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The Champs Are Here

Hercules Johnson

Washington, D.C — The Washington Nationals won the World Series a year ago and Washington, D.C. was on a heady high. The District of Champions! What a time to be alive in the Capital.

I missed the celebration when the Capitals won the Stanley Cup. In 2018 we lived across the country while I attended law school in San Diego. We still had a great time. My brother drove down from Reno to watch games 5-7; the night he arrived we watched Ovechkin hoist the Cup and we stayed classy in the streets of San Diego.

In the fall of 2019, however, my wife and are were living in Northeast D.C., off the Red Line near the Brookland exit by the Basilica. It was gorgeous and it was good to be home. The tail end of October brought the Capital’s first World Series appearance in the better part of a century.

D.C. was starving for a championship, going without for 27 years since the Redskins won Super Bowl XXVI in 1991. But to make matters worse, until 15 short months ago, when Evgeny Kuznetsov robbed Sydney Crosby and sent the Penguins packing, the Capital City had not even been to a Conference final since 1999. That year the Caps made it to the Stanley Cup Finals and were unceremoniously swept by the Red Wings. So even the one time the district was close, we really only got a sniff.

I am not the fan who tends to get despondent after a defeat, even in the playoffs, but there were so many, and soo many were too bad. After decades of heartbreak the playoffs became almost reviled, offering far more despair than satisfaction.     

Alex Ovechkin and the Capitals put the kibosh on all that. They proved it was okay to believe and there was a new feeling around town. Then, in 2019, the WNBA’s Mystics brought the District another championship mere weeks before the Nats faced the Astros. Not to say that Washingtonians were strutting around like cocky Massholes, we just weren’t flinching at every play.

The Nationals were on the road for the first two games where things would kick off in Texas. The Astros may have been hosting Games 1 & 2 in Houston, but Washington D.C. was alive. The vibe wasn’t overconfidence, but the District was ready.

Neighborhoods were bustling despite the games being played out of town. Bars and restaurants were overflowing and rowdy on Capitol Hill and in Adams Morgan, in Columbia Heights and all around the Golden Triangle. The waterfront area around Nationals Park was electric.

Nationals Park hosted viewing parties for the away games, inviting 20-30,000 fans to watch the game on the big outfield screens. Beer vendors and Ben’s Chili Bowl completed the experience.

We didn’t make it out to the first two games but the underdog Nats won both. Houston sent up two of the best pitchers in the league and the Nats banged up studs sent both of them home losers. So we knew we’d have at least one more chance.

The games in D.C. did not go well. The Astros won all three and the Nats scored exactly one run in each. Expectations were a little tempered for Game 6, but we had tickets and we were pumped.

We took the Metro down to the park, red line to the green line to the Navy Yard. We made a popular choice. The Metro dropped us off about a block from the gates as we poured out with the crowd. All along the block, street vendors were hawking there t-shirts for half-off: down 3-2, the Nats could be eliminated by the time we saw these guys again. We should have bought stuff then.

We met a few friends inside, grabbed some half-smokes from Ben’s and found seats along the third-base line. The first half of the game was a little slow, the Nats were down 2-1 after one and nobody did a lot for the next few innings. The Nats took over around the halfway mark and the fans in attendance watched their teams put up two runs in the 5th, 7th, and 9th.

It was a great comeback and, even without a game on site, was an amazing environment to enjoy overpriced drinks and chowing down on a legendary chili god. The crowd was and engaged from the start and by the end of the game, you would have been forgiven for thinking it was played at home.

The streets were loud and full of song as the fans danced out of the stadium. The vendors t-shirts had more than doubled in price. Game 6 was awesome, an exciting win to be sure, but tomorrow was Game 7.

We weren’t expecting to attend the viewing party for Game 7.  I was supposed to work until nearly 9:00 p.m. that evening, so we didn’t bother securing tickets. Yet, as fate would have it, I was out of work shortly after the first pitch.

I called my wife and we discussed the new situation as I raced to the Metro. Tickets to the game were sold out and it was raining, so it didn’t make a lot of sense to go down there, but it was still early and they were only down 2-0.  We decided it would be irresponsible not to at least try to get in. Even if we failed, we could try to find a spot at a nearby bar and be a part of the aftermath. It was Game 7.

We drove to the Rhode Island Metro station, caught the Red Line, switched to the Green, and pulled in to the stop at the Navy Yard on a train peppered with fans rocking the red. The seventh inning was under way, Nats still down by two, but nobody we came across was feeling down. After all, the Caps had exorcised the demons.

We were still decelerating to enter the station when an Anthony Rendon Home Run got put the Nats on the board. The train broke out into applause. A few seconds later we all leapt out of the car, as soon as the doors slid open, and raced to the escalators and beyond. 

We quickly regretted not bringing umbrellas as the rain had picked up substantially.  We figured that only helped our chances of getting in, since the people we saw walking away from the park surely meant empty seats inside. The gentleman at the ticket gate would surely be moved by this turn of events.

Moments later we were past the metal detectors and approaching ticketing. I began to silently practice my sales pitch for why the lady, who would be expecting a pair of tickets, should let us in without a one.

“Hello ma’am,” I would greet her. “My wife and I weren’t able to get tickets to the game, because they sold out so early. We weren’t expecting to get in, but it’s raining and we saw people walking out. Is there any way you could let us in? We would be so grateful.” That could work, right?

Suffice it to say that I was taken aback when I heard the very same pitch come out of the mouth of the man in front of us. He was so polite and friendly, I was sure he would get in instead of us. Mercilessly, the ticket lady shot him down.

Resolutely she explained to him that her boss had covered this situation and specifically said that it was out of the question. If the man wanted to hear “no” from her boss as well, he was welcome to hang for a few. I pulled my wife away from the gate quickly to discuss Plan B. There was no Plan B so we frantically scoped our options.

This late in the game, the open ticket lines were few, and we already knew their position on the matter. I spent a lot of time going to and working concerts and festivals, so I had some experience trying to get places without tickets. I believed we had one reasonable chance for success so I took my wife’s hand and led her towards the exit gate. It was time for some quick thinking!

There were two security guards at the exit gate, a tall black man and a shorter, older white lady. I figured if I was going to have a chance, I would need to connect with one of then quickly. I made a beeline for the big dude.

The two guards were talking to separate couples as we approached, but it looked like the couple my dude was talking to might be about to dip. Instead, they and he wandered off together.

As the one couple and their security escort preceded into the distance, I turned back to face the older lady, but she was still deep in conservation with the other couple, and did not seem to have noticed us. It would require a smooth confidence, but the moment was there for the taking.

Fortune favors the bold, so I glanced a “play along look” towards my wife and I spun around on the spot, catching the attention of the security Guard as I sell the bit.

‘Well shit babe, they just hit another Home Run, should we just go back in?” I directed, as the security guard turned towards us.

“Yes please,” she said confidently.

“Is that fine ma’am?” I asked the guard again, as I instinctively, slowly backpedled towards the bleachers.  But my caution was unnecessary, she was sold and waned us on the through

We walked in to the park while the crowd was still cheering for Howie Kendrick’s 2-run bomb, which scored young phenom Juan Soto and took the lead. With the seventh inning stretch on the way, we made bee lines for hot dogs and alcohol.

It was a struggle, but our inside knowledge from years of event bartending helped us land a few drinks before sales were cut off. We ate our dogs under the cover of the bleachers with the hundreds of fans hiding staying dry. Then we made our way out, to some open seats a few rows behind the visitor’s dugout to join the tens of thousands of fans in the rain.

The mood was elevating and the crowd was roiling. Some wore ponchos, some used programs or t-shirts to block the downpour, but most of us just let the rain fall.

It was still dramatic until the top of the 9th. Corbin sat down six of seven batters and Soto added an insurance run in the 8th. The pressure valve blew off in the 9th when Eaton added two RBIs to put the game out of reach. Nats Park exploded.

The final five outs breezed by to the tune of songs, chants, and cheers. One large fellow splashed and slid across the dugout like it was a slip and slide.

The last two Astros struck out swinging, and when the final pitch landed in the glove, it was pandemonium. No one left quickly, there was ambience to absorb, jerseys to waive and admire, and hands to high-five. My wife sparkled with joy; she must have taken celebratory pictures for half a dozen groups groups in our section. 

We eventually made our way out of the park and into the streets where revelry was well underway. People were dancing in and out of bars, climbing on poles, and screaming at the top of their lungs. It was a beautiful outpouring of joy and incredible to be a part of.

My wife and I decided we had not had enough, so we stopped at Gallery Place on the way home for some more. We headed straight to Fado’s Irish Pub for a Jameson and a Black and Tan, just like after a Caps game. We walked in to a serenade of “We Are the Champions,” and sang along at least four more times before we caught an Uber home.

It’s a Parade!!

A few days later we were back on the Metro, heading downtown for a parade. Constitution and Pennsylvania Avenues were full of adoring throngs rallying around the streets. There was plenty of space to make our way around until we neared the parade route itself.

We struggled through the mass of humanity until we found a space close enough to maintain a view. Even there it seemed imperfect for my 5’2″ wife; I hope I was helpful. We saw the team and the trophy, we waved and yelled, and we heard some speeches. The happiness around the mall was palpable that day. Good times.

The dirty secret is, my wife and I aren’t even actually Nats fans, but this whole thing has been intoxicating. We are huge Caps fans. We rock the red so hard it has been called, “incessant” and “annoying.” I am also a longtime Redski Washington Football Team Fan who grew up on Art Monk, Gary Clark, and Doug Williams long before Clinton Portis, Sean Taylor, and Tress Way. But when it comes to baseball, we’re both Braves fans through and through.

I grew up in Richmond, a couple hours south of D.C., but I was an avid baseball fan before 2005. When I was a kid, Richmond was the home of Atlanta’s Triple-A team, the Richmond Braves. I grew up attending Braves games with my family and in the 90s I played little league baseball with a glove signed by Steve Avery. I remember watching Sid Bream burn rubber and I remember David Justice smashing the World Series winning home run.

My wife shared a love of baseball with her father, growing up in South Florida. Before expansion the team of the South played in Atlanta and you could watch most of their games on TBS. Despite our love for the District and D.C. sports, when it came to baseball we were covered.

We thought it would be insincere and bandwagony to appropriate Nationals fans’ claim to this experience, but it was impossible not to root for the city and for our fellow Capitals and Redsk Washington Football fans. Instead of buying Nats gear, we wore Capitals hats, and jerseys or RMNB t-shirts to both games. Our choice again proved very popular; the Cup winning Caps garnered endless praise and daps.

A year after missing out on attending championship games and parties for the Caps, we were thrilled to be a part of the Nats big week. It was an experience that more than lived up to its billing. The District of Champions. A good place to be.

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San Diego Celebrates After Philly Gets the Win

Gritty 2020

I phone banked for Biden and Democrats’ Get Out the Vote campaign the weekend before the election, and on through election day. For those four days I spent my shifts calling voters in Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and Texas. The majority of my calls were made to West Philly.

Most of us spent the better part of the next five days watching Philadelphia on TV, waiting to see if Joe Biden would complete an impressive comeback. West Philadelphia ended up being perhaps the most important community in the country as tens of thousands of mail in ballots stood by, waiting to be counted. In the wee hours of election night, early Wednesday morning, Biden trailed by more than 700,000 votes statewide. Then he didn’t.  

Saturday morning, after Pennsylvania was called and Biden was named President elect, my wife and I went out in San Diego. We live in North Park, a hip neighborhood where Black Lives Matter posters and Biden/Harris supporters are prevalent. We could hear shouting and honking horns in the streets.

It reminded me of the tunnels in D.C. after a Capitals home win, full of horns blaring in a rhythmic call and response. We went down to the car and drove out to join them, which turned out to be a great decision.

We found groups on every street corner, and pedestrians walking in between, waving flags, chanting, and cheering. Others shouted and saluted from al fresco dining areas as we drove by. We thought it only made sense to follow the honking cars down University Avenue to Hillcrest.

For those unfamiliar with San Diego, Hillcrest is a beautiful, vibrant, and hip community which is home to San Diego’s Pride Parade and fondly referred to as “the gay-borhood.” The drive was an expedition through an eruption of pure joy.

We passed continuous groups of revelers on the sidewalks and we soon found ourselves in the heart of an impromptu motorcade parade. We drove from 30th Street down to 4th Street, immersed in a cacophony of unadulterated joy and syncopated horns. 

The outpouring of happiness, love, and relief was palpable and energizing. There was very little hostility, and none towards un elected Republican citizens. People were just overjoyed and needed to share their happiness with others. It was beautiful.

In honor of Pennsylvania, my Pittsburgh Steelers fan of a wife tucked her Terrible Towel in to fly from the closed rear window. In honor of Philadelphia, and the enormous role which the City of Brotherly Love played in securing the election and ending the Trump administration, she brought her Gritty t-shirt. It featured the googly eyed Philadelphia Flyers mascot’s large face with a word bubble stating, “Fuck Trump,” and it was very popular.

Gritty, the mascot of the NHL’s Philadelphia Flyers

Every time we stopped, and at multiple traffic slow downs in between, people would shout, cheer, and run over to take pictures with the heroic monster she waved out the window. As a Washington sports fan, I have always viewed Philadelphia as villains. The Eagles, Phillies, 76ers, and Flyers have all ruined numerous days and may screw directly off–and that’s not even mentioning the Pittsburgh Penguins. But Pennsylvania came through in the clutch.

Philadelphia and Allegheny Counties sealed the win and the entire world broke into rapturous applause. Philadelphia was our hero and the people on the street in San Diego knew it. Everyone appreciated Philly, and everyone loved Gritty. Biden should invite Gritty to the White House.

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Lois and West Philidelphia

Last weekend, and on through Tuesday’s election, I phone-banked for Biden and Democrats’ Get Out the Vote campaign. For those four days I spent my shifts calling voters in Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and Texas encouraging supporters to vote and offering to help them find their polling place or make a voting plan. Most of my calls that evening were to West Philly.

West Philadelphia Commons, Creative Commons

The majority of the people I talked to had already voted or were ready to do so. Quite a few people were irritated about all of the calls they’d received. A few people were republicans, and one of them wasn’t even a prick. Many of the people I spoke to, however, were friendly, grateful, and hopeful for the election.

A lot of the people I reached were excited to share their enthusiasm, including a Philadelphia campaign manager in the thick of it. Some were a little more apprehensive and wanted to talk about how much the election meant to them. A dozen or so even needed my help to find their polling location or some other information. But my very favorite interaction was with Lois.

Lois is 90-years-old, lives in West Philadelphia, and was my second to last call Monday evening, around 8:50 p.m. for her on the east coast. She quickly informed me that she did not need my help, but she was excited to share her plan.

“My neighbors are going to drive me right down the street, first thing in the morning,” she told me proudly. “I’ve got my ballot, I’ve got my bag packed, I’ve got my roller and my folding chair, in case we have to wait in a long line.”

“I’ve been voting since the 1950s and I’ve never missed an election,” she said. “I’m ready to go vote him out of our house.”

I told her that she was an inspiration and must have seen some significant elections in her time. She replied that she remembered voting for Kennedy, and remembered her parents voting for FDR when she was growing up in the Catskills, “across the Hudson River from his home.”

Lois and her church had linked up with churches across seven states and earlier that day they spent something like 6 hours joined in prayer, asking that people would find kindness, let go of their anger, and show up to vote and help heal the country. She told me that it was important that America elect leaders who were good people again.

Lois thanked me for my efforts and I thanked her for her example, before she said goodbye and hung up to go to bed. She had big plans in the morning.

If you have ever wanted to do something easy to support a candidate or cause, beyond donating $15, I endorse phone banking. The bad interactions were brief, and you still get to help everyone by removing them from the list. The good interactions were longer and heartwarming, and sometimes you even get to help some people take action. That’s a bunch of wins.

Gritty 2020
Gritty, of the Philadelphia Flyers

Early Tuesday morning I saw a video going around of a 90 year old lady in Southwest Philly dancing her way to the polls. I hoped it was Lois, it sure fit the picture in my mind; I later learned her name was Ms. Mildred, so perhaps not. If not, West Philly is apparently full of cool older ladies, in addition to Gritty.

I spent the better part of the next 5 days watching Philadelphia on TV and often thought of Lois. West Philadelphia ended up being perhaps the most important community in the country this week, and they came through. Lois is awesome and she did it. I hope she feels proud and I hope she’s dancing.

westphilly #westphiladelphia #BidenHarris2020 #pennsylvania #vote

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Philadelphia Comes Through in the Clutch

Gritty 2020

There was a fairly consequential election last week. Wanting to do something, over the weekend and through Tuesday I phone banked for Biden and the Democrats’ Get Out the Vote campaign. For those four days I spent shifts calling voters in Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and Texas, encouraging supporters to vote and offering to help them find their polling place or make a voting plan. Most of my calls were to West Philly.

The majority of the people I talked to had already voted or were ready to do so. Quite a few people were frustrated and even angry about all of the calls. A few people were republicans, one of whom was not a real prick. Many of the people I spoke to, however, were friendly, grateful, and hopeful.

A lot of the people I reached were excited about the big day and happy to share their enthusiasm, including a campaign manager in Philadelphia. Some were a little more apprehensive and wanted to talk about how much the election meant to them. A dozen or so even needed my help, and I was thrilled to help them find their polling location and any other information they needed. But my very favorite interaction was with Lois.

Lois is 90-years-old, lives in West Philadelphia, and was my second to last call Monday evening, around 8:50 p.m. for her on the east coast. She quickly informed me that she did not need my help, but she was excited to share her plan.

“My neighbors are going to drive me right down the street, first thing in the morning,” she told me proudly. “I’ve got my ballot, I’ve got my bag packed, I’ve got my roller, and I have my folding chair, in case we have to wait in a long line.”

“I’ve been voting since the 1950s and I’ve never missed an election,” she said. “I’m ready to go vote him out of our house.”

I told her that she was an inspiration and must have seen some significant elections in her time. She replied that she remembered voting for Kennedy, and remembered her parents voting for FDR when she was growing up in the Catskills, “across the Hudson River from his home.”

Lois informed me that her church had linked up with other their denomination across seven states, and that day they had spent something like 6 hours joined in prayer. Together they asked that people would find kindness, let go of their anger, and vote to heal the country. She told me that it was important that America elect leaders who were good people again.

Lois thanked me for my efforts and I thanked her for her example, before she said goodbye and hung up to go to bed. She had big plans in the morning.

If you have ever wanted to do something easy to support a candidate or cause, beyond donating $15, I endorse phone banking. The bad interactions were brief, and you still get to help everyone by removing them from the list. The good interactions were longer and heartwarming, and you even get to help some people take action. That’s a bunch of wins.

Early Tuesday morning I saw a video going around of a 90 year old lady in southwest Philly dancing her way to the polls. I hoped it was Lois, it sure fit the picture in my mind; I later learned her name was Ms. Mildred, so perhaps not. If not, West Philly is apparently full of cool older ladies.

I spent the better part of the next 5 days watching Philadelphia on TV and often thought of Lois. West Philadelphia ended up being perhaps the most important community in the country this week, and they sure came through. Lois is awesome and she did it; they did it.

Saturday morning, after Pennsylvania was called and Biden was named President elect, my wife and I went out in San Diego. We live in North Park, where Black Lives Matter posters and Biden/Harris supporters are prevalent, we could hear shouting and honking horns out in the streets.

It reminded me of the tunnels in D.C. after a Capitals home win, full of horns blaring in a rhythmic call and response. We got in the car and drove out to join them, which turned out to be a great decision.

We found groups on every street corner, and pedestrians walking in between, waving flags and signs, and cheering. Others shouted and raised their hands or firsts in approval from al fresco dining areas as we drove by. We were enthralled and thought it only made sense to follow the calling cars down University to Hillcrest.

For those unfamiliar with San Diego, Hillcrest is a beautiful, vibrant, and hip community in San Diego, which is home to San Diego’s Pride Parade and fondly referred to as “the gay-borhood.” On the drive we witnessed an eruption of pure joy.

Hillcrest in Jubilation, San Diego, CA – Nov. 7, 2020

Not only did we pass continuous groups of revelers on the streets, we soon found ourselves in the heart of an impromptu motorcade parade. We drove from 30th Street down to 4th Street, immersed in a cacophony of joy and syncopated horns. The outpouring of happiness, love, and relief was palpable, energizing, and cathartic.

In honor of Pennsylvania, my Pittsburgh Steelers fan of a wife tucked her Terrible Towel to fly from the closed rear window. In honor of Philadelphia, and the enormous role which the City of Brotherly Love played in the securing the election and ending the Trump administration, she brought her Gritty t-shirt held it aloft like a banner. It featured the googly eyed Philadelphia Flyers mascot stating, “Fuck Trump,” and it was very popular.

Gritty of the Philadelphia Flyers

Every time we stopped and at multiple slow downs in between people would shout, cheer, and run over to take pictures with the heroic monster she waved out the window. As a Washington sports fan, I have always viewed Philadelphia as the bad guys. The Eagles, Phillies, 76ers, and Flyers have all ruined numerous days and can go directly to hell–and that’s not even mentioning the Pittsburgh Penguins. But there’s no denying it: Pennsylvania came through in the clutch.

Philadelphia and Alleghany County sealed the win and the entire world broke into rapturous applause. Philadelphia most of all was our hero, perhaps not the hero we wanted, but the hero we desperately need right now. The people on the street in San Diego knew it and many of them recognized and adored Gritty. And everyone loved Philadelphia. I hope Lois feels proud and I hope she’s dancing.

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Trust the Police? Racism is a Systemic Pandemic

Some white Americans still claim they can’t wrap their heads around black Americans’ fear of or distrust in the police.  A quick glance at the history of the U.S. legal system, and the police in particular, is all it takes to see that distrust is a reasonable and predictable response to centuries of mistreatment. Racism is systemic and it always has been.

For centuries it was the specific job of police to demean, abuse, and dehumanize black Americans. Is it realistic, let alone fair, to expect history not to leave a mark? At the very least through implicit biases?

The conversation doesn’t even require any moral or political conclusions or judgments; it’s just facts. It’s  a large part of why, in the wake of the killing by police of numerous unarmed black Americans, people of all races flooded the streets of major cities across the country for months straight.

For many, the fact that many of these unarmed victims were murdered on camera has made it impossible to deny the problem any longer. George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tamir Rice, Ahmad Brooks, and Jacob Blake are merely the newest faces among the lasting legacy of America’s original sin.

Racism isn’t just real, it’s been an intrinsic part of the United States since the very beginning. The law isn’t always right, breaking the law isn’t always bad, and enforcing the law has often been supporting inexcusable evil. “Just following orders,” isn’t supposed to fly as a defense, but it always has here.

Slavery was the law of the land and enshrined in the U.S. Constitution. So was the 3/5 compromise. The Missouri compromise was legal, as the country expanded and required that every new free state must be a matched by a state where slavery remained legal. Our national entanglement with human trafficking continued. 

The Dred Scott Supreme Court decision was legal and held that escaped slaves were not free or safe in northern, “free” states and could be seized and forced back into bondage. Police enforced these laws, abusing and terrorizing black people. Following orders did not make them right. Notably, police were also known to sell free Black Americans into slavery.

After hundreds of thousands of lives were lost, and slavery was finally made illegal, it should have been the end of it but our country failed to facilitate equality and integration.

Black people may have been freed, but they were never given restitution for all of the unjust enrichment the country and the southern states stole from slave labor. They were never even given the reparations they were promised. They were free to leave, but had no homes, no jobs, unfriendly neighbors, and likely little training beyond plantation labor. White dominated society stacked the deck against them, lawfully.

Enslaved Black Americans were left out of the Homestead Act, unable to take advantage of the generational wealth building opportunity. Blocked from the American Dream, legally. A century later, black Americans were denied the benefit of the GI Bill’s college funding. Due to legal segregation they had sorely limited access to higher education. Again, white America stiff armed Black Americans away from the American Dream.

Reconstruction was short lived, as the north quickly decided that enforcing some semblance of equality in the South was more trouble than it was worth. Yankee soldiers went home and the South instituted a new legal system where white America again treated Black Americans as less than human.

The Jim Crow system of legal segregation was legal. Black Codes, limiting Black Americans’ freedoms and creating excuses to take their freedom altogether, were legal. Voter suppression was legal and rampant, and for the past eight years has been on the rebound. The peonage system of prison slave labor was legal slavery under a new name, and likewise has again reared it’s head, in recent decades.

Even after legal segregation was struck down by the Supreme Court in Brown v. Board, in fact it remained in place across much of the country. Redlining was the concerted effort to limit Black and Latin Americans to real estate in designated areas, and to limit services and expenditures in those areas. These legal and professional polices created slums and ghettos and then forced black Americans to live in them. It was the law and police enforced it.

The War on Crime and the War on Drugs targeted black people, with over policing, excessive charges, excessive penalties, and little accountability for malfeasant police or prosecutors. Black men were charged more often and sentenced to far harsher sentences for the same crimes which they commit at the same rate as white men.

Theses fear and race driven policies destroyed the lives of generations of black fathers and their families, while creating the largest prison population in the world. Generations of black men were ripped from their families and condemned to futures of undesirable jobs and limited options.  Both wars were legal and it was police waging these wars against black families.

Racial profiling was legal. Stop and frisk policies were legal. Mass incarceration is still legal. And it too often judged legal for police to use violence and take black lives, even when their is no imminent threat to any other lives. After centuries of the police enforcing bad, racist laws, and regularly getting caught on camera using excessive force to this day, how in the world can anyone expect Black Americans to feel like the police are on their side? Even if some finally are.

Institutional, systemic racism has always been real. The fact that some people escape its worst effects, or don’t notice it all, does not diminish its nefarious effects.

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Super-Delegates for Hillary? Makes Total Sense

Across the U.S. Bernie Sanders’ fans are thrilled about his vision of bringing revolution to the Democratic Party and overjoyed about his rise to prominence, but from Rachel Maddow to your Facebook wall they are furiously confused about the mighty Super-delegates, many of whom have already signed on to support Hillary Clinton.

The Super-delegates are made up of elected members of the Democratic Party and their votes in the primary account for nearly a fifth of the total delegate count. Although the DNC maintains that these Super-delegates could all change their endorsement at the convention, should they choose, most of the them have already announced their support for Ms. Clinton.

“The Democratic National Committee shouldn’t be picking favorites,” I often read. Constant complaints that the DNC must be shills for Hillary and that they should equally support both presidential candidates and worry more about the Congressional races down the ticket.

To that point they are right, the DNC is concerned about elections up and down the ticket, and Sanders’ fans need to realize that like it or not, it is that concern that informs their decisions regarding their candidates for the White House.

A lot of it comes down to one simple fact, a fact that Sanders’ fans did not like hearing when Ms. Clinton pointed it out at last week’s town hall; Bernie Sanders has never been a Democrat.

Sanders’ is an Independent who preaches the best Democratic ideals, votes Democratic and benefits from Dem fundraisers, but he doesn’t raise money for other Democrats. He has not always been in the trenches with Democrats who’ve been struggling to stop the onslaught of the Tea Party, the Bushes and Union Busters for the past decades.

BERNIE SANDERS, HILLARY CLINTON

ABC NEWS – 12/19/15 – ABC News coverage of the Democratic Presidential debate from St. Anselm College in Manchester, NH, airing Saturday, Dec. 19, 2015 on the ABC Television Network and all ABC News platforms. (ABC/ Ida Mae Astute) BERNIE SANDERS, HILLARY CLINTON

Hillary, on the other hand has already raised millions of dollars for other Democrats. Democrats who fight as a team against a wave of partisan opponents constantly pushing deregulation, anti-union, anti-middle class policies. 

The Super-Delegates support Hillary because she has been good for the Democratic Party for decades, working hard to win seats and votes for the party. 

There are plenty of Democrats with elections in red states, or at least red districts, who will need to pull centrists to keep or win their seats. It makes sense that they would be weary of the candidate running ever further from the center.

When you run on the National Stage you have to live up to the dreams of many constituencies, you have to negotiate and sometimes there are hard choices with no outcomes that provide wins for everyone. It’s much easier to be single minded and stubborn, to refuse to barter, when you’re focused on a small set of issues, for a smaller audience.

Bernie and his big ideas rock, but Hillary bashers are doing a disservice to Ms. Clinton, as well as the Democratic Party as a whole. For more than a generation she’s been a leader and supporter of the Party that Bernie has never deigned to be officially counted among, until now that it serves his revolutionary dream.

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The LEED Rating System is Defining Excellence by Defying Obsolete Perceptions

The way to really jump-start the green movement is to convince private enterprises that alternative energy and responsible practices can also help their bottom line.

Money is powerful and in politics ever-present, as long as leaders of industry believe old practices are better for their profit margins, it will be difficult to make strong headway on tightening regulations. However, though legal regulations may move slowly, money talks and the push by the Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) green building rating system has been the impetus for change, raising the standards above legal minimums and in the process birthing evidence that sustainable practices can provide better values than obsolete methods ever did.

The LEED rating system was developed to “evaluate a building’s resource efficiency and environmental impacts.” Under President Clinton the U.S. Green Building Council, between 1993 and 1998, developed what is now the world standard for sustainable building projects. Since 1998 there has been an exponential shift, away from established norms, towards sustainable building delivery systems.

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GrowBLOX Sciences to Open First of Four Commercial Cultivation Labs, Despite Difficult Nevada Climate

Plant to Medicine LinkedInNevada’s nascent medical marijuana industry faces strict testing and custody requirements, hurdles many struggling companies have been unable to overcome, but GrowBLOX Sciences continues to defy the trend, announcing their 30,000 sq. ft. Cultivation Labs are set to finish construction and begin operations before the end of the year.

The cannabis market is a complicated beast, a brand new industry, ripe with potential riches yet fraught with perilous dangers, impediments varying in origin and severity from state to state.

In a handful of States everything is rosy, with medical marijuana markets functioning smoothly and helping patients, while in a handful more recreational cannabis laws are going over like gangbusters. Meanwhile less fortunate States aren’t faring quite as well, with convoluted legislation or unexpectedly strict testing requirements keeping cannabis from reaching the market. Luckily for GrowBLOX Sciences, Nevada is a prime example of the latter.

This is good news for GrowBLOX Sciences and their investors because, since their inception, they’ve been approaching cannabis cultivation from a biotech background, and anything less than a scientifically validated, safe product was never going to be an option. At this point, the only thing precluding their medicinal cannabis making it to market, is cultivating a crop for commercial harvest.

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Gotham Kills, But Still Misses the Mark

Robyn Lord Taylor as Oswald Cobblepot, "The Penguin"

Robyn Lord Taylor as Oswald Cobblepot, “The Penguin”

I feel like the producers of Fox’s GOTHAM were sure they had found the secret, they knew they had done a lot of things wrong last season and surely it could all be cured with more over the top violence and zany villains.
It’s still not working. I do think they show is better than last year, they seem to have left the villain of the week procedural format behind for an arching vision of the Maniax unleashing hell on Gotham. Still, it really is all a bit much.
Jerome, our new Joker it would appear, is not amazing. Don’t get me wrong, he has some moments that are very good, but the laugh, one of the most important aspects of the Joker, is terrible. It’s far too intentional and over the top, it’s more reminiscent of Caesar Romero’s convulsing hooting than the creepy, naturally evil cackles from Jack Nicholson, Mark Hamill and Heath Ledger. Not to imply these performances should be taken lightly.
As opposed to unleashing an uncontrollable laugh that can’t be contained, this Jerome purposefully jumps into the face of an opponent, or the camera, making it painfully obvious that the laugh is on purpose, for an in your face effect. It is isn’t haunting, it’s a put on.

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Sustainable Urban Planning, Cities Saving the World

Sustainable urban planning brings the most important concepts from the Green movement together into a single coherent plan. The heat island affect, solar heat gain, population density, alternative transportation, renewable energy, conservation, water capture and recycling are all ideas, threats and solutions that fall under the jurisdiction of sustainable urban planning.

The principles include creating lasting, compact walkable neighborhoods that encourage frequent “collisions” between citizens, eliminating separate use zoning and high volume road standards, promoting shared and mixed use form, focusing on sustainability and reinvigorating urban spaces that have been lost to urban blight.

24_Las Vegas Cyclery_LVC_ssThe concepts of the Triple Bottom Line philosophy are perfectly expressed in sustainable urban planning. As a community development, considering people is imperative because space is the product and the space must be filled.

Low waste design saves money for tenants, cheap energy saves money for everyone, native plants add to beautification, which pleases people, and reduces heat gain which saves money. Pleasing people brings in more tenants which in turn raises profits.

A strong example of sustainable urban planning is New York City’s PlaNYC, a city wide effort to address the long-term challenges of a city forecasted to contain 9.1 million residents by 2030. Changing climate conditions, changing economy and aging infrastructure. More than 25 City agencies and partners joined to outline initiatives and goals to improve the quality of life for New Yorkers for the future.

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