the Change I Wish to See

This is from the inside of our kitchen looking out; at about 9:15a yesterday (the bedroom view is even worse but showing pictures of my bedroom without having committed to TMI Thursdays seems premature).  Yesterday in DC started out pretty bright.  For those of you have not been invited in yet, the view through those windows usually looks a little more like...


So obviously we're going through a period of adjustment: boarded-up windows, cardboarded-up windows, plastic-sheeted windows, scaffolding, men on scaffolding falling into the house at 7:00a, expert masonry outside my bedroom window at 7:13a...

I haven't asked our landlord what's going on yet.  I'm afraid to hear the obvious truth: our house has been sold into the production set for Saw VI.  All we need is one of us to morph into a creepy guy who thinks he can make the world a better place by eliminating its weakest citizens (though as I think about it, that job description also sounds like an oddly suitable fit for Charles Darwin*).

In the next few weeks they'll start pumping in filth and grime and soul-maiming thing-a-ma-bobbers and we're gonna have to make a difficult decision; a really, really difficult decision: pull the rusty pin that peels off our faces or - (or) - at least just ask what they're doing.  Because with the rent on this place, a responsive landlord, a new Safeway, Busboys & Poets and Five Guys within 4 blocks, and a new Harris Teeter opening soon 2 blocks away, this whole living under construction thing is worth it - even if walking into your kitchen makes you want to grab a baseball bat to fend off zombies piling in brain-hungry**.




*Normally, readers have creative license, too.  But under no circumstances are you to read the Darwin line as anything but hardcore belief in evolution.  I kid because I love.  Need proof?  How's this: I went to school.  And nothing about my 5th grade science class spurred an identity crisis.  And I posted this link.


**Do not roast me if you're someone who knows zombies don't actually eat brains because they prefer souls or something.  Actually, I'm comment-needy.  I'll take the niche-bad...

Sorry Peru, but we don't want your "dog."

Obama was elected to bring change, some color, some style and maybe even a little Mr. Smith to Washington.  Not rats - not even culturally significant ones.  We have rats.  Obama is not some adapted version of the Pied Piper.  And we will not stand for him luring such creatures into the White House.

It was clever of you to offer so publicly, making his answer a cog in your international relations ploy.  If he says "yes" he affirms the validity of your claim that the animal is a canine (a claim repudiated by almost 2 out of every 5 non-biologists); if he says "no," well, that's an affront to your people and heritage.  Nice try.  But this will not be Obama's Bay of Pigs and we will not be manipulated.  We will Hugh Grant your Billy Bob Thornton and then Dance Dance Revolution to the Pointer Sisters.


It's not that we don't like you and your non-dog, we're just not ready for that kind of commitment right now, Peru.  We just got out of a really unhealthy relationship.  Give us some time; or at least a less hideous pet.

The press loves to talk about this loneliness.  I thought this picture captured it.  A lot of people want to be the president.  But how many really want to be arguably the most powerful person in the world?  How many people want to know that some of their foreign policy decisions will, at best, cost thousands of young lives?  Who wants to be assured that the job description includes domestic policy decisions that result in even just one more family being homeless or another child gone missing?

Bush is not Obama.  And I voted believing Obama wouldn't recreate the Bush era.  That stroll they're taking doesn't mean their differences are a charade (interestingly, Obama steps forward with his left foot as Bush leads with his right).  It also doesn't mean I forgive Bush for anything.  But they're members of a club of 44 - that's 44 presidents over 219 years.  That's pretty much the definition of "exclusive."  And it shows: in accelerated graying and shadow-laden walks.

I don't sleep well worrying about bar results, career goals, and a one-person budget.  I talk about wanting to make a difference, a significant change.  But as of yet, I want no part of being remembered for failing, and the odds are pretty solid that that cowardice will go overlooked and unnoticed.  The memory of everything these two have done and will do, however - from falling off a couch while eating a pretzel to the invasion of Iraq, and from saying Nancy Reagan holds seances to universal healthcare ambitions - will be eternal, success or not.

So, at least for today, I'm looking at all presidents differently.  Because we all have opinions about what they're supposed to be when the politics kick in.  But what about when that whole "being human" thing does?

Sorry if the Mallrats lead-in is misleading. But I needed something to paint my horror.

Commit even if it means you're alone.

At the Archives' free screenings of the complete documentary and short categories... Submerged myself as wholeheartedly as possible this weekend. In the last four days, I've seen 18 out of the 20 screened. I've worn the same hoodie/coat combo three times in a row because I've been here too often to do laundry.

But I've gone to 16 out of 18 by myself. And maybe that's not a complaint. It's at least an observation. I saw the opportunity for free movies and dropped the world in front of me to create a better one. Because I had to. Because if I didn't, I would've been miserable about it for a while. That I'm the only person I know here who felt that or wasn't otherwise legitimately occupied might bother me more than it should. But I'm not apologizing. It's disappointing that this weekend has been as close to perfect as it could be: what I did aligned with who I am. The fact that I'm not sharing that, though, means either I'm the only one here or everyone like me had more important things to do. The resulting question seems obvious.

Wishing this weekend has some permanence.

Sent via iPhone.

I've seen this bill a few times now.

Obviously the WMATA ad council doesn't read this blog. I guess I'm fine with that. But the claim it makes is only slightly truthful. You know, truthful much in the way that believing every day we're not attacked stands as a testament to homeland security. Truth is, it's really just a matter of perception: some of us can see, others would follow Hellen Keller through a maze.

And the half-assed swipe at NY is noted and shameful.

Sent via iPhone.

Reporting live from the basement auditorium at the National Archives as a panel discusses primary reform.

I don't know that there's much of a story here. I suppose I just thought you should know. There are, of course, the tell-tale signs of grassroots political theater: old men asleep, middle-aged men in fanny packs, men of all ages in beards and overalls, rants via mic abductions (rants without mics for that matter), blind assertions, seemingly wilful blind assertions... Standard operating procedure. Oh right: and scattered laughter at "jokes" for no other discernable reason than to have the room acknowledge you were cool enough to show up at an event (aka the rat-bastard-masturgiggle).

And so, somewhat sadly, nothing new here. Politics as usual, in some ways.


Sent via iPhone.

But before we get to that..
 

I'm standing next to a guy wearing a Blackwater baseball cap.
It wasn't a guy in a three-piece suit, wearing the hat because he was on his way to a board meeting. It was a guy in a polo and khakis reading a newspaper with a Blackwater cap on. An actual display of Blackwater love? Really? An emblem on his sleeve, or a super-imposed logo on the American flag pin on his lapel wouldn't have been enough? He really needed to show his appreciation like a fan?

Anyway, I wonder if he's on his way to Capitol Hill. But I'm on the redline headed west, so maybe he's doing reconnaissance (badly, which would make sense). Maybe my train is a threat to national security because too many people are reading The Onion. Or maybe there have been reports that menacing kids on their way to one of DC's public schools are causing havoc (they can be pretty threatening). Those reports, of course, would be unconfirmed because who has time to fact check?

I'd just blend into the shadows... But that's where all of the metro's creepy underbelly already lies. And standing next to that guy who rubs up against women with his "happy face" on, probably only increases my chances of becoming an "unfortunate incident." So maybe I'll -

Oh. He's gone now.

Sent via iPhone.

So I walked past Paul Wolfowitz this morning.
We were less than a foot from each other.
And I kinda wanted to punch him in the face.
That's it.

I pick up the pace.

I'm curious, because it sounds like he's having a conversation he shouldn't be having.

He's in his early 30s, at the most. He's got a familiar swagger (I match it with my own). Rocking timbs and dark jeans that sag on purpose, he's a young black man strutting down a DC street. He's dressed like the very kind of man Bill Cosby says is debilitating black growth. So in that sense, he's a one man civil war. He's been known to say "nigga" like it's a term of endearment, recited rhymes reducing women to chattel, and he's often adopted the militia-view of the 2nd Amendment.

But tonight, tonight he's a dad. Not a father. A dad.

He's walking with his son, who's maybe 9; maybe. The kid is his dad's miniature: boots, jeans, igloo coat (though the shortness of his stride hampers his swag). And they're talking. The kid had some sort of conflict with another kid at school. His dad is asking him if it's wrapped up now, how it got fixed... The boy tells his dad his friends were pushing him to fight, to fix it with his fists.

"You don't have to fight to be right," the dad says. "You don't have to use your hands to be strong."

They get to the end of the block and go their separate ways. It's then I realize: they're probably not related. What I'm watching is, if possible, even better. I'm not watching a father be a dad. I'm watching a man who isn't a father be a dad. And it's really, really great. And it's really, really sad. Because this is how we'll overcome, from the ground up. But Leon Harris and Eyewitness News are nowhere to be seen.

This is the kind of thousand words I want on my TV screen.

So I'm on my way to the forum...
Actually I guess I'm just on my way home, but "forum" adds a grandiose touch to my life that spring break was totally missing. Anyway, on my way home and I catch this band that I've now seen a few times (I've got video from before, if I can find it, you'll see it). They just set up between Starbucks and the circle and go at it. It's all about the music.

On a cold, wintry night in the District...
One man had the courage to make Jersey proud.

A bunch of us flocked to Busboys to see Byron Hurt's "Hip Hop: Beyond Beats & Rhymes."

At the tables were mini-questionnaires about the film, the experience, etc. One of the questions was about what we wanted the film to do, or what it didn't do, something like that. I took that as an invitation to tell whoever the reader would be what I really thought.

In Beats & Rhymes, Hurt presents a state of the union for hip-hop, questioning the misogyny and commodification, but also looks back at the roots and forward with an eye somewhat on the goals. I think he closed the comprehension gap well. So often, there's a generational schism and he did a great job of using language a span of ages can understand.

But I couldn't help but notice that the film is missing the "what do we do" component. It reminded me of "Traffic." I guess it was near the end of high school when it was released. It presented what was thought to be a revealing portrayal of the various strands of a web of drug-trafficking. The problem with Traffic, as here, is that for those of us at the core of the depiction - this generation, these kids - so many of us already get it. We were as unsurprised seven years ago that the daughter of the nation's drug czar could be holed up in a crack house as we are that today 17 year olds are killing each other to effectuate battle rhymes.

If you didn't know, then I suppose you'd have rated B&R the five out of five the questionnaire allowed. But I felt incomplete; I gave it a 4. I felt like Hurt led the ones of us who just aren't sure how to drink, to a bowl of water we'd already found. I've kept telling myself, "You can't assign Hurt the responsibility of single-handedly lifting us from the predicament he notes." Maybe his only job is to illustrate.

But what if it isn't? What if it's more? What if what holds us - and by that I mean all of us - back is that we keep limiting our duty? It's so easy to say, "My role stretches but so far." Maybe it's too easy. We've all heard that story about Everybody, Somebody, and Nobody. The gist is that when Everybody thought Somebody was going to do something, Nobody ever did anything. I guess I think of awareness as an ocean. If there's a kid who's never seen it, then I've done something great by taking her to the beach, walking her down the coastline... But if I just push her off the boardwalk, if I totally immerse her in the water, what does she do when she realizes she can't swim? When she drowns, does the fact that I at least opened her eyes serve as any consolation? And how many kids like her do I strand before I realize I have to start giving swimming lessons and that maybe I need to be the lifeguard too?

there are apparently rumors that some snow fell somewhere in DC at some other time... but this is the first snow that I saw so suck on that you alleged viewers of previous snowfall.

sorry about the blurriness, I was moving while taking the pic... but dupont looks pretty good, covered in holy dust rather than winged-rats, b.k.a pigeons.

This was easily the saddest sight I've seen in a long, long time. Anyone who doubts that the economy is failing, despite the record-setting days at Wall St., need look no further than the capture below. Apparently, Warner Bros. has been forced to make some cutbacks as of late, and the loss of the latest victim, the biggest star of them all... Well, it just makes me feel like we're all victims.. A world without Bugs Bunny? That's no world at all.




By the grace of Bugs go I.

-- thatwouldbem.e

This is kinda odd for me. Maybe I'm growing into this whole DC thing;
actually, I take that back already. I think it's just residue from my
resolution to complain less, even if I have reason to (good, good
reason to). But these two shots actually made me smile tonight.
Maybe it was that I was on my way to see my brother; so, maybe I was
just in a good mood... Anyway, enjoy.

--thatwouldbem.e
(w/the first mobile entry)

Alright, alright. So I've been kinda hard on DC lately. Make that the last six years. It's not my fault; I grew up in the NYC metro area. I've got high expectations. But Screen on the Green softened my stance a little bit this summer. Though I can't help but announce that on my way to the last screening, a cab driver asked me for directions to the National Mall. For those of you not from DC, the National Mall doesn't have an Old Navy. It's basically a lawn that stretches from the Capitol Building to the Washington Monument. Imagine you're at Bryant Park and a taxi driver asked you where Central Park was... Anyway, I'll celebrate DC just a little today.

May your Schoolhouse Rock forever.