Tag: community (page 1 of 1)

Photo of four raised hands in soft focus, forming the letters L, O, V, E in American Sign Language. Behind them, tall palm trees with dry brown fronds and a green canopy stand against a clear blue sky, with a faint moon above the center tree.

September 21, 2026 / 0 Comments

Melting Ice

What’s one thing that would instantly improve your city?
WordPress Daily Prompt

You and me in it, and ICE out of it.

I walked Duke through the idyllic streets of our neighborhood just south of the Boulevard this morning. Several other neighbors were doing the same. We greeted each other with smiles and nods and salutations. I grabbed a poop bag from one of the makeshift community offerings. My container was empty, and I had forgotten to fill it before taking our four-legged houseguest out to do his business. And business he had! That little anonymous bit of care we do for each other is just one of the ways we are neighborly here.

Just two miles away, though, ICE agents were likely lined up outside exits around municipal buildings in Van Nuys, waiting to scoop up unsuspecting folks as they were released from a weekend stay in jail or finishing up their appointments in our local courthouse. Perhaps they were even running them down on the road. There’s nothing neighborly about that.

Yesterday, for the second Sunday in a row, I was enjoying time with the Sparks faithful. Lisa Leslie was honored with a statue outside of ~~Crypto.com Arena~~ STAPLES Center. Inside the arena, Nneka Ogwumike reached another milestone in her penultimate home game. The Sparks won in impressive fashion, finding their footing too late in the season to make the playoffs, but playing with a joy and generosity toward their retiring legend that has been infectious. I’m mourning the end of our season here in Los Angeles. I’m mourning the end of our time sitting on the floor, too, as the league’s success prices us out of our preferred premium seating. But our friends aren’t going anywhere, and neither are we. This is our community too.

Recently in Louisville, ICE agents detained Aminata Seck, a student-athlete on Kentucky State’s women’s basketball team, at an airport and have held her for a month and a half (Internet Archive). The Senegalese-born student is recovering from an ACL injury that required surgery. That confluence of events is likely what caused her to miss an immigration check-in. Her coach has stepped up, and now a lawyer has stepped in, but the agency shows no compassion and seems intent on doing harm. Pushing back on these transgressions requires a herculean community effort.

As that lawyer, Sadiqa Reynolds, puts it: “It’s just so easy for us to get desensitized.” She continued: “There are so many people being picked up and arrested and taken and gone for days, weeks, months, years, and we can’t forget that their whole family’s completely disrupted.”

Louisville isn’t Los Angeles, but of course what’s happening there is happening here.

These are the kinds of things that ran through my head as I sat with two of my dearest friends last Friday afternoon for a late lunch in Burbank. Our conversation centered on our lamentations and frustrations with how difficult it has become to “hang out,” even when we were clearly hanging out. As were many others in the middle of the day. Our plans weren’t hard to make. They weren’t exactly impromptu, but they also weren’t elaborate or complicated. We all have lots going on, sure, and our digital lives, the ongoing aftermath of pandemic living, and the inertia we find ourselves in as we age all play a part. We aren’t too busy to hang, though. And for the most part, we aren’t living in fear that we’ll be kidnapped by federal agents because we missed an appointment or made a mistake on some paperwork.

We should be choosing the warm embrace, laughter, and comfort of our loved ones IRL. We should be choosing to do what we can to protect our neighbors who are afraid to leave their homes.

We should be in spaces so that ICE can’t be.

We should be together so ICE can’t break us apart.

Los Angeles is for everyone.

Except those bastards.

The New York Knicks celebrate their 2026 NBA championship, holding the Larry O'Brien trophy and wearing gold medals and white championship hats, surrounded by team members in navy championship apparel.

June 18, 2026 / 1 Comment

The Power of Friendship

“It’s us,” Shannon said when I wondered aloud some twenty years ago about who would fight for what’s right. She’s been gone for over a year now, but I’ve returned to her moral clarity again and again as we navigate the overwhelming selfishness that has always been a core part of the American psyche, but in this faux gilded age of Trumpism, is a genuine crisis.

Back in April, Sophie Haigney wrote that the word “courage” has fallen out of fashion because it requires you to have some kind of moral-based conviction.

The valorization of ‘high agency’ is emblematic of a moment when risk-taking is overvalued. It’s an ethos for a gambler’s time, and we’re living in one. ‘Courage’ has a moral valence that agency doesn’t. Agency is about action, but it tells us nothing of direction.

Even using the royal “we” in our fractured society feels as quaint and outdated as courage apparently is. But that kind of overwhelming selfishness is not a winning posture if you value your soul. And, more importantly, if you value and respect those around you, near and far, you know that what we need more of is earnest courageousness in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

Even if we’ve fallen out of the habit of using the word, the folks who have been out in the streets doing the work to protect their neighbors against ICE over the last year have shown nothing but courage. For those of us who haven’t become stuck on the perch of skepticism and cynicism that so dominates our hyper-individualized media consumption, we can recognize those who stand up and do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. Sometimes they do so individually, but collective action seems most effective in this age of “high agency” individuals who seem to value only fealty to getting rich and getting over.

Maybe that’s why the 2026 New York Knickerbockers winning has been such a euphoria-inducing victory. Ever since their come-from-behind win in Game 5 of the NBA Finals—their first championship in 53 years—a meme has been circulating online. In it, the joke is that the Knicks defeated a stacked, favored San Antonio Spurs team with the “Power of Friendship.”

Meme showing a large figure in San Antonio Spurs gear labeled "3 top five picks, best player since Wilt, Champagne legacy game" beside a small figure in pink New York Knicks gear labeled "The power of friendship."

The image makes light of that collective power but, historically, movements built on courageous, unified, collective action filled with belief, determination, and an unwavering will to win, not just for self but even more so for each other, are celebrated as the greatest when they finally break through. Throughout their historic playoff run, Knicks players repeatedly talked about their effort being driven by a desire to see each other win and by their commitment to their fans and the city of New York. You would think that in a team sport, that kind of sentiment would be common, but given how high the monetary stakes are, that kind of selflessness is consistently usurped by showcasing what one can do individually.

I think we’re off individual profiles of courage, though. We’ve been starving for that “We Shall Overcome” energy. Individualized action, absent any grounding humanistic principles, is the claimed modus operandi of the power brokers in our society.

Rebecca Solnit has been arguing that “maybe the community is the next hero.” As the five boroughs come together to celebrate their conquering basketball team this week, I think she’s right. Because part of the “Impossible Joy” surrounding the way the Knicks won is that it’s validation of something community-centered folks want to believe. If that long-doubted team could do it, then we can, too. We, the people, can win together and do the hard things not merely because we can but because we must.

There’s no soul in doing only for self. The consequence of doing nothing is untenable.

I’d been searching for new language that effectively describes this idea of collective courage. Solidarity is where I keep ending up, but it doesn’t quite cut it.

Maybe I should stop looking. Shannon already provided the perfect terms.

Us.

It’s us.

The Power of Friendship wins again.

A wide, sunlit Los Angeles scene with a tall palm tree on the left and a leafy tree on the right, framing a concrete wall tagged with large graffiti reading “DESTROY ICE”; dry grass and a low fence sit in the foreground beneath a clear blue sky.

January 16, 2026 / 0 Comments

Intentionally Offline

View on Threads

Ironically, my intention to spend more of my life away from screens crystallized around a social media post. I’ve known Zadi Diaz since the heyday of blogging, the rise of YouTube, and those few years when SXSWi cared more about the culture and creativity of the web than about monetizing enthusiasm at scale. She has always placed a grounded, human lens on our shared digital experience.

Throughout 2025, I’d already been noticing how much more joy I got from leaving the house than from scrolling. Friends. Family. Music. Sports. Art. The world. In the fall, I saw Little Simz live and had to check my growing inner middle-aged crank. I visited Memphis for the first time, wrapped another WNBA season courtside with the Sparks, and started trekking to SoFi Stadium for Chargers home games thanks to a friend’s largesse.

And yet, those excursions didn’t feel especially intentional. Too much of my time was still swallowed by doomscrolling or playing a dumb mobile game. Worse, when I was out, I often felt a pull back toward the screen. I’d sit in the car after arriving somewhere that wasn’t time-sensitive, staring at my phone instead of going about my day. I could easily convince myself to skip or cancel activities, return to a comfortable seat, and indulge in the dopamine rush of the algorithms.

The problem was that the high wasn’t even that satisfying. It hasn’t been for a long time.

I don’t know if we, as a culture, have reached a tipping point with algorithmically curated experiences and hyper-niche virtual connectivity. I do know that I have. When every app leaves you feeling vaguely worse, rarely shows you people you actually know, and demands more effort to determine whether something is real, manipulated, or AI-generated than to enjoy it, it’s time to step away.

I no longer want social media giving me simulated or secondhand experiences that I know are more entertaining, more fulfilling, and more trustworthy in person.

Over the holiday break, I was animatedly telling Tiffany about my intention to trade digital experiences for IRL ones whenever possible.

“Isn’t it funny,” she said, “that we make this resolution every year?”

She wasn’t wrong. Since 2021, I’ve resolved to get back outside each year.

Just a year ago, around this time, I saved another Threads post to my journal:

View on Threads

So what’s different this time? Will I retreat to the endless scroll after another round of declarations?

I don’t think so.

Jenna Wortham has described the current impulse as being “performatively offline.” I don’t take that as a pejorative, but it doesn’t quite fit for me. As Zadi put it, the algorithmic artificiality of our digital spaces is pushing many of us toward the natural world. When you spend too much time trying to determine what’s real, the simplest response is to stop looking at the deception and walk out your door.

The hellscape you see in your feeds may exist in your neighborhood. For some of us, it absolutely does. But more likely, what you’ll find instead are friendly neighbors, pets, babies, and communities in need of your presence and patronage.

Here in Los Angeles, that means embracing friction, inconvenience, and uncertainty. Of course, you sit in traffic. Of course, there are odd smells and curious characters on public transportation. But, in exchange, you get opera in the park, free art in galleries and bars, and protest graffiti on the streets. You eat ten-dollar street tacos instead of thirty-dollar ones delivered by DoorDash. You stumble into hidden treasures, make new friends, and deepen bonds with nearly lifelong ones.

In return for putting your phone down and looking up, you see the world—your world—for what it actually is. That clarity can inspire small acts of care. It can also make visible how wonder and injustice coexist, as they always have. That is both infuriating and comforting. That’s the human condition.

Living this way doesn’t feel performative to me. It feels like a recognition that no matter what tech billionaires try to sell us next, no matter how sophisticated the algorithms become, they still can’t beat the desert of the real.

It’s not all bad online. I enjoy reaction videos to popular media. I look forward to conversations with others about the things I’m passionate about, especially when I’m confident they won’t descend into the caustic debate tactics common on the worst parts of the internet. There are still those serendipitous moments of genuine connection that I appreciate.

But joy is offline. So is epistemic clarity. If I leave my house and keep that supercomputer in my pocket, I don’t have to question my senses. Seeing is still believing when my life isn’t primarily experienced through funhouse mirrors.

Surprisingly, this has made me better at social media. My Threads posts have been on fire lately. When I’m feeding my soul with the physical world, I show up more honestly in digital spaces.

I perform here. Out there, though, I just am.

View on Threads

Links & Things

Joan Westenberg on the case for blogging in the ruins.

Sasha Frere-Jones collected some outstanding writing about 2025.

Kai Cenat is learning in public.

Pam Ward retired from ESPN’s women’s basketball coverage, but she’s not done yet.

For Your Ears: You Can’t Kill God With Bullets by Conway the Machine.

For Your Noggin: Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here by Jonathan Blitzer.

For Your Free Time: Celebrity Traitors UK.

a black man sitting on a couch surrounded by christmas decorations holding a fancy holiday themed pen as he prepares to write in a greeting card.

December 16, 2025 / 0 Comments

Season’s Greetings

Every year, when I check my unused holiday card inventory, I open up the old Apple MacBook box I use to store the best cards I’ve received and read through a few of the lovely notes people have sent. I admire the artwork of those cards—some beautiful, some witty, some handmade with care.

I don’t have a similar keepsake spot on my phone for the emoji-filled texts I receive on our shared holidays. I appreciate them, but in my personal etiquette handbook, the text replaces the phone calls we used to make all day on Christmas (or your winter holiday of choice). They don’t replace the mail.

I still send physical holiday cards.

I also try to keep up with birthday cards, anniversaries, and the occasional “just because” letter or postcard. I like the process of taking the time to find the right words to tell someone I was thinking of them, not merely because I got a notification on my phone or opened a social media app. I thought about them in advance. I went to a gift shop or paper store and saw something that made me think of you. I bought stamps. I sat down at a table or desk with a pen in hand and stopped to come up with something meaningful to say to you. I licked an envelope and sealed it. I used my address stamp. I walked to a mailbox and dropped it in.

We live in a time when we are the center of everything. Put your headphones on, pull that pocket-sized supercomputer up a few inches away from your face, and let it bring your algorithmically personalized world directly to you.

In the moments when I stop to send out a letter, I am not the center of my universe. The recipient is.

We had a lovely team holiday party today, including a White Elephant gift exchange and a poem-based game that a colleague wrote herself—no ChatGPT. It was delightful. Phones were face down. Eyes were on each other. Gratitude for our time together and our shared accomplishments wasn’t in Slack emotes or GIF boards; it was in the room where we shared reality for about 90 minutes.

It made me nostalgic for the pre-pandemic office card ritual. I miss taking two minutes out of a workday to write a Happy Birthday greeting to a co-worker and then passing it along to the next person who hadn’t signed. There’s friction and intention in these small acts, and that effort is meaningful to both the writer and the person being honored.

Maybe I’m a dinosaur, but with rare exception, I’d prefer that to something typed out in the brief moment when a notification pulled you away from doomscrolling.

Thank you, but I receive those messages as: I was too caught up in my own shit to do anything ahead of time, so here, have some emojis.

That’s how I feel when I send a DM instead of putting pen to paper as well.

A card says, You were alive in my mind, and I didn’t need a device to put you there.

This was handled with care.

No AI involved.

An ofrenda from the 2025 Grand Park Dia de los Muertos exhibit featuring a skeleton wearing LA Dodgers gear and an open seat reserved for those kidnapped in ICE raids.

November 1, 2025 / 0 Comments

Halloween 2025 and the Spirits of Los Angeles

As we got closer to Halloween, social media was filled with creators, influencers, and regular folks dressed to surprise, scare, or delight. The holiday has become a showcase for imagination, titillation, and referential humor, with little connection to the pagan or Christian rituals at its roots.

I sometimes lament not feeling as compelled to dress up as I once was. That won’t change, though. As I get older, I’m less interested in wearing a costume to amuse colleagues and friends. There’s nothing wrong with that. I love a good Halloween meme. Someone came to the office party dressed as a Labubu, and it was terrific.

But these days, I’m drawn to something else: remembrance. Why ignore, mock, or ward off the spirit world when the evils of our time don’t come from beyond? They are right here in human form, adorned in the clothing of authorities.

This Halloween, Tiffany and I took the Metro downtown for a night at the Mark Taper Forum to see Jaja’s African Hair Braiding. The show was her idea—a last-minute addition to our social calendar—but it turned out to be precisely what I needed. We arrived early and wandered through Grand Park, where the annual Día de los Muertos installation had transformed the plaza into a celebration of color, reverence, and resistance.

After my dad’s passing last year, I began reading about Día de los Muertos and the significance of the ofrenda, the altars families build to honor and invite departed loved ones back into their lives.

One of the exhibits invited visitors to write a message to someone who had passed. On a small index card, I wrote:

Dad (KT),

Dominique is getting married soon. Your presence is requested!

You are missed and loved.

—JT

It was the first time I’d written directly to him rather than about him. Usually, when I write or speak for the dead, it’s for myself or others. A way for us to process loss. But this felt like a conversation, a hope he might hear, and that with open invitation, he might make his presence known, especially at such a momentous occasion. This spirituality is so unlike me, but I meant every word. I hope he joins us.

The Grand Park installation also honored the living, especially those in Los Angeles whose lives are made precarious by our country’s immigration enforcement policies. With City Hall glowing behind it, the exhibit called out the trauma caused by ICE raids and border policies that tear families apart. Surrounded by marigolds and the righteous indignation of our Chicano brethren and sistren, I was reminded why I love this city. Los Angeles isn’t perfect, but it shows up. We fight for one another. We build community from loss and struggle.

And that spirit carried into the theater.

Los Angeles is the final stop for Jaja’s African Hair Braiding’s initial touring company and likely the last time so many members of the original ensemble will perform together. To do so here feels right. As playwright Jocelyn Bioh said, “to culminate in such a special city that understands the power of community and coming together, that doesn’t feel like an accident.”

Set in a Harlem salon where a group of West African women—many working under tenuous visa conditions—build a makeshift family, the show is sharp, funny, and profoundly human. It captures what it means to chase the American Dream while being told you don’t belong.

By the time the curtain fell, I felt grateful. For the play, for this city, for the way art challenges me to stay open and engaged in my community: to remember, to listen, to love.

To fight.

I love L.A.

A black and white image of the jumbotron in the Michelob Ultra Arena highlighting an older Las Vegas Aces fan

October 3, 2025 / 0 Comments

The WNBA is for EVERYBODY

After the epic Game Five between the Aces and the Fever, I stopped for dinner and a drink at a gastropub inside Mandalay Bay. Vegas fans were still buzzing in the casino walkway. Inside, I was chatting with the bartender about how packed the Michelob Ultra Arena had been.

That’s when the woman sitting next to me chimed in:

“That’s all because of Caitlin Clark.”

I couldn’t let that pass.

“Well, no, the Aces were selling out long before Caitlin.”

She went quiet for a beat. Then she opened up.

“You know this was my first sporting event ever, and we came here just for this. I used to make fun of the boys for loving sports, but now I get it.”

From there, the script melted away. The Indiana Fever fan lit up about Vegas’s Chelsea Gray and A’ja Wilson. She loved watching the coaches prowl the sidelines, their passion and bluster on full display. She and her husband told me they were from near Fresno and were thinking about attending games in the state. The Valkyries were closer, obviously, but they had Southern California roots and might want to spend more time with my beloved Sparks.

“I’m 70 years old and I’m having so much fun,” she said.

Of course, she was having a great time. Despite her opening salvo, she respected the players, the atmosphere, and the community. That Fox-News-crafted passive-aggressive comment was a line that could have ended the conversation before it began if I’d let it.

The reality? You don’t spend time and money on the WNBA because of one player. You stay because the league is joyful, inclusive, and impossible not to love once you’re inside it.

So I offered a light corrective, not an attack. Just enough space for this new fan to reveal those true feelings. And once she did, we kept talking until the restaurant lights came on—about basketball, about California, even about AI.

I began this season worried that the newcomers were barbarians at the gate, eager to transform the vibes and culture of this league into something I wouldn’t recognize. By the end of my last game of the year, I’d found common ground with folks who, on the surface, embodied exactly what I feared.

Instead of us playing to type, though, we found shared joy because if you love this game, you love this game. You might be able to connect with your tribe online by celebrating Caitlin Clark and no one else, but after cheering in person with thousands of other fans, you’ll come to realize that this is your real community, and it’s better over here.

And if we get into conversation, I’ll politely remind you that the WNBA is for everybody.

Ruby Ibarra sits on the NPR Tiny Desk Concert stage with her left fist raised and wearing an "I *heart* Pinays" t-shirt

July 2, 2025 / 0 Comments

Freedom is a Joyful Noise

I’m at The Regent Theater in Downtown LA to see Ruby Ibarra, the 2025 Tiny Desk Contest winner from the Bay Area, perform. Local public media stations, including LAist and KVCR, are in the building, handing out fans and making the case for public media. The Regent is packed with a classically multicultural Los Angeles crowd—this time, with a strong showing from the Filipino community. People came out to see the diminutive Pinay rapper with a big voice and even bigger presence.

Initially scheduled for June 11, the show was postponed when the mayor instituted a curfew in downtown during protests against ICE raids that are still tearing through our communities.

Ruby doesn’t mention the delay until her final song, but when she does, she doesn’t mince words. She’s a first-generation immigrant, and her music centers the Filipino immigrant experience. Before launching into “7,000 Miles,” she reminds us: “No one is illegal on stolen land!”

Everything is political.

Earlier that day, I’d been listening to We Insist 2025!—the new album from Terri Lyne Carrington and Christie Dashiell, a reimagining of Max Roach’s We Insist! One song in particular, “Joyful Noise,” features a spoken word piece that stayed with me:

And when we struggle, when times are tough, we draw strength from our ancestors.
We put away our differences and we come together.
When folks try to take away our freedoms, we don’t just let them.
We fight back!
We don’t become despondent or complacent, and we don’t drown ourselves in escapism or give up on what we know is right.
No!
Instead, we say, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
Emmett G. Price III

That’s the spirit that got me out of the house on a Tuesday. That’s what I felt in the room.

Shoulder to shoulder with my neighbors—many of them immigrants or their American-born children—we smiled, sang, and bobbed our heads as one. During Ruby’s homage to Bay Area hip-hop, we even got a little hyphy.

When opener Tish Hyman performed her song “Lucky,” that’s exactly how I felt, too.

There’s not a lot going right in my life—or in the headlines—but after a night of making joyful noise, I can at least envision a better tomorrow.

Freedom is smiling in the face of adversity because you know in the depth of your soul, just like your grandma told you, everything is going to be alright.

Two hands making the shape of a heart with the city of Los Angeles in the background.

June 13, 2025 / 0 Comments

Intentional Listening in a City in Crisis

I feel like, as an artist, the whole point of the platform, other than making music, is to inform. However we do that, right? The music that I create, the art that I create, is mirroring what’s happening in my head and then in my bedroom, in my house, on my kitchen counter, on my street, in my city, in my country. So, it’s really important to me that I’m going to be up there talking about ‘I got a new haircut’; I also have to talk about what I’m seeing. And right now, there are a lot of little people suffering.

—Lalah Hathaway

What I see on my street is beautiful, as Los Angeles often is. Birds chirp. The sun shines. The jacarandas are in bloom, littering the sidewalks with purple petals. Neighbors walk their dogs and babies. I could be deceived into believing that life is normal.

But my city is in crisis.

A senator was handcuffed for asking a question yesterday. The National Guard has been deployed, despite objections from our elected officials. At a basketball game earlier this week, a child in the stands proudly held a sign that read, “Melt ICE!” Friends are in at-risk neighborhoods trying to protect their communities. Others are marching downtown, expressing outrage at the latest policy decisions and public actions.

And I’m sitting here, unsure whether I want to scream, cry, or fight.

At least for now, I’ll take inspiration from Ms. Hathaway—and write.

VANTABLACK, Hathaway’s 2024 full-length, has been on repeat in my headphones. Since watching Nubya Garcia’s NPR Tiny Desk Concert in early April, I’ve been falling down YouTube rabbit holes—first jazz, then soul, then Lalah. Go deep enough, and you land on Hathaway’s own Tiny Desk performance from six years ago. Twelve minutes long. Not nearly enough.

I’d enjoyed VANTABLACK when it first came out, but hadn’t gone deep. Now, with my ears primed for purpose, the album has a firm grip on my attention, and I’m desperate for a deeper connection with the work.

In a different era, these connections—the musicians, collaborators, and producers—would have been revealed through liner notes. You’d read them front to back while listening to the album, then again after the fiftieth spin when a note or riff hit different. Now, those same discoveries happen across platforms: a podcast like One Song, a Wikipedia entry, an Instagram reel, a Discogs post.

For this album, I’m scrolling Instagram, listening to podcasts, and returning to YouTube. Hathaway’s posts—especially her conversations with collaborator Phil Beaudreau—offer insight into how the music came together. But it was her appearance on Robert Glasper’s Black Radio Backstage podcast that truly struck me. That’s where I first heard the quote that opens this piece, and where she reminded me that creating art and bearing witness should be inseparable.

If an artist of Hathaway’s caliber is willing to bare her soul to make music that stirs mine, the least I can do is return the favor in my way.

I can learn the names of the musicians, producers, and engineers who helped bring her vision to life.

I can listen with intention.

I can appreciate the art and the people behind it.

I can write what’s going on in my head and heart.

I can give voice to the very real human, communal, and societal battles happening all around me.

And in whatever way is yours,
you can, too.

February 5, 2018 / 0 Comments

Breathe

““Wait for me, Destiny. I said I’ll try. Just give me one more chance to prove, mountains I will move.” ”

— Alfa Mist featuring Kaya Thomas-Dyke

It started with several rapid strong slaps on my back. My headphones were on. As I slid the headphones off and stood, I caught her mid-sentence:

“…hear the screaming?”

“What?! No,” I replied.

“Jason, there’s a man in our backyard! He busted through the bushes!”

I took a breath. I tuned my ears as I followed Tiffany into the family room. I didn’t hear screaming, but I noticed the moans of someone coming from the side of the house. They were disturbing.

We got to our sliding doors, and I didn’t see anyone. Tiffany pointed at bushes that line our back wall at the place he broke through, but I didn’t see anything (I would later). She realized the door jamb wasn’t in and rushed to lock him out.

I took a breath.

I grabbed my phone and went back to the front of the house. As I dialed 911, I heard grunts. From our office windows, I saw the head of a man hurling himself over our front gate. He stumbled a bit, and I moved to the kitchen to watch what he would do next.

“9–1–1. An operator will be with you shortly.”

He hustled across the street. Tiffany is beside me now. I tell her he jumped over the fence and at the same time I’m answering the operator’s questions. I’m not sure how I held both conversations at once.

“Please hold.”

I took a breath.

He’s trying to climb into our neighbor’s yard. Our friendly neighbors who have lived there for 45 years. The neighbors with our favorite local dog, Pearl, who escaped their backyard and visited us last year. Sweet Pearl scared the daylights of our intruder, and so he leaped into our other neighbor’s yard. The home of the old lady who lives alone that we’re regularly worried has died if we don’t see activity at her house for awhile.

I’ve been updating the operator the whole time. A white Lexus has stopped in the middle of the street. The driver appears to have been tracking the guy from whatever trouble he had been causing on the block behind ours.

“Officers will be there shortly.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

My shoes are on, and we’re outside now talking with our neighbors about everything that’s happened. The man is not in our view anymore, and we’re all talking animatedly but calming down. The threat — at least to me — feels over.

An LAPD chopper flies overhead and begins circling the neighborhood. We point to where we believe he’s gone. We trade jokes and anecdotes to ease the tension and calm nerves.

I note how quickly and frequently people ask about the race of the perpetrator. I realize we are all trying to create a narrative of the incident so that it makes sense. I’m doing it too.

He must have been going from backyard to backyard and got caught…all this construction has brought squatters…someone said they’d seen him around before…blah blah blah…

I ask Tiffany to take a breath. I inhale too. We examine the backyard damage. We go around the corner to visit the folks at the house behind ours and see a police car and an ambulance, but things seem calm. The chopper has done its final fly-by. Our neighbors appear rattled but okay. We exchange pleasantries, but the officers tell us to go back to our house to meet another patrol car that’s been dispatched. They never show.

I checked my watch. It read 11 AM, and I could use a drink. Tiffany says she needs one, too.

I took a breath instead and turned on last night’s Saturday Night Live.

And I’m grateful.

Cross-posted on Medium.

December 18, 2012 / 0 Comments

The Story of Yay (or why I’ve stuck with Flickr)

“My heart will never feel, will never see, will never know.” – Grimes, Genesis

One of the things that I’m most proud of from the last 5 years is that, for a time, I was the #3 result for the word “yay” in google image search. I’m down around #8 now but it’s still my own little piece of recent internet ephemeral fame. The story of that picture is one thing but the story of how it became so highly ranked is pretty straightforward. Flickr makes images easy to find. Someone that I don’t know was looking for a “yay” picture to go with an article and found it (either through flickr or their own googling) and…magic.

They had every right to use my photo. I use a Creative Commons license on Flickr that allows for non-commercial usage with attribution. I suppose I could quibble if the site is ad supported but I was able to make these decisions about my pictures. I can make it on an individual basis. I can share my photos as widely as I choose. Be that one other person or the world. I pay for the privilege. I’ve done so for many years now.

The conversation around Instagram and their Privacy Policy/Terms of Use changes the past few days ties nicely in with Anil Dash’s post from last week about the web we lost. I remember when the Flickr community participated actively in helping to form and re-form the policies around the service that still persist today. I remember the many heady conversations and points of view and how it felt, even if it wasn’t necessarily the case, that the whole community was engaged and invested in the outcome. That the instagram community has reacted similarly seems like a throwback to that time.

That may just be what’s in my field of vision, though. Unlike on Flickr, I struggle to make sense of the broader community on Instagram (probably because there isn’t a meaningful web experience) so who knows if the masses actually care. It was a reminder, though, that Flickr does care.

And pretty much all of the moments of the last decade that I care about that were lucky enough to be captured in an image (still or moving) are on that old photo service.

Like nerdwedding11.

And SXSW.

And the Yay Flag Opening Ceremony.

See you around the old neighborhood.