A New Technology Capital?

Washington is well known as a crossroads of global influence with a constant incoming stream of some of the brightest people in the world. From among the elements of what may be a greenhouse for it’s development, DC’s local technology business sector has become strong and is positioning itself, along with the local economy, to grow and thrive.

David Zipper, DC’s Director of Business Development and Strategy at Office of the Deputy Mayor for Planning and Economic Development said, “It’s a big deal that we have so many young people coming in and out of DC all the time. It can both help us and hurt us.” People often come to DC to save the world for four years (and often less), then move on. It’s known as “a company town” - not where people make their homes and invest in communities - but could that be changing?

Mayor Vincent Gray recently signed the DC technology sector enhancement act into law, which includes five years of corporate income tax abatement that starts when technology companies based in DC become profitable. All benefits of DC tech incentives are available to any tech company in the District no matter where in the city the company is located.

“Let me be candid, the bill could have done even more,” said mayor Gray. A major change to the DC tax code giving incentive to DC based investors was removed by the DC council before the bill passed, “Largely because it wasn’t understood,” explained the mayor. DC local government has been working in cooperation with leaders of the newly burgeoning tech sector, including attracting companies like Fortify.VC, a venture capital firm that houses a startup incubator and hosts an annual pitch competition, Distilled Intelligence, which relocated to DC this year, and has resulted in millions in investment for it’s participants. 

Visionary, Jill Maguire

Will DC be the next Silicon Valley? In a way, perhaps, but as Julie Kantor, CSO of Barrel of Jobs, one of the winner’s of Distilled Intelligence put it, these developments at least mean that “Startups don’t necessarily have to go to New York or Silicon Valley to get investment capital anymore. Winning Distilled Intelligence led to some phenomenal investor meetings.” Kantor, born and raised in DC, pointed out the potential strength of connecting improvements in the startup ecosystem and DC’s local education system to increase avenues to comprehensive social & economic improvements.

“We like to celebrate the city,” said Travis Kalanick, CEO of Uber during his keynote speech at DC Week, a celebration of the growing tech sector in Washington. “This is a place I’ve been spending a lot of time recently,” he continued. He had put up a picture of the Wilson Building, which holds the offices of DC council members, eliciting nervous, appreciative laughter from the crowd. The juxtaposition of historic & modern seen in that particular sample of DC architecture gave illustrative perspective for Kalanick’s overview of what it’s been like for Uber to succeed so wildly. “Not everybody is so happy about it, and I think a lot of entrepreneurs understand what it’s like to disrupt, what it means to bring innovation to an industry that hasn’t seen it for decades,” Kalanick explained as he  moved to an image of the first of many cease & desists that Uber has gotten.  

Indeed, the 2,000 member audience Kalanick spoke to, and at every one of the over 100 DC Week events where a direct question was posed, consisted of a majority of people from DC who were self-described current or aspiring entrepreneurs. iStrategy Labs CEO Peter Corbett, who also co-produced DC Week, is one of the main figures responsible for inspiring and regularly creating opportunities for these entrepreneurs to come together. 

“Everything we do, we want to make it so sticky they don’t want to leave. They’re gonna stay, and they’re going to build their businesses, they’re gonna build their families, they’re going to be here forever. And that’s selfish...I want to make this the most interesting place in the world, so I don’t have to leave.” said Corbett in reference to the developing community of tech entrepreneurs in DC.

Washington, DC has always had strengths. It has always been the nexus of some of the most powerful networks, but always transient. However, with a bit of collective consciousness, good leadership, clear avenues for investment and growth, partnerships with local government, and a willingness to disrupt what is in order to possibly bring something better, the District of Columbia may also be becoming a capital of technology and innovation.

Remain in Time

One moment finds me on the bridge.

I've stepped into it like an enormous globe filled with wind, not snow, between the earth and the sky at dusk. Feet and hands fastened to the sidewalk and railing, I remain. I am anchor against the wind careening past in bursts from the cars & busses just behind my heels. My hair dances as if to ask whether I've seen the coming storm. Eyes gloss over ever so slightly from the sweeping air with retinas behind mesmerized by the flashing chop of the tidal basin's top layer - here like shining fans, across the way like perfect glass. The wind steals my breath, then becomes a monsoon of it into my lungs. 

Helicopters hopscotching between marble buildings on either side of the Potomac. Ducks dive and bob. Jets to Reagan. Swallows flit through the trees & across the water in pairs and packs. I hear nothing, and everything. Clamor blends into peaceful silence.

Yacht Approaching the Coast,  Joseph Mallord William Turner,  c. 1845

Deep indigo thunder clouds invade the bright orange & pink sky that crowns the horizon made of almost-gone cherry blossoms beginning to be covered by nightfall. Tiny white petals littered all over the ground. Flowers fading but trees that will remain here long after I ever could.

Of all movements, time might be the most relentless. 

Can I stay here like a mountain? Can I stand here sending roots down and reach the heights like a tree? Surely the trees couldn't have stretched so high if they hadn't been fastened down with integrity. Surely no mountain could remain if it hadn't found a place to rest. No. Nothing is still, but nothing is alone either. Even the sky. Even the water. They are not the same, but you can never put a definite edge around them. They are always touching. Always together.

I may rest here. I may remain, but only for a moment. I may root down with integrity, but I will never remain as I am now. I will find rest, but I will never really be stationary. On this bridge, I've found a place to remain for a moment. Between water and sky. Between day and night. Between spring and summer. Between this moment and the next. We all stand here touching each other. But we are not the same--and if we are, we cannot remain the same. Time moves us on.

Squatters

"You have to have a sense of humor about these things, missy." said Kenneth, directing a big smile down at me. My ears were hot, eyes drawn as far back in my sockets as they would go. I couldn't even look at him. I was trying not to explode with disgust for him, and the situation, and not succeeding very well. The entire downstairs floor of our house on D Street had smelled like some mix of dead rats (reminiscent of old vomit, or worse) for just over a week now. He plodded around putting flashy blue light mouse preventer contraptions in all the rooms downstairs. They were his way of saying he wasn't going to do more to address the actual problem, and they gave the trip to the fridge at night the feeling that you were on a tiny landing strip with erratic unpredictable signals.

Abandoned Train Station, California, Simon Christen

In its better days, tenants of this house had nicknamed it buttercup, cause it’s yellow and used to be kind of sweet. Still holding some of the prettiest little chandeliers and charming quirky little traits I've seen in the Capitol Hill Historic District, Kenneth was leaving buttercup, and we who lived there, to the rats, robbers, and slow decay that comes with 100 years of bandaid only maintenance. We weren't supposed to put nails in the walls, because when you did, a steady stream of some of the finest, dryest dust I’ve ever seen came out of the nail holes for an average of 30 seconds-to-a-minute consecutively. Most of the light switches and panels in the house still use push button electricity (you know, before electricity was really electricity).

Somewhere, between the smell, dust of death walls, belittling smiles, nuclear hazard night lights, and the phenomena that my roommates and I weren't sure we felt ok about hanging out anywhere but our beds themselves, and really only under the covers at that, my urban single girl brain began to wonder if we were really getting such a good deal on the rent. None of us are in a position to buy a house. We're renters, at least for the next good chunk of years. But at what point does a tenant become a squatter? Did we live there, or were we  just storing our things there, holding over for the night like some cave in the wilderness? 

Our souls cry for home. A place to belong. This was not it.  Three weeks til Christmas, and we all agreed & began searching craigslist for an immediate escape en masse. One click gave me pause. 

Beautiful. Why do I know that address? 

Impossible. My parents' house. 

The same two people by whom I entered this world, who originally defined my home. The same two people I just had to let go to the other side of the great beyond. The same two people who wouldn't be there on Christmas. There, staring at me on craigslist was the very same house my parents first lived in when, as 20-something west-coasters, they moved to DC in the 70s. A home. A veritable castle. A four story victorian, four blocks from the Capitol - and with a view of the dome from the top two front windows.

Seven days of jockeying, six close to sleepless nights, adding a couple new roommates to fill the extra rooms, too many texts, emails, and one of the best exhales in a long time, the lease was signed and we moved in just a few days before Christmas. It's like something out of a movie, an act of God. Is this a new beginning? The real life stuff of great books’ literary themes? A divine returning to the same ground to deepen the plot? These are the questions that go through my mind. These are the things of adventure, real life, a good lift to ride the wave of this human experience. We search for a lot of things in life, without really knowing exactly what they are. Maybe the gateway to many such expeditions is finding what I’ve just found at least some small part of. A starting place. A resting place. A home. Not just for being, but for belonging.

Remember- I'm a Person

Usually it happens when you're walking down the sidewalk. It's the thing I love and hate about being out in public. People don't really know who you are. I was doing just that-- walking back to the office from CVS & decided to grab a coffee across the street.

Walking Shadow. Oliver Raffy, from the walls of Dubrovnik, Croatia

My head was up, laughing to myself as I remembered some dumb joke one of my co-workers had told a few minutes earlier. It was warm and beautiful outside. There was a big truck right in front of the coffee shop with four construction workers leaning up against it facing the street in the sun. They were smirking and I felt them looking at me. I looked up to say hi as a courtesy and immediately shrunk back. Not because they weren't smiling, but because of the way they were doing it.

They were looking right at me, but their eyes said they saw something else. I could tell I was an impersonal invaluable thing to them. I tried not to react, just to dignify the situation, make eye contact, say hello and keep walking. Not all of them were necessarily even bad looking, or too old, or too construction worker-y, but they made us into foreigners by their demeanor. I passed by and continued toward the coffee shop's glass window front and saw them all whip around in the reflection as soon as I'd passed, gesturing crudely. I stopped, my arm halfway reaching for the door handle, then turned around to face them. I stood there, all of us staring nervously, and I was trying to think of what to say.

"Remember - I'm a person," was all I could manage.

We all do it to some degree. We treat each other like caricatures--ideas that meld themselves to what we think the world does or should look like. I don't know any of those men, but I hope that I can continue to treat them like human beings. The truth about that interaction, which is commonplace, is that they were attempting to express their manliness, but did just the opposite.

When a man objectifies or disgraces a woman, he innately dishonors himself --and vice versa. It is impossible to separate. It will always be to the glory of all people (but especially true between men & women) to treat each other with dignity. When a woman cuts a man down it is to their mutual shame, even if he doesn't treat her badly. But by the same token, when one treats the other with respect, it is to their mutual honor & glory.

True Story: A Monday Evening

9:02pm: Say goodnight to roommate, head to back patio with a stack of cardboard, matches, fire starter, fire wood, a good book, mosquito repelling candles & wrist to toe mosquito proof clothing in search of adventure/ relaxation. Turn on twinkle lights.

9:06pm: Cardboard fortress surrounding fire starter in a satisfactory manner, light corners of butter & pizza boxes.

9:08pm: Veiled in a cloud of smoke- nothing but 1/8 inch charred box corners, admit defeat at hands of wax coating on cardboard.

9:09pm: Enter significant mass of grocery ads to even the score. Move scooter cover to avoid melting due to large flames.

9:16pm: The un-aided sweet sound of crackling remains... Logs appear to have caught fire.

9:17pm: I love twinkle lights.

9:19pm: Enter roastable hot dogs on sticks. Excellent.

Sitting Bubbles, Karoly Karsay

9:21pm: Sticks may be too short. Fingers may be burning.

9:22pm: Flame very small to not actually there. Commence blowing on heart of the fire to maintain dog roastage.

9:23pm: Face covered in soot, getting kinda sweaty, hot dogs still looking geometric & cold to the touch.

9:25pm: Begin packing up. Throw last pieces of cardboard & paper on firepit more in an attempt to burn 'em up & avoid walking back to the recycling bin I fished them out of earlier than an attempt to re-start the fire. Think pitifully,"Dear God, save my fire?" Go inside to microwave hot dogs.

9:27pm: Return to check that fire is out. Find it cheerfully crackling almost as big as before.

9:28pm: Grab a beer from the fridge. Settle in to put a dent in my book anyway while the flame goes out.

9:29pm: Minor incident with frozen state of beer. Briefly ponder the science of temperature & matter.

9:55pm: Finished a chapter in the book. Fire still burning.

9:56pm: The moon is beautiful. Is this really happening?

10:01pm: Roommate #2 comes home to find me with snack, beer, book & flame. "This is awesome!" she says. I smile & shrug. Not ready to betray my frustration & near defeat. Bid her goodnight after briefly re-counting the events of our day.

10:44pm: Full of book & snack, face still covered in soot, smelling like campfire, satisfied with adventure & the simple pleasures in life, I retreat to my quarters to disengage from consciousness for the day.

What are your intentions?

People are funny, but usually it's when they don't mean to be. For example, I have a great yoga teacher, she is tiny, very flexible and good at teaching yoga. Also, I like her because she has a thick Russian accent and says "yah" a lot, so that keeps things entertaining.

The other day she came into class and said something like,"so I am going to make you guys work really hard today ok? Jhhussssst khhiiddhhhiiinnhhhgg" in sort of a forced wheeze laugh voice. Except for the wheeze laugh, I would've had no idea that it was supposed to be funny, but apparently that was her attempt at a joke.

However, later while explaining a pose, she said without skipping a beat,"so, for lack of a better term, you are going to put your heel right up in your butt crack, yah?" and I almost fell over laughing, but she wasn't phased. Completely missed it.

There is also another guy I run into at the yoga studio that is worth mentioning in this vein. The first morning I saw him I thought he might have been a hallucination. He is probably 5'8" with a seriously unhealthy amount of muscle mass, longish hair and sort of a confused look on his face to compliment his incredibly tiny stretch knit shorts (this morning they were purple and he had a terrible tanktop burn line). To say the least, he sticks out in a class full of girls with pink mats. You do NOT want to be behind this guy in down dog. The worst part was when I saw him coming out of the building wearing work clothes and realized he had no plans to shower before starting his day.

Now some people, myself included, might initially see this guy as an easy target. However, I tend to wonder if tiny shorts guy has someone looking out for him? Maybe instead of kicking him around, I should realize that he probably just needs a friend. Does he have a mother or a brother to teach him about body odor, personal hygeine, and limiting your personal creatine intake? I wonder what his intentions are? Did he mean to have that hairdo or did he just stop trying? What are his fitness goals? Does he actually like little purple knit shorts, or has he just been deceived into thinking that they are acceptable?

Dear tiny shorts guy, if you are reading this, can I offer you a more substantial workout wardrobe? Some aloe vera? A nice cold shower?

You know, the little 'a' with a circle around it

Being a young professional can be quite trying at times. For one thing, a large portion of my time is spent performing tasks that could easily be done much more efficiently with simple machinery, like an answering machine (although it lacks a certian charm which I believe myself to posess on occasion). Recently, while executing the most crucial of charges, answering the phone, I encountered a gentleman who was having some trouble.

"I've recently become a client of your firm," He said," and I'm trying to send you some information in an email, but it keeps bouncing back."

"All right sir, what email address are you sending it to?" I ask.

"www.joeslawfirm.com"[name changed for privacy].

[This is the part where I had to go to great lengths to keep my professionalism intact.] "Sir, I am very glad you asked my help because think I can help you solve your problem. What you have actually been trying to send your information to is a website, not an email address. An email address does look quite similar to a website except that it will say 'person@joeslawfirm.com', you know, their user ID and then the little 'a' with a circle around it. So just try adding that first part and call me back if you are still having trouble."

"Oh, yeah, I... that's what I was going to say. I've seen those little ones like that before. I know about the circle, so that was going to be my next try."

The best part of the story is that this man was in his early 30s. I have no idea how that is possible, but yes, it is a very true story.