Our apartment windows face Massachusetts Avenue. For those of you who aren't familiar with the District, Mass Ave Northwest is pretty busy - and loud - for most of the day, but particularly between 6 and 7 am on weekdays, when all the construction trucks are on their way to nearby work sites. There's a lot of construction going on near our building, which is great for the area, but bad for establishing a sense of 'calm,' which is only a word to me now, not a true state of being. Yes, the construction, along with the frequent sirens, can sometimes present obvious impediments to that sacred thing called sleep. The first morning we were in our apartment we became painfully aware of this fact. It was a pleasant, cool evening the night before, so when we went to bed, we left the windows open. Ah, we were so innocent then. So oblivious to the imminent chaos. We left the windows open: It seems absurd now. But then? How peaceful. That night, we lay there perfectly content in our new place and remarked to one another how the occasional passing car was so pleasantly lulling, a gentle swish, like the ocean.

Idiots.

We were idiots.

Somewhere around 5:30 to 6 am, the gentle swishing of cars turned into a tumultuous and hateful banging of dump trucks as they rolled over the many bumps in the road, their empty back ends bouncing and kicking against their frames as they drove by, thunderous, echoing, angry, like the cursing of God. It's a sound akin to slamming a giant empty keg inside a steel-walled raquetball court. Over and over. Now imagine having spent all night drinking the contents of that keg and you begin to get the picture: this is not a pleasant sound at 6 am.

The amazing part of the human animal is that it can get used to just about anything. It adapts. It . . . evolves. Amazingly, Catherine and I have evolved into humans who can't hear when we sleep. It's true. After over a year of sleeping in this downtown apartment, we actually find ourselves sleeping through the cacaphony taking place outside our windows each morning, which is kind of scary when you think about it.

But occasionally there's a sound that brings us immediately out of our sleep and sends us directly to the window in foggy-headed fear. That was the case this morning at 4:58 am when we heard the terrible, crunching sound of a car colliding with another obstacle at high speed. The sound was deep and loud, and seemed to last forever. It felt like it was in the room with us. We went to the window and noticed two cars, now strangely still and far away from one another on the road. We watched for a few breathless moments for some sort of life down there. Then people started getting out of the cars, apparently unhurt. They walked to each other's car, talked to one another. One took out a cell phone. We called 911 anyway, just to be safe. On the sidewalk in front of our building we could see from our 5th-story vantage point that two trees had been completely plowed over and now lay sad and bare against the brick ground. About 15 feet from the trees, our trusty fire hydrant, our building's safety net, had been uprooted from the ground and was leaning at a surprising angle to the ground, almost recumbent. Almost decapitated.

After we assessed the situation and figured out that everybody was okay, Catherine tried to get me to come back to bed. I was tired, but didn't want to go to sleep just yet. I looked out the window at the street below, and watched things unfold. The police arrived at the scene almost hesitantly, without ceremony or siren. They got out of their cars and began talking to the victims. That's when I decided I needed to go outside. My thoughts had turned to that sad fire hydrant, now a miniature tower of pisa there on the sidewalk. I wanted to make sure the police wrote it into their reports so that it would be firmly planted back in the ground at some point, hopefully soon. I don't know why. It just seemed necessary to do it right then. So I put on my clothes and went outside into the cold and the dark, awake, but not completely alert. I walked over to one of the cop cars and motioned for one of the uniformed men inside to roll down the window, which he did. I felt self-conscious.

"Hi, I'm a resident of that building." I motioned with my head.

The officer closest to me nodded.

"Are you guys going to report that hydrant." I pointed at the mini tower of pisa on the adjacent sidewalk.

He nodded again. He did not speak. It was either too cold, too dark, or both.

"Thanks," I said, and turned and walked away. If it sounds a little 'surreal,' it was. I felt a little like Johnny Depp in Fear and Loathing when he's talking to the hotel clerk and she turns into a giant lizard. Thankfully, the cops remained human through the entire exchange.

I walked back to my building, past the slanted fire hydrant, past the plowed trees. Through the lobby. Up the elevator. Down the hallway. Back in the apartment, I undressed, ate a bowl of cereal and laid in bed for over an hour, my body tired, but my mind buzzing. My eyes felt dry, even when I closed them. So I kept them open. I watching the flashing lights swirl and flash on my ceiling. I think I finally fell asleep around 7:00 am and woke up around 9:30. Altogether, a full five and a half hours. Not bad.

So yes - it was a weird night. And to add to the strangeness, when I got out of bed and went to the shower, I found a couple of workers on scaffolding right outside my bathroom window. These guys have been working on sprucing up the exterior of the building for the last several weeks and today they happened to be right at my floor. Eye-level with my sleepy peeing. I went and got my camera and snapped this photo of them right after one of them had sprayed some bird shit off our ledge and onto our window. Kinda cool. Here's another after they washed the bird shit away. Yes, we tend to gather a lot of bird shit on our bathroom window ledge. We have to clean it from time to time. It's not pretty. We really need some sort of pigeon repellant contraption.

But for now, we live happily with the birds, putting up with their shit, sleeping blissfully through the cacophony of morning, waiting for the next head-on collision, waiting for the next accident to shake us loose from everyday life.

link to this | comments (5) | File:  DC 

The promise of technology is that it will allow you to better manage your life. It will save you time by making things easier and more convenient. It will give you control. It will make you happy.

Communicate with a click of a button!

Tag everything!

Listen to your music when and where you want!

Watch TV on your own schedule!

You want these things because they are good!

I buy into a lot of this. I believe it and, to a certain degree, I live it. But even with all this empowerment, it's possible to let the technology control you. Case in point: email.

First of all, I should say that, if you want me to read something, it's better to send it to me via email. Postal mail has sometimes been known to sit unopened in my living room for a good week or two before it is finally cracked open. But because I do all of my work on a computer, email is, more often than not, opened minutes after it's arrival.

I've begun to realize that I need to change my habits in this regard. Lately, email has become the Great Interrupter. It's not a hard and fast rule or anything, but generally for me productivity = happiness. And, unless I'm collaborating closely with somebody on a project, email usually only serves to interrupt and distract me from what it is I'm doing, making me less productive. If I were to apply a formula, it would probably be, email ≠ productivity. Therefore, it seems that I can safely conclude that if productivity = happiness and (most of the time) email ≠ productivity, then (most of the time) email ≠ happiness. It's taken me a long time to accept this principle because, despite the logic of the equation, I LOVE email. This is interesting because it shows, quite correctly, that loving something, and being happy because of it, are not necessarily the same thing. But it begs the question, why do I love this thing that, more often than not, does not make me happy? Maybe because I'm a masochist? Maybe I want to be angry, or distracted, or both. Maybe it's because I secretly crave chaos.

In any event, I'm going to try a new approach. For most of the day, I'm going to turn off my email. It's going to be a challenge. It might even hurt a little bit. But if I'm really a masochist, then that should be good, shouldn't it?

link to this | comments (4) | File:  Tech  Ho_Hum  Chewing 

Last night was rough. After spending most of the night obsessing over a questionable decision we made earlier in the evening, both Catherine and I made several fruitless attempts to fall asleep, starting around 12:30 am. Around the time my brain had done it's 723rd push-up, my body finally declared that enough was enough, damnit, and demanded some sleep. Three hours later, I found myself awake again, and very confused. The alarm must have gone off, but I didn't remember it. Still, something had woken me up. I looked at the clock a couple of times in an effort to understand it completely. Comprehend the message. Like I always do when coming out of a deep sleep, I tried like hell to reason my way out of the certainty of time, but there was just no way around it: it was 6:40 am. We had not prepared the night before for a late night, and the car was parked in a 7 am rush-hour spot. There would be a pink ticket on our windshield in twenty minutes. And a truck would be towing poor Carmen away ten minutes after that. Time to get up. Hop to it.

So the day started off bad and got worse before it got better, in the form of a long trip to Gaithersburg for a dentist appointment. But right now I feel good. I can't explain it, really. Perhaps it's sleep deprivation setting in. Or perhaps it's the amazing weekend of playoff games. I have a friend, Tom, who is a Patriot's fan so I don't want to gloat too much, but . . . what the hell . . . Go, Broncos! We actually watched the Skins game at Tom's house Saturday night, but out of respect for the host, decided to leave before things got messy in the AFC. And who'd of thunk that the Steeler's would pull it out against the Colts? Awesomeness. Broncos and Steelers: they happen to be my two favorite teams. And they'll be battling it out for the AFC Championship. How great is that? Regardless of what happens this weekend, I'll have a team in the Super Bowl. Still, I hope it's the Broncos. Even though I was a Steeler's fan before I was a Broncos fan, I have to say that my loyalties lie more with the Broncs these days. So it'll be another weekend of blue and orange for me. And does it really matter what NFC team wins at this point?

And the decision that kept us up last night? Well, meet the newest member of our family. She's really cute and likes it when we pet her. She makes occasional purring and ticking sounds. She's neither orange, nor round, but her name is Tangerine. She will help me better test my Web sites during production. Catherine has already taught her a bunch of new tricks. Truth be told, I think they may have a slightly better relationship. I'm a little jealous of all the time they've been spending together.

And why was this a 'questionable decision?' Because we started second-guessing the breed we chose. We were not sure it would be the right temperament. But today, after spending some more time together, we've come to realize that she's a perfect match for us.

link to this | comments (3) | File:  Tech  Sports  Family 

As some of you already know, the DC DMV has it out for me. I wish I were making this stuff up. I wish things were straight between me and the motor vehicle department, but it's not and I just have to accept that.

I have a theory on this. Actually, I have multiple theories. One of them is simple: the IT systems at the DC DMV, or the people entering data into those systems, or both, are fantastically messed up and undependable. But this is a boring theory, in part because it's probably the truth.

Another theory goes something like this: I'm part of a secret plot by Starbuck's to infiltrate the Canadian coffee-and-doughnuts chain Tim Horton's, and start spreading the 'special beans' at all their locations. (As we all know, Starbucks is nothing more than a front for the US government and serves as a way to feed us all mind-controlling substances through their delicious and irresistible java blends.) While Starbucks is certainly growing in Canada, it's doing so at a much slower rate than in the states. This has Starbucks a bit pissed off. Therefore, they need a reliable standby, an establishment the Canadian people are comfortable with, an establishment like Tim Horton's, to more efficiently disseminate the 'zannies.' This word is one of the few things I remember about my missions and it's what they call the stuff that's in the beans. It also goes by 'the magic,' or my favorite, 'the flava.' The way it works is this: men in dark suits show up at my door, dress me in a Tim Horton's outfit, fly me to Canada, and give me specific instructions on preparing coffee. It's a very complicated mission, and unfortunately, my conscious mind knows very little about it because they feed me a wicked amnesiac before planting me back in my apartment. When I wake up, I'm naked on my bathroom floor, the shower is on, and my fingers are stained and smell like French roast. I'm plagued by a feeling that time has elapsed, and yet my last memory is whatever I had been doing before the men in dark suits showed up.

But sometimes I dream . . . sometimes I remember . . .

Anyway, I think it's while I'm on these secret missions that these things happen . . . parking tickets, random fines, even the casual appearance of another car I hadn't owned previously.

This must be what accounted for the latest snafu. Here's how it unfolded: in November, my inspection came up for renewal. I took it in early because I suspected it wouldn't pass for some reason and I would have to have some repair done. It turns out I was right, in the form of a side airbag fault. I had the repair done within my allotted 2 weeks and took the car back a second time, got my seal of approval, and I was good to go, or so I thought.

While all of this was transpiring, I received a notice in the mail that my registration would be expiring in January. The notice was innocuous enough. It simply informed me of the amount I owed for my next year of car registration and a Zone 2 parking permit. I remembered that last time I had renewed online and it had been fairly easy and painless, so I decided to try that again. This is where things started to go wrong. Online, the amount due reflected a $480 late fee penalty for not having my car inspected in time. (Keep in mind, this was shortly after I had just gotten my car inspected, not only on time but early.) I figured there must be some gap in their records. Maybe I just needed to give it time to show up on my account.

I had time to renew, so I waited a month and checked back. There was still a penalty, and this time it had increased by $20. What was going on here? Had the whole inspection episode, which I remembered so vividly, been a dream? Had I been drugged and dragged to Canada again? If so, how long had I been gone? Even if I were late, $500 seemed to be quite an excessive fine. I toyed with the idea of just mailing in my paper form and hopefully it would 'work itself out,' but I knew that was just wishful thinking. This was going to take drastic, heroic measures. This was going to take a trip to the DMV.

After some scrounging around, I began to feel more confident that my inspection hadn't been a dream after all, because I actually had paperwork, documentation, that it had occurred prior to my November 8th deadline. With this tangible proof in hand, I ventured out to the DMV.

When I arrived at the DMV waiting room, I felt no small amount of fear and loathing. Painful memories of prior visits flashed in my head. I tried to tune them out by listening to my iPod. Beastie Boys, 'Professor Booty.' I had not even gotten all the way through the song when my number flashed on the display above me. That was fast, I thought. A pleasant surprise. I was again surprised when I got to the counter and found the guy there with a smile on his face. Okay, where am I? People don't smile at the DMV. I began to wonder if this was all taking place in my mind. Maybe I was actually serving coffee right now in Quebec. Maybe this wasn't happening.

The guy made small talk about my iPod. I played along, pretending I knew nothing of any fines or late fees. To him, I was just this normal guy, shooting the shit about music and mp3 players, and oh, as long as I'm here, let me go ahead and renew my registration, eh?

The guy asked for my insurance card, which I supplied dutifully. Then he did some typing on his keyboard and I noticed as he looked at the monitor that his smile went away, his forehead wrinkled.

"Uh oh." he said. "Looks like you have some fines for not having your car inspected."

Crap! For a second there, I thought I would skate on by. Time to produce my evidence. I kept my friendly tone, appealing to his sense of me as a fellow 'buddy' who liked listening to music. I showed him the notice I had received in the mail about my inspection being due November 8th, how I had gone in and had it all done early and they must have never recorded it.

He looked at all this and after a few moments of study said, "Actually, this is saying that your car failed to pass inspection in November, 2003 and you never took it back in to get it re-inspected. It has assessed $20 a month since then.

This really threw me off. I wasn't sure what to make of it. It certainly explained how the amount had gotten so high, but it just didn't make sense. Had I been away that long? Maybe it was time to tell him about my work as an undercover Starbucks agent. There was a cup of java on the desk beside him, in fact. Maybe I could use mind-controlling techniques on him, like Obi-Wan in Star Wars.

But my rational side kicked in: how could I not have passed inspection in 2003 when the notice I had received in the mail recently said that my inspection was 'expiring' in 2005? Also, I had renewed my registration in 2004, so wouldn't this have cropped up at that time? These were both good points and the DMV guy agreed that something was not right here.

"Let me go talk to my manager to see if she'll override this."

There was an uncomfortably long period of time spent waiting for the manager to come. I began to get nervous. What if she wouldn't override this? What if she were of the mindset that the data on the computer was infallible, despite all the evidence to the contrary? I felt a burning worry begin to develop in the pit of my stomach.

Finally, the manager and the guy that had been helping me appeared from the back room. The manager was more the type of DMV employee I was used to. She did not smile, nor did she speak to me at all. The only words she spoke were to the other DMV employee, my new friend, the iPod listener, something like 'why am I the only one doing overrides today.' I got the feeling that 'overrides' were a regular part of a DMV manager's day and her colleagues must be M.I.A.

So the override was performed. The fine was removed. The manager left. My new buddy took my credit card and printed out a new registration sticker for me. I decided to get one for two years this time. We talked some more about the iPod. Then as we parted ways he said something like: 'Be careful of those inspections.' It made me realize that even though everything seemed to suggest a computer error, there was actually some doubt still in his mind as to whether my car had really passed inspection in 2003. 'Yes I will!' I said. 'Thanks. I'm going to make sure to keep documentation of everything from now on!'

Even though I had been right there at the counter, where I might have inquired as to whether or not I still owned a Mercedes, I chose to leave that one un-touched. I didn't want to raise any more suspicion. Better to leave while I was ahead.

I left the DMV feeling good, but in a guarded way, sort of like I had just won a game of a very long tennis match, one in which there were still multiple games and sets left before it would be over, and my opponent had gotten a great night's sleep and was on steroids. Yes, I couldn't help feeling a creeping, uneasy feeling that there was still something amiss, something that would crop up again sometime in the future. I stopped at the door and looked over my sticker. I double checked the license and the VIN against the documents I had. Everything matched. I was good for now.

When I got home, I made some coffee to celebrate. I ate lunch and wound up dozing a bit. I awoke naked in my bathroom, the shower running, my fingers smelling of French roast.

link to this | comments (3) | File:  DC 

Sometimes I wish Catherine drank coffee. It would make me feel more connected to her. I mean, how can I make sense of my spouse, this person with whom I share a home, when she does not wake up and crave coffee first thing in the morning? What am I to make of this perplexing and entirely unnatural behavior?

Then again, if Catherine was a coffee drinker, it might force us into certain arguments about how best to prepare the coffee. She might insist on making the coffee weak, which is a sin that ranks right up there with blasphemy, as far as I'm concerned. Thou shalt not drink weak coffee.

In the end, I suppose it is better this way. There are certain advantages and comforts to being the only java junkie in the house. I rule the coffee domain. I am master of all things coffee. That's about all I'm master of here, so I suppose I should enjoy it.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Cath  Ho_Hum 

Every year, in the chaotic weeks leading up to the holidays, I confess that I become complicit in the collective suspension of reality that plagues much of our National consciousness. I find myself using the crutch phrase that can best be described as , I'll deal with that in the new year. I think at it's root, there is a secret hope behind the use of this delay tactic that maybe the new year will never come and maybe the thing that I'm putting off will actually never have to be dealt with. I mean, there's something tenuous about the turning of the new year. If all goes well, we'll see the ball drop and the clocks will turn. If not, then what? Nothingness, perhaps? Either way, what fun!

(Yes, I'm a closet nihilist. I don't think it's morbid. It's just that if I had my choice, I'd rather be here to see the end of the world then not. Wouldn't you?)

So every year, we engage in this great putting off. And every new year, much to our dismay, we find these things still exist. There were a lot of annoying things I put off before the holidays that I had to deal with last week. Here's the short list:

• Doing finances/budget
• Renewing my car's registration at the DMV
• Taking care of certain condo-related business

Last week I successfully completed all but one of these tasks. I got organized in regard to my finances (which was a monumental task) and I took care of business at my building. I still have to go to the DMV, which absolutely frightens me for a myriad of reasons. This may actually turn into a good story. We'll see.

There were also some things I had put off for the new year that were more positive, and last week I made sure to add these to the mix of things to do to balance the good with the bad. First, I made plans to go to SXSW Interactive in Austin in March. I registered last week and booked my travel, so it's official and I'm really looking forward to the trip. Second, I've enrolled in jazz piano lessons with Robert Redd at the Washington Conservatory of Music. I feel like my playing has been stagnating somewhat over the last several months and I wanted to try to give it a jump start and develop some new sounds and styles. I'm hopeful this will lead me in the right direction.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Music  Ho_Hum 

As I walked home on L street this evening, a guy passed me who was singing to himself, in no particular key, "It's great to be alive!"

He looked at me as he passed and added, "Isn't it, young man?"

At the time, I was deep in thought, worrying over some minor detail of my day. The question broke me out of my reflection long enough to realize that, yeah it was pretty damn great to be alive. And hell if that wasn't pretty much all that mattered.

The rest of the walk home, I took notice of the people around me, the expressions on their faces, the clothes they wore, the way their hair was styled. There was something amazing in the idea that they existed and shared this moment with me.

The evening air was soft and cool against my face. A light mist dusted my glasses. Details. Exquisite.

Every so often, it's nice to have a sidewalk prophet remind you what's important.

link to this | comments (1) | File:  Chewing  Ho_Hum 

Oh man. How to get this out. How to say this thing I'm thinking. I'm all spit and babble tonight. Slobbering all over myself.

Oh well, here goes . . .

It's 2006 and all over the Web people are contemplative. Well, either that or hungover. For the most part, people are making new beginnings. They are coming up with new business strategies. Many are quitting smoking - go Kim, go Catherine! Some people are looking at the digital culture we find ourselves in and realizing we're on the verge of something big when it comes to education, and the only way to not get left behind is to jump in.

I think it's happening . . . there's a wave of change occurring, and it's not just because of the new year. There's a breakdown in our culture on the way, some kind of collective collapse. It's going to involve a dramatic re-organizing of the old media. Records, books, film. Television, print, radio. It's all due for an overhaul. As people become more empowered to publish their own content in the form of blogs, podcasts, photos, film, there's less of a need for the old infrastructure of record labels, publishers, and movie houses. This is no new revelation, and I'm not pretending to be some kind of prophet, but I think the difference now - in 2006 - is that we're actually beginning to see some tangible signs of this change. It's here. It's all around us. It's not just abstract notions any more. And thank God, you know? We needed it. We were beginning to feel that burning jones for something different. We needed a revolution, damnit. Spirit. Passion. It's been too long. Why should the hippies keep having all the fun and glory?

Social bookmarking - sites like del.icio.us - or other online tools that allow the democratic masses to create content and share that content with others - ie, flickr, upcoming , wikipedia - have become huge and the use of these sites is leading to this profound change in how we all relate to each other. Add to that technologies like Skype, where phone calls across the world are free, and the conversations we have can be recorded and published . . . and now we're beginning to see a small glimpse of the kind of information-sharing that is to come.

And amidst this revolution in culture, I continue to be plagued by a chronic impatience, a side-effect perhaps of the new media.

I no longer listen to 'an album.' I put my entire music library on shuffle. For new music, I listen to a podcast. When I'm in a particular mood, I listen to that one perfect song. I have complete control over the programming. I can fast-forward or skip if I don't like something. I don't have to listen to NPR at a certain time, I can listen to a podcast while I'm doing the dishes. Radio as we know it is not 'dying.' It is dead. And rigor mortis is setting in. And that includes you too, Sirius. Howard isn't enough.

The same goes for TV. I watch television on my own clock, not NBC's or ABC's. I TiVo. I skip commercials.

Then there are books. Today when I sit down to read, I wind up reading online. It's not from a lack of interest in print - I still manage to get at least one book in every other month or so - but shit, it's just not the same if I can't bookmark it or link to it. I start reading something on paper and I immediately want to find it's context online, want to see what others think of it. I become frustrated when there is no immediate sharing of ideas. No conversation. I can't help but wonder: Will authors write 'books' in 2020, or something else altogether? Maybe something more 'collaborative.' Is 'modern lit' still something that is going to be bound by paper - landlocked from comments, tags, the chatter of voices. Many, many, voices.

So resolutions . . . it is a time for resolutions, right?

If you know me, you know that in my daily life, I'm a creature of habit. I like my days to follow a routine. Cereal, coffee, swimming, dinner, up late, rise early. But a consistency in daily habits is not the same as consistency in overarching interests and life goals. Here I have a problem.

Often I have the uneasy feeling that if I slow down for one second, if I spend too much time on any one thing, that I will miss something else. So far, this sense of urgency and restlessness has served to keep my pen in a lot of different wells which I used to think was good. But I've begun to realize that all these different interests add up to a lot of things left undone.

So here's how it boils down for me in 2006: I've made changes - 2004 and 2005 were both years full of big changes - but now I need to focus. I need to narrow my goals. The time has come to realize that I will not be an Olympic swimmer, for instance. That is one goal I can safely take off the table. And maybe I won't be a real-estate mogul. (I'm really not sure why I ever thought that might be a good idea.) But I still have plenty of attainable goals, ones that involve music for instance. But it's going to continue to be difficult if I try to go after all of them.

So my new year's resolution is two-fold: narrow my focus and take on a little less responsibility. I will try to establish some kind of consistency with my larger goals, try to not change for a little while and see where that takes things.

link to this | comments (2) | File:  Writing  Music  Media  Chewing