Cultural Phenomenology

To my delight, Huey Dino has been spending his summer so far outside playing with the other 'tweens in our townhouse community. They're pretty good kids. The petty dope dealers on the corner ignore them and kind of look out for the feral eight year-old with emotional problems who follows the older kids around. Tonight they stopped him as he was carrying a knife out of his house. This prompted an inquisition of the 'tweens by the main dope dealer's mom and a visitation by the feral kid's grandmother, both trying to figure out why the kid decided to bring a knife out on to the street and, by extension, what the older boys had done to the kid to put such an idea in his head. As my supper cooled in the kitchen, the feral kid's grandma explained her grandson's behavior to me and divulged all sorts of fascinating info (which house the neighborhood crackhead lives in, how many times the feral kid's scooter has been stolen, the cost of replacing toys, the ins and outs of various ADHD treatment regimens, her employment status, the difficulty of dealing with movers and landlords, her desire for a stiff drink, and the family's plan to move to Glen Burnie). During this exposition, Mouse came out of the house to eavesdrop and then play with the neighbor girls' hula-hoop; one of Huey's peers got a text message* informing him that Michael Jackson was dead.

(I heart my downscale Columbia neighborhood. East side.)

Speaking of downscale, tomorrow is the office wake for our old building. The preparation of a new building for my colleagues has consumed increasing amounts of my time and will to live over the past five years, and now the first wave of people is set to move in another two weeks. I'll be spending the rest of the summer overseeing the completion of the new building and the moves (900 people in three phases within the next six weeks). I hope I am not chased out of the wake by an angry mob.

In fashion news, I did not buy the cocktail dress, but I did buy two more blouses - in the wrong size.