I'm going to follow Bob's example and write a Potlatch preview post for my team, DarkHorse.

Here, at last, is the design for our 2008 jersey.
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Micah Riggio, as mentioned previously.

This year, this so-called 2008, has not been an easy one. Life shows no sign of easing up, slowing down, taking it easy. So it goes.

I lost a friend in February—Jordan Taggart was one of my first friends at Harvey Mudd and lived solidly at the core of me, Matty, Mike, Yip and others throughout our time there. Jordan's death was shocking, troubling, tragic. I struggled to support my friends and process my own emotions. I tried to move forward without losing the meaning of the loss.

Spring continued, and I did my best to lend love and strength to other friends as they each dealt with the death of a parent. What good but to be thankful for love, and for whatever time together we receive?

We moved out of our house, the Hedge, in Wallingford and Claire left for New York. Sarah and I found a nearly perfect new place in Capitol Hill after three months of excruciating search. I was happy to have such a loving and compatible friend with whom to live but still uncertain, panicked at the start of my third year in Seattle. I am surrounded by friends but still lonely. I am "successful" but not necessarily happy. What am I doing here?

My grandmother, Adela, died on Monday. She died less than two days ago. I talk to my parents and to my sister every day and I spend every moment preoccupied. No matter how gradual and expected her decline was, I am still confused, stricken. But, more than anything, I am incredulous of my family's unity and strength, and excited to see them all soon, no matter the circumstance. And I look forward to celebrating Adela's life and to healing and moving on as a family.

I opened Whit's blog this morning to see his notes on the beginning of summer, and followed through to the photographs of his mother Bear's wedding to her longtime partner and now wife, Susan. I cried—is it clear that I'm emotionally fragile right now?—overjoyed and comforted to find love growing and blooming, to know that life does improve.

I spent last Friday working at Brooke and Sarah's house, and was delighted by the moments I spent playing with their son, Micah, who is nearly a year and a half old. He runs around and throws balls and spins in circles and is obsessed with brooms. He is expressive and joyful and demanded that I read him books, anticipating the funny bits pages before and chortling uncontrollably when the snow finally plopped onto the character's head. Micah is learning facial expressions but laughs indiscriminately at happiness, anger, frustration, sadness and surprise, especially if I'm jumping and spinning while I sport these faces.

He is alive and happy and loving and he is life and happiness and love. And life will continue and death will come and I will never figure it all out.

I was more than a bit troubled to hear (via kottke) that a group of teenage girls in Gloucester, Massachusetts, two towns over from where I grew up in Hamilton, made a pact to get pregnant. Yikes.

Without doubt, Gloucester and Hamilton are different by social and economic standards. Still, I don't enjoy the suggestion of cultural trends in the region. And I firmly believe that education would help prevent this increase in and desire for pregnancy. Oh, also, we could use a president who supports sex education based on science and common sense rather than religion and blind optimism.

The Freakonomics blog featured interviews with three police officers in How Cops Really Want to Police. Their retelling and explanation of "street justice" can be, upon first read, humorous and cheering. Further reflection presents substantial problems with the expressed propensity to take justice into their own hands:

Everyone drinks and drives — especially those guys who drive home after work. I’d love to give them a tattoo, right on their forehead — like one of those scarlet letters. I’d like to get them all out on a Saturday and have them stand on a corner with a sign: “I’m a drunk driver and I’d like to wash your car for free.” I wouldn’t mind taking them around to do errands for others on their block for free on weekends. Or maybe they have to wear a bright orange suit for a month everywhere they go! You know what I mean? The courts don’t do sh-t.

Sure, I could quickly agree that polices officers should be able to take such independent action against people whom they know are bad. Wait, right, how do they know, absolutely, that they are bad? I would be agreeing not only quickly but quite foolishly.

Also, to comment in the theme of Freakonomics, does any evidence exist, other than the officers' intution and experience, that such vigilante policing is a greater deterrent to crime than the judicial system is?

In closing, the article is quite interesting and touches upon problems and trends in the United States that I do not normally consider. I would love to hear your comments.

I avoided coffee addiction for much of my life. I refused to drink it as an aid to staying awake during college (and subsequently fell asleep far too much during class). I stuck to tea while I worked at Harvey Mudd for two years after graduation. My coffee consumption was limited, for the most part, to weekend brunches, leisurely chats with friends and the occasional espresso with dessert after a fine dinner.

I am somewhat sorry to report that this independence ended with my time at NeonGecko and, specifically, in our office at the Smith Tower. Our boss initially supplied a loaded Starbucks card for the ubiquitous caffeine depository located at the base of said tower. Every morning, around 10:30, Dave and I (and Dana, before her departure) would hitch an elevator down for our morning fix. The coffee was free to me, accessible and woke me up for productivity. Why not? Oh, right, and cute baristas calling me "honey" and "sweetie" are not a bad thing. Joy.

Eventually, our NeonGecko office inherited a Jura Capresso Impressa Z5 from the TableAndHome offices. Decent espresso and Americano were now at my fingertips, still at no cost to me save a button push and regular water refills. My coffee consumption rose sharply (OH NO) and interaction with cute baristas fell precipitously (DOUBLE OH NO). Oh, right, and I was then free to eat far too much lunch because I could caffeineate (not a real word*) my way through afternoon food coma. Joy.

Now, I've had a persistent cough and nasal congestion for a week weeks. I could not think that coffee helped this condition and I, therefore, reduced my consumption to one cup per day. I substituted herbal tea as well as green tea, its mild caffeine a pleasant bump but not an addictive rocket boost. Some days, I even eschewed coffee completely. Victory. Joy.

Except I didn't get any healthier. Still have not.

And this last Monday morning, and every morning since, I've willingly, happily, gone back to spending my own hard-earned dollar dollar bills on a daily fix. On what wind did change fly into my life?

The answers are bus routes and art. Still confused? I'll explain more soon…

*"Verbing weirds language."

Oi.

I am tired. Amanda's first weekend in Seattle was a barn-burner and I barely made it out alive.

Pictured above, we headed out to Rendezvous for dancing at Kyla's going-away party, before which we enjoyed Rock Band and mixology with Sarah and the host of Charlie Meatball's. And that was after Kyla's going-away picnic and after David and Sara's birthday party and after a morning workout. And that was only Saturday.

Boogie down. I mean, boogie down with work.