talking' bout the carwash

I made my first trip to my local car wash last weekend. In the true tradition of old school neighborhood vehicular shine spots... this place was alive with people and music. Everyone playing a unique and vital role in the seamless movement from interior vacuum to window wash to hubcap scrub to wheel well wax... it was fun.

It reminded me of being a child... manually pushing down the radio antennae and then waiting eagerly with my brother because our parents were going to let us ride in the back of the light blue wood panel Buick Regal station wagon as it made that long mechanical march through the tunnel of water, soap, and gimungous spinning brushes.

But I'm no longer a child and so for better or worse... my antennae is tuned into a different station. What my receiver picks up is not the dynamic of the machine... but mechanics if the people that sustain it.

From my turn into the car wash driveway to the vacuum station and then to my solo walk down the long time warp corridor, in which I can vaguely make out blinking signs beyond the looking glass that say things like "Applying Turtle Wax NOW", I am greeted with brown face after brown face after brown face....which makes sense... black neighborhood... black people working at the car wash. No surprises there... but as I approach the ancient sign that reads "Cashier" I am greeted by a middle-aged Asian man and woman.... again no surprises. Asian entreprerneurs have a long listory of investing comercially in predominently black neighborhoods. Nevertheless, the man then leaves the cashier booth and begins to berate the noticeably idle employees on drying duty outside the vehicle exit. It was unpleasant to watch... he was an angry boss... talking down to his employees... needless to say...I didn't like the situation.

Here's the rub...

No one likes to see people getting yelled at and treated badly... fine... and no one likes to pay people to stand around... fair...but what role does race and culture play in my ability to see this situation clearly. What predispositions am I bringing to this observation?

and most importantly...

How can I, as a professional, incorporate a keen understanding of this perception/reality of my neighborhood paradigm into design?

How can thoughtful design make the owner less likely to yell, and the employee less likely to idle?

pigeon rhythm

So in my efforts to maintain my sanity, I have been trying a little morning yoga meditation to calm myself down before I walk around in the money pit that I call home. I have to say that it might be working. I feel a bit more centered... a bit more focused... a bit more enthusiastic... a bit more ... well... a bit less like trading in my tool belt for a one way plane ride to Paraguay.

I even started noticing positive energy around me. After my lunch yesterday, I took a nap out in a nearby park an as I awoke I saw two pigeons grooming each other. I thought that was only a silver back gorilla habit... but no... these pigeons were helping each other out... it was very peaceful.

But this morning, after an exhaustive night of cutting tiles for the third floor bath (I hate tile cutting by the way)... I was less than eager to greet the new morning with energetic stretching (namaste shout out) and I left the house... without my morning cup of yoga.

Bad Idea.

I feel like an old man with a bad back and a dwindling will to push through the day. I might as well turn back around and head to the airport. What airline flies to Paraguay?

spin cycle

I just got the call that the delivery truck for my washer/dryer is en route... ETA... 20 min, so I'm about to head home and wait for it. I'm very excited.

Having learned a lesson from my last appliance delivery... its good to have a little cash on hand for heavy package arrivals. Sometimes a few wheel greasing Hamiltons can make the difference between a 200 lb box in your front yard and a 200 lb box on the second floor of your house.

I'm out.

bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna do?

The familiar mantra of the oddly addictive COPS show awoke me this morning at about 4:00AM. Having fallen asleep fully clothed with the television on, it was no surprise that the mullet trimmed Philadelphia police patrol had seamlessly slipped from their robbery investigating, purse snatch recovering, dismal, day to day beat... into my restless nocturnal chase scene that would have probably ended up with me in the back of an imaginary police cruiser... trying to MacGyver may way to safety from the subconsciously corrupt 5-O.

SO... awake... and surprisingly cheerful... I slinked my way to the first floor bathroom and started painting. I was really doing touch up paint from a painting session a day earlier (a session that was both enhanced and hindered by splitting a bottle of wine with a good friend). So there was tape to take off and some touch up corners that needed attention. I also had to give the ceiling a final coat of white to cover up the primer.

The first floor bath is significant because it is the most complete space in the house. In fact, it is about one day away from being complete. I want to use it as a catalyst for everything else, so I'm going to buy the bath mats and give the space a thorough cleaning.

The hope is that as the weekend picks up with countless tasks that require my attention, I will be able to walk into this small room that will shine like a bright beacon of accomplishment.... well...

a bright light-celery colored beacon... with rich guacamole and pumpkin accents.

nordic man

I ordered my washer/dryer yesterday from Thor Appliances. As with most things sustainable, you do the research and find that things that make sense logically are often sensible environmentally. The washer/dryer decision was no exception. I decided to go this route first because my dummy contractor saw it fit not to build the vent for the dryer that I drew on the plans and that any bargain-basement, bootleg contractor would not overlook. This led to my discovery that there are condenser dryers that do not require a vent. Instead they use the drum rotation and some other gadgets to suck all the water out of the clothes. Following that logic and perusing many consumer reports... led me to the decision to go ultra environmental with a "set it and forget it" approach to my laundry unit... a combination front loading washer/dryer.

So I make the order online and then I call the company to verify that the order was processed. I end up speaking to a man who tells me that there is a discrepancy between my payment and my order request. You see, I paid the base price, but I made note that I wanted the titanium finish.

Who doesn't?

The laundry industry has gone the way of the dyson vacuum displaying their braggadocios hubris in the repackaging of their technologically stagnant products in trendy colors... like champagne, mustard, periwinkle....etc So far be it from me to be the cat with the ordinary white laundry appliance. After all.. once I lock the laundry door, and go on with my life for another 1-2 weeks before looking at the appliance again... I can't image the disgust of open that door and seeing that ordinary white box looking back at me. What would my neighbors think?

Washing machines with vibrant colors clean better, right?

Anyway... I tell the dude he can keep the titanium finish because its not worth the extra $200 for the color... and get this...

He says that I sound like a nice guy and he'll send me the titanium anyway.... for the white price.

That was very kind of you Thor Appliance Man... good looking out.

power bar weekend

Get your black-green-gold, red-white-blue, purple-rainbow... whatever flag you want and start waving the ticker tape down Pennsylvania avenue cus the road to completion is paved with days like Saturday and Sunday. Picture it, Saturday morning... eleven fifty-five. I pull my newly rented home depot 15 passenger van up to a desolate metal yard in northeast dc. I was there to pick up the galvanized steel pipe that would be cut and reconfigured to comprise my new stair railings.

Here's the rub.

The van, from the front of the passenger side foot space to the back door... I'd say... about 12 to 13 feet. The pipe... 21 feet. So began my epic journey across town with one hand on the wheel and the other holding down the front end of the pipe that liked to bounce up every time I hit a bump.

It was hellish to say the least.

The key moment was when I was about 1.5 miles from home and the back door of the van un-tethered itself and starts to swing open.

But I'm no rookie. I've been in this game for way too long to not see that coming. Right before I pulled off from the metal yard... I dropped trow and engineered this little insurance policy.

(If you are wondering... that is my brown leather belt wrapped around the lock)

So... that successful trip allowed me and Dupree (aka DW) to get the second to third floor stair equipped with an intense industrial looking stair railing that is really OFF THE HOOK!!!

I'm serious... it looks intense and mirrors the concrete in its Viking-like strength.

Did somebody say hardcore?

huff stuff

We got started pouring the concrete sub floor for the third floor bathroom shower. The sloped shower floor, unbeknownst to me beforehand, is a complex layer cake of various materials that allow you the watertight security to not have liquid free flowing through the ceiling below. The shower boundaries were debated by local scholars for quite some time, but design triumphed in the end and the decision was made not to have a shower door. It's more of a "shower room."

Anyway... Thursday night we are putting down a layer of contact cement adhesive to stick the rubber liner to the concrete and all of a sudden... I start giggling. I'm thinking to myself... "what's so funny?"

nothing.

nothing is funny...There is nothing funny taking place... except the fact that we were hella high from the glue fumes.

It took a good half an hour with the windows open to calm down enough to avoid the urge to walk barefoot through my neighbor's sprinkler and scarf down a couple dozen bags of funyons.

wire less

So what's funny is that only a few people have seen me pull my wireless computer access tricks... and for good reason. I look ridiculous. Sometimes, I sit at the window in my bedroom, poised to hop on some neighbors unprotected wireless router... but it takes the right angle, wind currents and planetary alignment... I have also, on more than one occasion, found myself in my car, parked in front of a capitol hill cafe with my laptop on my lap... pilfering their wireless broadband service for my own personal use without patroning their establishment. If I'm lucky, they will forget to turn off the service until the cleaning crew finishes. That gives me an extra half of an hour or so to upload my delicious delectables for growahouse consumption.

Anyway... I'm tired of that and I believe that it is time to connect to the information superhighway. There are so many things that I have to try and manage as I push towards completion that I really need to be connected to the world.

So I had a conversation with Verizon DSL just now... which was basically a waste of my time. I'm going to call back in about 10 minutes and hopefully I can have a conversation with someone who has worked there more than 5 minutes.

garbage can ham

I slipped my garbage men a couple of Hamiltons to clean up the rest of the tree debris left rotting in my front lawn. It was very cool of them. They backed the truck up and cleaned all the branches, leaves, and spider webs in-between. I was so appreciative because chopping up the branches and putting them in my recyclable paper lawn bags like I've been doing... was not a good time. It was back-breaking to say the least. These guys picked it up and swept up the driveway afterwards. Even though I hooked them up with some "lunch money," I got to thinking... what are they going to have for lunch? I imagined something greasy... maybe with a side of fries... and that bothered me. Was I solving my lawn problem while simultaneously funding the obesity epidemic that my older brother spends his days and nights fighting against?

Was I blindly complicit?

Granted, these three garbage guys could be triathlete vegans and my greasy assumptions are ill-placed... but on the off chance that that is not the case... I figured I could work towards simultaneous objectives.

So I made them all honey baked ham sandwiches on German Dark whole grain wheat bread with lettuce, tomatoes, pepper, thyme, and honey mustard.

I have no idea if they are going to eat them... if they will even like them or if they will still get the side order of fries... but I know this...

Just for today, I gave them a choice.

Choosing how we live our lives... how we build our homes... what we put in our bodies... is one part conviction, one part opportunity. When I am at the supermarket and there is a $1.37 difference in the store brand raspberry jelly vs. the organic raspberry... and I only have store brand dollars in my pocket... my healthy convictions are trumped by my financial in-opportunities.

Lesson: In a sustainable community, the decisions we make for ourselves are equally as important as the opportunities we provide for others.

6th precinct

Made my first visit to my local police department last night. Why? You ask.

because my neighbors decided to steal my license plates over the weekend.

Here I am trying to spread the word of sustainable life choices and earth stewardship... meanwhile... some knuckleheads are using their Dewalt cordless 18V drill to remove my tags (screws too) and commit God knows what kind of vehicular crimes with my plates. They probably have their newly minted car burning in some shipyard as we speak... the fire, of course, would clean out the evidence from the robbery and foul play that ensued... the plates... my plates... the only link to the villainous tirade reaped on the nation's capital. That's when the APB will go out... and the Feds will descend, harnessed and fully armed through the skylights at my office. There will be screaming, mild tear gas, and subsequently my newsworthy arrest. Of course, I'll protest... saying that I have the receipt from the police report I filed in my wallet, but I will say that ... forgetting that I am a man of color, in America, in the company of the police... and well... it just wouldn't end well. In fact, it would end badly.

So that’s what is on my mind. I'm about to be the guy with the piece of cardboard scotch taped to the back of my car that reads:

STOLEN TAGS

It’s a good thing that I believe cars are a devilishly addictive indulgence and am such a proponent of mass transit.

It makes me ever so slightly less likely to engineer an indestructible suit of armor and take to the streets for some vigilante justice.

the concrete cometh

It has been a long time in the making... but this afternoon... the wait will be over. Log off of Insant Messenger and push the do not disturb button on your office phone... because today...

I will put up the concrete countertop section of the gallery.

and I will say no more

Light the fuse

As football moves into the semi finals (sorry Brasil) and the nation marks its two hundred thirty some odd birthday... I find myself planning my barbeque appearances and pub soccer viewings and all the while feeling very pedestrian. I have been riding the bus like its going out of style.... and I can't get enough. It forces you to calm down. It forces you to be patient. It forces you to plan ahead.

Did I bring my laptop? What about my schedule? Did I forget my camera charger?... what about reading material? Is it supposed to rain?

Being pedestrian, to a certain degree, forces you to be.... thoughtful.

This is not groundbreaking testimony by any means... but it does support my theory that the transition to a more urban lifestyle with shared resources and shared space... can lead to a more intentional life.... a more engaging life.

By the way, every kid in the neighborhood under 14 with access to fire, has a pocket full of fireworks. The past week has been a non-stop assault of fire crackin, bottle rocketin, and m-80 madness.

the deluge

After a festive and ridiculously good time at DC's Caribbean Carnival celebrations this weekend, I took Sunday to rest and relax... and of course... watch the rain. The forecasters had predicted a weekend of rain and discomfort, but Friday came... no rain... Saturday came... no rain... but last night... the rain cometh.

It was an awesome sight. Sheets of rain falling for hours and hours... The news media were having difficulty broadcasting because their stations were flooding... trees were falling... mudslides.... rivers flooding their banks.

And then the morning came, and with it came the realization that there was water on the first floor of the house. The first floor of the house is a split level... 1/3 above grade, 2/3 below grade. The 2/3 did not fair very well with the torrential downpour. I fear that something like this would happen. My third year Site Engineering professor would always remind me that when dealing with water and buildings... good fences make good neighbors. If you forget this... the water may come knocking on your door to borrow some sugar more times than you care to endure.

So nostalgic analogies aside, I have a water problem.

What bothers me the most is that I think I might have created this problem. Main reason

Gutters

I believe that the main source of the water (based on the pooling pattern) is directly adjacent to the new gutter line that comes off of the roof. That's nearly 6 inches of rain over 5 squares of roof (each square is 10'X10') overnight.

That’s a lot of water to come down one gutter right at the corner of the house.

I knew the gutter needed to be routed away from the house, but you just get so caught up in other things that seem to be more pressing until it demands your attention. That’s life... well... that has been my life... putting out fires.

It seems ironic that this fire is actually water.

green thumb, white knuckles

Two things first.

Although it is a vivid way to express intense, paralyzing, emotion or anxiety, I don’t love the term "white knuckles." Simply put, my knuckles don't get white. We should always question the use of phrases that are subversively exclusive.

I have a gardener.

So as a man with a lawn and no lawn mower, I was left with few options to manage the wheat field of a front yard that spring unleashed at the house. The neighborhood, arguably comprised of older less mobile folks; tends to be consistently abundant with various lawn maintenance services all eagerly moving about on Saturday mornings. ...each protecting their piece of the pie... each competing for new grassy relationships. After a few conversations, I felt that they were all too expensive and I would find an alternative. (Not excluding the man claiming to be Scotty Pippen's brother that stops by every three weeks asking if I have any work to be done)

Flash forward a few days and my father gives me a call saying that he was by the house and he met a guy who lived close that would cut the lawn for $20. It sounded fair. So one lawn cutting - became two lawn cuttings - became filling a hole - became an unspoken lawn contract between two neighbors. He thus became... my groundskeeper.

But perhaps the contract should not have been unspoken.

I asked the groundskeeper to clear some of the shrubs along the driveway. They were becoming unruly and providing too much of a tempting habitat for local fauna. But I was not clear and he began chopping down everything with leaves.

I took it as my bad and made the rest of my groundkeeper needs explicitly clear.

Just the weeds and the overgrown brush.

I game home yesterday and as I'm walking up from the bus stop I notice the mountain of debris in my front lawn.

He did it again.

Dozens of my 1 to 4 inch trunk friends gone... hacked down in the adolescence of their lives. I just stood there, where once a soft canopy of small indigenous plant life meshed together in a naturally occurring habitat... now... murdered...clear cut... I felt like a spotted owl coming back from a night of hunting to find my home had been felled by greedy loggers bent on environmental destruction. Yet, here in this moment... I was both logger and owl, duplicitous in action and emotion.

So the growahouse flag hangs at half staff today for the side yard trees that found themselves casualties of progress. You will not be forgotten.

transit tales: part deux

I am a bus rider. It is who I have become and I embrace it. Make no mistakes... I love biking and I can bike to my office in about 22 minutes. But the summertime heat is making itself known and I have little to no interest in arriving to work feeling... swampy.

So... I say again... I am a bus rider. It allows me to actively promote mass transit, leisure read, and people watch. The ladder of which will fuel the remainder of this post.

So I'm riding the bus and I am analyzing the passengers, moving about, sitting standing, old young, loud and insular, and representing every shade of brown. I'm standing near the rear exit and there is a women standing in front of me. Someone passes betwixt us to exit and as the doors are creeping to a close the standing woman leans down and tosses her crumpled bus transfer out of the bus.

I was appalled.

I did not see it coming and there it was... right in front of me. My first question to myself was why would she do that? But I then started to think that the psychological parameters of such a question were way too vast.

I needed a better question.

Did she think that littering was okay? Did she understand the consequence of her actions? Did she think that because the bus was bound for Southeast Washington, that her trash would just be one piece of many that accumulate exponentially as you journey out from the city center? Was she protesting against an archaic system of paper currency?

All fair questions, yet all are inherently subjective?

I needed a question that I can research, analyze, and get some concrete data.

Lesson: People respond to data more than they respond to personal attacks.

Then the right question hit me...

Where did the bus transfer go?

I figure that if I can follow the lifespan of a bus transfer from being ripped off the pad, to being tossed off the bus, to the sidewalk, to the storm sewer, to the watershed, to the river, etc... Then maybe I can stop the simply selfish mindless mayhem that is unleashed every time the Bus driver reaches for that pad.

This may take a while.

message sent

I am admittedly a writer, a linguist, and a wordsmith of sorts... but I am desperately trying to be one part less a man of words and one part more a man of action. I delivered my first letter today. In a campaign to take growahouse to the doorstep of decision makers... I delivered my first letter to the man who inspired the last post... to a man who I have long admired for his commitment to the environment

Al Gore.

A chance book signing half a block from my office provided me with the opportunity to put word into action. Here are a few excerpts from my letter.

We enter now, and forever, into an era of clear, and personal culpability for our rise or fall as a species.

In an effort to amplify my voice, I started a website to chronicle my process… to chronicle the resistance and support of building a responsible house… of growing a home.

I will continue to write passionately and responsibly as I engage whoever will listen in a dialog about how smart design can address both the poverty of a region and the poverty of mind within it.

Thank you for being a voice for those that cannot speak, a beacon for those who answer the call of stewardship, and a conscience for those who choose to remain silent.

Am I the only one with a pen?

chicken little

I had the opportunity to see a film yesterday called An Inconvenient truth

I cannot stress enough the importance of seeing this film.

It has galvanized my internal motivation, fortified my resolve, and supported every decision I have made in this house.

Go see the film. Do it as a personal favor to me, or to yourself.

The film follows Al Gore as he breaks down the severity of global warming in a concise and very real manner. It is unapologetically grim, and simultaneously hopeful. It left me feeling that I'm on the right path, but I can, must, and will do more.

So here is the more: I'm going to begin a letter writing campaign of one. Maybe some of you will join me, but I'm starting right here at my desk.

I wrote a letter to my council member when I started this house to alert him to my project and to begin a dialogue about green building, sustainable neighborhood policies, and overall intentional living.

No response.

So I'm going to send it again, and again, and again. And not just to him, because we cannot afford to wait.

The era of procrastination, of half-measures, of soothing and baffling expedients, of delays, is coming to a close. In its place, we are entering a period of consequences. -Winston Churchill

transit tales

I made a quick jaunt up to NY this weekend. As always, New York is a tasty cornucopia of flesh and brick fused together in a rhythmic dance, where the baseline beat is the rotating grind of turnstiles and the transition light pulse from green to amber to red and back to green. [Stage left][The second platform waiting for the D train UPTOWN] (A desolate scene loosely populated with strangers midway between pitch black tunnels...simultaneously reeking of urine and infinite possibilities) [ENTER] drunken man.

There is no warning... just the fast paced visual as this guy, lets call him "Arsenio," takes a header off the platform right onto the tracks.

It was instantly a tense situation.

Having hours earlier been involved in an extensive dialogue about the bystander effect as detailed in "The Tipping Point" by Malcolm Gladwell... I was instantly faced with the emotion of ... THAT GUY IS IN TROUBLE. SOMEONE ELSE WILL HELP HIM.

What?

When there are others around, the bystander effect allows us as individuals to transfer responsibility to the group evenly, thus... no "one" person is responsible and thus no "one" person is going to make a move.

Its crazy.

But it was fresh on my mind... and so I was able to have a rapid cognitive process to squelch those feelings and race to the edge of the platform, hand outstretched.

As I tugged, another gentlemen, lets call him FonteLeroy, came to assist, and we pulled Arsenio to safety.

FonteLeroy was empowered to help by my action, NOT by the initial gravity of Arsenio's situation. He had already transferred that responsibility to me. Now he was merely jumping onto the proverbial "train in motion."

Why do we look for others to act in our place?

Why, as a society, is it our place of comfort to do the minimum?

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...