I was poised to write a brief, but reflective overview on a year full of lessons learned and relationships built... BUT, I just finished watching Sixty Minutes and they did an expose' on Morgan Freeman. I am not living life to the fullest.

A quick snapshot of Morgan's 68th year of living brought a refreshing influx of emotions to my doorstep. Morgan is living it up. Not in the sense of lavish living, but in the sense of

c h o o s i n g l i f e.

I find myself consumed by the mundane melodrama of mechanical mayhem, mitigating monsoons, managing men, moving metal mountians, marking mistakes, and misunderstanding motivations. Looking at the screen, I saw my reflection and had a flashback to a few months ago seeing the image and haunting words of New Orleans own, Mayor Ray Nagin:

"YOU'RE THINKING TOO SMALL!!!"

I feel like I need to be careful not to be overly consumed by some things less I run the risk of neglecting other things that are truly worthwhile. Where is my 68+ year plan that has me sailing in the Caribbean not because I am rich... but because I thought learning to sail would enrich my life?

I gotta figure some things out.

Thanks Morgan.

applause

I had the distinct fortune of following up my jr. gong night with a night at the theatre. I went to a local studio theatre called The Woolly Mammoth. I saw a play entitled Starving.

In a word... excellent.

If you find yourself in Washington, DC area between now and the 18th of December, do yourself a favor and check it out. The play set in emerging 1950's Atlanta and deals with the complexities of a transitioning black community in the urban south.

Another note about the experience is that they did great job on the set design. The lesson to take home from stage sets is that the designer is tasked with conveying a wealth of spatial relationships in one, slightly mobile, structure. You have to convince me to believe that there is more... that there is depth... that there is a larger context and this fragmented physical structure is merely a sentence in that story.

I also believe strongly that there is a uniquely engaging spirit that surrounds smaller theatre companies. Be it the location, decor, or affordable tickets... It feels like you stumble, fall, and find a jewel every time.

when trenchtown man stop laugh an block off traffic...

Late night last night, I stopped in at the 9:30 Club to see my man, Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley perform on the Welcome to JamROCK tour.

It was a jumpin.

I mean, I haven't had a wealth of live experiences in my day, but this one, in particular, struck a fire chord in my transplanted soul. It was a musical explosion tantamount to being on a base pounding bridge between my quazi-native soil and my gritty urban environment (a.k.a...down the street from Howard University)

It was live.

So... in the spirit of growing, I had a conversation with a guy, who could relate to the feelings of being born of multiple worlds... existing tangibly in one, but having your heart beat the drum of another. We started talking about the merits of Jerk Seasoning, both process and product.

Long story short... it is going to be necessary to build a respectably sized jerk pit at the site.

The spiritual, savory, and substantive merits of cooking within the earth are so inspiring, that I believe they are right up the alley of growahouse. Now mind you, I have little idea what it would take to build a decent jerk pit. Nor do I know where I will get a readily available supply of pimento branches, banana leaves, and of course, a few sheets of corrugated tin.

But I'm willing to learn.

you can do it, we can help...

or can you? I had a conversation with an intelligent young woman who likened the downfall of modern American society to Home Depot. Her point was basically that the individualistic tendencies of modern culture are personified in the motto of America's Home improvement mecca.

"You can do it, we can help."

You, as an individual, as an island unto yourself... can AND Should do "it" yourself.

Don't rely on anyone else.

Do it yourself. It will cost less. You can have more.

An interesting analogy. It speaks to the issue of whether self-reliance is a crutch or not, as well as, an apparent societal obsession with acquisition valued by quantity. It’s all about me. I have been seriously planning on laying down the bamboo wood floors in the house on my own. I think I can handle it. I can buy my hardwood floor materials and install them myself. Yes. Yes, I can. I don't know how right now, but I can learn. It can't be that hard. I don't need to pay some people to come and do this. Not at all. Plus, I can have people over and tell them that I did it.

"Hey, you like the floors? Yeah... well that was all me. yup.. surprised? didn't think I could handle it? Well I showed you, didn't I? I got skills. I did it without you or anyone like you. Its all about me."

I probably wouldn't say it like that, but there is still some truth in there.

Here's the problem with me doing my hardwood floors, myself...

skilled labor

or lack there of.

Instead of going to someone who does floors, I do it myself. I do a semi-decent job. Take that action and multiply it over other house growers. we have a steady growth of cheaper cost, cheaper result floors being installed. It soon becomes cost INeffective for workers to specialize in hardwood floors anymore. As a people, we start to convince ourselves that we are better off, because we have evolved beyond having to depend on some floor guy/gal to set the stage for our bi-weekly swiffer sweeping. BUT... what we are actually doing is watering down quality in lieu of self-affirmation. I am not sure that that is what house growing should be all about.

Why is it so important for me to feel autonomous?

Long story short and analogy together... here we go...

I spent a summer in Rome about 7 or 8 years ago. Every Thursday morning, I went to a butcher to buy my various meats to supplement my pasta dinners for the upcoming week. Every week, same butcher... just meats. I imagine that had I stayed there longer, I would have started to develop more of a relationship with the butcher, but nevertheless... we were cool. I mention this because I trusted the meats from the butcher for two reasons.

They only sell meats.

I'm trusting partly in the product and partly in the person.

The modern supermarket has meats... in fact.... they have people as well.... BUT... I don't trust either of them. The folks working there vary regularly. They could care less about meat. It could be chicken, salmon, or lamb chops... doesn't matter... you want it? how much of it? How much does it weigh? Here you go... plastic wrapped and Styrofoam packaged, price tag made before my eyes. And why would they care? No one one cares about them. Descendants of independent butchers... trained in the ancient art of meat selection and refinement...reduced to an apron and a box of loosely fitting plastic gloves, in an over air-conditioned, back corner of a 40,000 square foot building with no windows. That’s gotta suck..... plus.... there’s all this questionable meat around... I definetely Don't trust the meats. Usually, first check is the expiration date, then the dig to the bottom of the pile for the furthest date in the bin. Hmmm... definitely not signaling "trust." I can walk the aisles of the grocery store and marvel at every item being within a stone's throw of each other. How convienent and clever of us. Point is, the industry was watered down and because we are so used to it, it seems okay.

I think ultimately, Yes, I CAN do it, but.... I need to be careful how much quality and trust in people I am willing to sacrifice for a my own self-aggrandizement.

on moving forward

As I download my digital photos and unpack a travel bag filled with receipts and brochures recalling eco-friendly promises from unnamed product reps, I am reminded of days past in which my soul moved ever so closer to understanding my continued response to a lifelong choice...

...what to do with the time we are given.

Last Thursday night, I found myself at a conference social. I had arrived late do to my conscious, yet regrettable, decision to relax in my hotel room earlier in the evening whilst watching Catwoman. Nevertheless, the social was housed in an old theatre in downtown Atlanta known as The Tabernacle. After an hour or so of people-watching from various vantage points, I concluded that it was time to depart. Upon moving toward the entrance, I happened upon a young black woman behind a table signing and selling cd's for $20. Intrigued, first because I was no longer the primary source of diversity in the room, and second, because I realized that she must have been the headliner at the function.

Her name was Leela James and she was a small, pleasant, smiling young woman with a blow-out afro. I told her that I had not seen her perform, but that I was interested in her cd.

She turned to her assistant and said, "He didn't even get a chance to hear me sing and he wants to buy the album. Give it to him for $10. "

An unprompted, simple, and kind gesture.

I gave her assistant $20 anyway. She signed the CD and handed it to me. In that brief moment, I started to get it.

What was the true lesson of this green building conference? What is this true meaning of this buzz term "biophillia?"(loosely defined as a passion for all living things) Why did I stumble unto this encounter with Leela?

I leaned close to her and said: "You have very kind eyes... and I am sure your voice is equally as kind. I wish you well in everything you do." And then I turned and walked out of the building.

You don't get it yet, do you?

We are all in this boat together. Our fate, sink or swim, is a collective fate.

I go to GREENBUILD because I get a chance to connect with likeminded folks that... get it. I sit through mind blowing lectures about the impact of the built environment on the real environment because I understand its importance and I need to connect with people that can energize me to choose wisely when I ask myself what to do with the time I am given.

I leaned in to speak thoughtfully to Leela, because...

We cannot be ashamed to be profound.

Galvanizing people to move towards being more comfortable with each other, with the need to think collectively, and with the challenge to be stewards of the environment in which we all exist will happen one kind conversation at a time... one unprompted kind gesture at a time...one blog entry at a time... one blog entry comment at a time.

get it?

begging for bean pies

I don't get it. I really don't. Why do these kids have to be out at the traffic light begging for money? Every day I drive to the site and I pass by this big intersection and without fail there are a bevy of young boys and girls with signs and cups begging for donations to their after school program or sports team or something. I don't really care what it is.

STOP!!

I get that there isn't adequate funding for programs that can keep young boys and girls in the neighborhood occupied and engaged. I get that. I get that it requires diligence and a lot of work to find capital to keep youth outreach centers open and keep them filled with qualified and involved staff. I even get that sports are positive ways to keep the seemingly boundless energy of children/young adults, focused and health oriented.

But here's the other perspective...

Day in a day out you are teaching these young black soon-to-be men and women that they can and should depend on the handouts or pity-cloaked generosity of passersby. I think that lesson has the potential to be as detrimental as the ills of society your program is trying to overcome.

My initial thought was... go across the street to one of the three or four gas stations and set up a car wash.

Earn operating capital for your program and subsequently teach lessons about work ethic, entrepreneurship, and determination. Maybe I'm out of touch and you can't do a gas station car wash anymore? Seriously, I'm not sure if this is just me being annoyed with the adults that stand in the grassy intersection median while their minions dash in-between captive audience vehicles and bean pie adorned Final Call vendors. It just irritates me. The other day, this girl, who couldn't have been a day over 12, leaned waist deep into my open passenger side window to ask me for a donation. She was way too comfortable relying on me to financially resolve her agenda.

First of all, shouldn't you be reading a book somewhere?... doing some homework?... helping your parents with dinner?... watching your little brother?.... How do you have time to work this intersection? Second, and more pressing to me...how can she not grow up and expect the same handout from her adult environment?

I think she deserves better.

One thing I've learned, however, is that every dummy with a blog and a mild tempered audience thinks that he or she is the be-all end-all of sound reasoning and socio-political thought. So lest I forget my place and become a panderer of finger pointing, I offer another approach.

Maybe they need help setting up the car wash?

We can't get anywhere as a people if those of us ideologues in the so called creative class are not willing to get our hands dirty and address real social issues in real time.

I'll let you know how it goes.

the revolution, welcome to it...

I am officially launching the site folks. I have kept it under cloak and dagger mystery for far too long. It is beyond me now and that is undoubtedly for the best. I believe that there is an inherent strength in the openness that this format of communication engenders. By opening up this project, and by extension myself, to a larger audience, I think we all will have something substantial to gain. If you're checking out the site for the first time, I want to thank you for logging on. I encourage you to dig in.

I am constructing a house in washington, dc... I am, however, building much more than that.