After I wrote The Powerful SEO Benefits of Blogger PR Outreach, I looked around Google a little bit under the keywords “blogger outreach” and on the first page I discovered my new friend and partner, Stephen Davies of 3W PR and blogger for PRBlogger, and look what I found: corroboration! According to Stephen, “In fact, the SEO benefits could out-perform all of the other benefits of blogger outreach,” which we at Abraham Harrison, LLC, are discovering more and more every day! Check out The SEO benefits of blogger outreach:

The SEO benefits of blogger outreach

Blogger relations, or blogger outreach as I like to call it, is a relatively new concept in the PR and marketing arena. Prior to blogs and other forms of social media, people working in our industry have never had such direct access to influential people from all walks of life. The advent of these new platforms has also enabled us to tap into real insights, views and opinions on various products, brands and issues which in-turn have allowed us to have open and transparent *relations* with the *public* (public relations, get it?).

As proved by Edelman, Forrester and Nielsen, the opinion of the every-day person is increasingly becoming a more trustworthy source of information. The public is more ‘media savvy’ than ever before meaning marketing messages no longer have the same effect as they once did. If they ever did. Is it any wonder that PR people, marketers and the respective companies they represent are increasingly seeing the value in blogger outreach?

Using myself as guinea pig and my involvement in the O2 blogger outreach campaign. The company working on the initiative, VCCP, probably looked at this blog and classified it with having a niche audience. With around 1500 RSS subscribers I can safely assume that I don’t hold great powers of influence. Not to say this blog doesn’t hold *some* level of influence; it does. To what extent, though, I really don’t know, but I’m sure the guys working at VCCP have their own reasons for including me in the outreach.

So let’s assume that after I wrote both posts on the O2 Xda Orbit 2 I ‘influenced’ some of this blog’s readers. By “readers” I mean people who are subscribed to the RSS feed or email alerts and are updated as and when I publish new blog posts. How I actually influenced them is another matter. Did they rush out and buy the phone as soon as they read my review? Maybe not. Did I at least increase awareness of the phone to some of the readers? I presume so. Either way, some level of influencing was in play.

Job done? Maybe not.

What’s struck me the last week or so is the amount of traffic I’ve received by people looking for information on the Xda Orbit 2. Quite a lot in comparison for this itty-bitty blog. So-much-so that since I wrote the two posts about the phone on the 20th and 27th February they’ve proved to be the top two most popular blog posts from those dates to present time. Take a look:

Note: The Homepage and About page have higher traffic but these are static pages and not blog entries.

Again, if you look at the top ten keywords used to get to this blog since I wrote the two posts you’ll see that four out of the ten are related to the Xda including the most popular two keywords:

This, to me, is pretty impressive and it puts blogger outreach in a whole new different light. In hindsight, it’s pretty obvious that SEO plays a part in all of this but maybe I was too caught up in the ‘direct approach’ and ‘two-way conversation’ ways of thinking that I didn’t give it any thought.

In fact, the SEO benefits could out-perform all of the other benefits of bloggeroutreach. Two reasons:

Relevance – You can see by the keyword data that people who landed on either post through a search engine were actually looking for information on the Xda. The people who subscribe to my feed weren’t necessarily – I published it and they may have read it. No guarantee there, though.

Volume – If the search engine traffic to each post continues which, chances are, it will then those two posts will have received a lot more attention from Google and the like than they did through an RSS feed.

These two reasons make the point that SEO should not just be considered when initiating of blogger outreach campaign but should be high on the agenda. The measurement and evaluation process of the campaign should include any traffic and SEO data that are available to gather. They could be the most valuable results you’ve achieved!

The underlying objective of a blogger outreach campaign is, of course, to generate positive and authentic opinions on your product or brand. But if what you are promoting is a lousy, useless or even mediocre product, however, then the next title of a blog post could be “The SEO nightmare of blogger outreach.”

It’s all about the quality of the content or product you’re promoting at the end of the day.

Stephen is managing director of 3W PR, a UK based online PR consultancy. You can connect with him on Twitter or check out his LinkedIn profile. | Email Stephen

The Ballad of Chris Abraham

With fingers strong he types the truth
With graceful words so slick
He opens eyes, and hearts, and minds
With his memetic tricks

Oh, once you read his graceful lines
You’ll see a different world
With thoughts that live, evolve, and change
In human minds a-whirl

He fights the endless hordes of fools
With sharpened sword of wit
Striking down the endless legion
A man of brains and grit

Remember him, Chris Abraham,
Historians to come
A man who rushed into the page
And fought the mindless scum

Via Ungab

Matt and I rushed this post tonight. I received the email three hours ago, IMed Matt, and we got it out now. I love blogging for this. I hope you enjoy this new post, Pepsi Apologized to Me For Its Suicide Ads:

Pepsi Apologized to Me For Its Suicide Ads
A close-up look at how the marketer is handling fallout from its controversial German ads

This week, PepsiCo got into hot water with more than a few folks after some suicide-themed ads many found offensive were brought to light. Here’s how they’re using social media to apologize to consumers—including me.

I received an email from B. Bonin Bough of PepsiCo, @boughb on Twitter, responding to my tweet about the recent post that Matt Creamer wrote a couple days ago, “Pepsi Opens a Vein of Controversy With New Suicide-Themed Ads”, about some ads that were run here in Germany in a lifestyle mag—ads Pepsi says it won’t run again after they received heavy criticism all over the web.

I’ll excerpt the first part of the email from Mr. Bough, who holds the title of director-social and emerging media and is based at Pepsi’s Purchase, N.Y. campus:

I saw your tweet and I just wanted to make sure I responded personally. We agree this creative is totally inappropriate; we apologize and please know it won’t run again. Also, thanks for the feedback and the Digg, it is important to discuss these types of issues.

My best friend committed suicide and this is a topic very close to my heart. So again I offer my deepest apologies.

Feel free to follow-up via twitter to me – @boughb or Huw – @huwgilbert or respond to this email.

Thanks, Bonin

I know you all think I am going to mock Bonin, but I won’t. I think this was a very bold and risky maneuver and worthy of praise rather than a tarring and feathering. And his outreach to me, a nobody, was accomplished within two days. When I replied to Bonin, asking if I might be allowed to post his email, he replied back that I could post his email but to try to “treat it kindly.” I hope I am.

I don’t think that Bonin knew that I blog for AdAge or that I know a bit about how the marketer is surprised about how well-traveled the ads have been. The old we-didn’t-think-anyone-here-would-see-it approach. Well, that’s the Internet for you. Someone passed along the scans of the PepsiMax ad, “One is a Very Very Lonely Calorie,” to the alert gang here at AdAge.

Within two days of tweeting, I received a note from @tweetmeme, a sure sign that my tweet had gone memetic (and that I had played at least a bit part in the mad traffic to the AdAge post as well as the resulting 40 comments.)

Here’s how fast and furious social media works. The article was posted on AdAge at 4:36 PM EST on December 2nd. I read it and Tweeted at 6:16 PM EST the same day. And then I received said email from Mr. Bough at 5:21 PM on December 4. The lesson here is that social media has eyes everywhere and the network to make sure that advertisers can no longer hide stuff in niche markets. There is a word in intelligence about just this thing, and it relates to messaging and propaganda: backwash. Social media makes backwash inevitable. Here’s another one from Intelligence: blowback. Backwash leads to blowback.

There’s no way to isolate this kind of advertisement. And there is an inverse proportion between how badly you want your ad to remain niche and the sensationalism surrounding its discovery. It’s a really obvious point, but one still clearly worth stating: The internet makes it impossible for any marketer to control which geographies and demographics see any particular communication. You can’t even really control what media it appears in. Think you’re creating an edgy print ad that will only be seen in a German magazine? Think again. In the blink of an eye, your ad is on the web. You know, the world wide one. And all kinds of people are pissed off.

What I like about what “Bough, Bonin {PEP}” did here is that he responded almost immediately, rather personally, and opened himself up to us social media mavens. Bravo! Full marks. Another thing I like about his apology is that there is a very good chance that I am being played, that Mr. Bough is playing reverse psychology on me. Yes, he readily approved my posting of this message when I asked, which leads me to believe that the very act of clicking on the post right now is just going to help PepsiCo with an amazingly-savvy viral marketing campaign for PepsiMax.

A couple weeks ago, over Veteran’s Day, we at Abraham Harrison did an outreach for Survivor Corps called Returning Troops in support of Operation Survivor. We received over 170 earned banner placements and blog posts (I posted 162 of them yesterday). We were in a rush before the outreach (you know how it is) so I ended up dusting off my copy of Photoshop and creating 14 banners in support of the campaign. What do you think? How did I do? I had fun.

• Survivor Corps – Peer Support
  (tags: ping.fm)
• Charity Folks | Online Auctions
  (tags: ping.fm)
• Netvantage Marketing Blog
  Let’s face it, we’re in a recession. In the past five weeks, the stock market has tanked, the credit market has dried up, and a very large rescue/bailout plan has seemingly had little effect. Companies are now cutting back and employees are being let go.
• Daily Herald – Before and After
  On Oct. 2, 2006, Capt. Scott Quilty, 26, was leading a foot patrol in Rustimullah, a town south of Baghdad. An improvised explosive device, or IED, detonated near him. He lost his right arm and right leg.
• DEFENSE STANDARD: Wounded Not Broken
  Her husband, Capt. Scott Quilty, lost an arm and a leg and spent two years at Walter Reed recovering. She wants the patients she sees to live the life her husband now enjoys.
• Before and after Iraq – Los Angeles Times
  On Oct. 2, 2006, Capt. Scott Quilty, 26, was leading a foot patrol in Rustimullah, a town south of Baghdad. An improvised explosive device, or IED, detonated near him. He lost his right arm and right leg.
• * photo op at Walter Reed – pics – Democratic Underground
  President Bush, right, shakes hands with the prosthetic arm of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit with patients at the physical therapy wing of Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, Friday, March 30, 2007. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)
• KarlfromNH.com Weekly Columns
  This interview was followed by yet another inspirational young man on my June 1st radio show. Captain Scott Quilty, a Francestown, NH native and son of friends of mine, related his experiences in the military
• Briefing on the importance of the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities
  Scott Quilty, Program Manager for Survivor Corps; and Anne Somers, Policy Counsel for the American Association of Persons with Disabilities.
• Organizing Committee Contacts
  Survivor Corps
  Contact Scott Quilty 202.250.3946 squilty@survivorcorps.org
• Johns Hopkins University | Today’s News
  Capt. Scott Quilty, a rifle platoon leader with the 10th Mountain Division, had been in Iraq for two months on Oct. 2, 2006, when he stepped on an improvised explosive device while on patrol near Baghdad. Surgeons amputated his right arm below the elbow and his right leg below the knee.
• Bush Issues Apology Over Conditions At Walter Reed | National Security Network
  At Walter Reed, Bush awarded 10 Purple Heart medals and chatted with patients. In a physical therapy exercise room, he shook Lt. Scott Quilty’s prosthetic right hand, hopped onto an elliptical exercise machine next to Staff Sgt. Gregory Robinson (who lost a leg) and admired a naked woman tattoo on Sgt. Mark Ecker’s left shoulder.
• ON EDUCATION; Graduating Into the Real World, And Preparing to Take Up Arms – New York Times
  These 17 had entered R.O.T.C. for different reasons. Cassandra Crosby could not have afforded college without the program’s scholarship. Benjamin Keating had absorbed ”the idea of citizenship” in his classics courses. Scott Quilty and Megan McGrevey embodied the third generation in military families.
• Survivor Corps – Survivor Corps Staff
• Welcome to New Hampshire and to the homepage of Karl from New Hampshire.
  On June 1st, 2008, I was joined in the studio by Capt. Scott Quilty of Francestown, NH.
  Capt. Quilty suffered the loss of his right arm and leg, below the elbow and knee, respectively, while gallantly serving his country in Iraq.
  He is now involved with SurvivorsCorps, a non-profit organization based in Washinton, DC which is developing programs to reach out to other injured veterans to help them realign their lives.
  Scott currently lives in Maryland with his wife, also a veteran.
• Iraq Today: War News for Friday, July 04, 2008
  Scott Quilty, 28, lost his right arm and leg in October 2006 to a roadside bomb while serving in Iraq.
• June 3rd Briefing on Capitol Hill | RatifyNow.org
  Scott Quilty, U.S. Program Manager, Survivor Corps; Disabled U.S. Veteran
• At Ease!
  Scott Quilty, a 28-year-old Iraqi war veteran who lost part of an arm and leg while on foot patrol in Baghdad, presented the award to Lee Woodruff, who said she accepted it on behalf of all caregivers, parents and wives of those who have been injured in war and on behalf of anyone serving in the military.
• M?u Thân 68
  Ba tháng sau l?i tiên tri toán pháp này ?ng d?ng vào ??i úy Scott Quilty, 26 tu?i; anh d?n trung ??i ?i tu?n ti?u t?i Rustimullah, m?t th? tr?n phía Nam Baghdad, ngày mùng 2 tháng M??i 2006. Quân Iraq cho n? m?t qu? mìn, anh b? m?t tay m?t và chân m?t.
• ??? PoEnglish: Bush Apologizes for Poor Conditions at Walter Reed Army Medical Center
  President Bush, right, shakes hands with the 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit to Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, 30 Mar 2007
• Bush Apologizes for Poor Conditions on Visit to Walter Reed Army Hospital «
  March 30: President Bush shakes hands with 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit to the Walter Reed Army Center.
• \jeff{krimmel} » Blog Archive » Americans Dying at Alarming Rate in Ira
  First Lt. Scott Quilty, 26, had to have his right leg amputated below the knee and his right arm amputated below the elbow, his father told The Sentinel.
• Nashuatelegraph.com: Benefit bake sale rescheduled
  MILFORD – The bake sale to benefit the family of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty has been rescheduled to this Saturday from 10 a.m.-2 p.m. It will be in front of the Toadstool Bookshop, Lorden Plaza, Route 101A, Milford.
• President Bush shakes hands with the prosthetic arm of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty · Scaz.Net
  President Bush, right, shakes hands with the prosthetic arm of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit with patients at the physical therapy wing of Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, Friday, March 30, 2007.
• Today in Iraq
  Lieutenant Scott Quilty, a native of Francestown, was injured in Iraq Sunday night when an improvised explosive device was detonated while he was on a dismounted patrol with the Army platoon he led. As a result of his injuries, Quilty, 26, had his right arm amputated below the elbow and his right leg removed below the knee, according to his father, R. Scott Quilty, who said he had not been told where in Iraq the attack had occurred. A state lawmaker stationed in Iraq has been injured.
• Bush Apologizes for Poor Conditions at Walter Reed Army Medical Center
  President Bush, right, shakes hands with the 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit to Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, 30 Mar 2007
• LJWorld.com / Bush apologizes at Walter Reed
  President Bush meets Army 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit with patients at the physical therapy wing of Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, D.C. Quilty has a prosthetic arm because of injuries suffered during his Army service.
• reaching out «
  March 30: President Bush shakes hands with 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit to the Walter Reed Army Center.
• Before and after Iraq — O Papel dos EUA no Sistema Internacional Pós-1989
  On Oct. 2, 2006, Capt. Scott Quilty, 26, was leading a foot patrol in Rustimullah, a town south of Baghdad. An improvised explosive device, or IED, detonated near him. He lost his right arm and right leg.
• U.S. Programs Office of Survivor Corps
• Roadfood.com Forums – For a Debt That Can Never Be Repaid
  On Oct. 2, 2006, Capt. Scott Quilty, 26, was leading a foot patrol in Rustimullah, a town south of Baghdad. An improvised explosive device, or IED, detonated near him. He lost his right arm and right leg.
• Survivor Corps – Programs – United States
  Scott Quilty
  Survivor Corps
  2100 M St. NW Suite 302
  Washington DC 20037
  Ph: 202.250.3946
  F: 202.464.0011
  squilty@survivorcorps.org
• Acinetobacter Baumannii in Iraq the Casualties
  First Lt. Scott Quilty
  “Doctors had to amputate a portion of one of Quilty’s arms, and part
  of one leg.
  He is really battling infection, so he has a very high fever. He is still
  in critical condition
• BLOG.DEFENSESTANDARD.COM
  For Quilty, the motivation to come to work each day is intensely personal.
  Her husband, Capt. Scott Quilty, lost an arm and a leg and spent two years at Walter Reed recovering. She wants the patients she sees to live the life her husband now enjoys.
• Untitled Document
  Brotheres, Just finished reading the 31st. Inf newsletter. I was disconcerted to find out that, on 9/19/o6, Spec. Bobby Callahan from Jamestown, N.C was killed in iraq, when the vehicle he was in turned over. On Oct.1st.P.F.C Satieon V “T” Greenleewas killed by sniper fire in Baghdad, he was from Pemdleton, S.C. Also on the 1st., Lt. Scott Quilty lost an arm and leg (improvised explosive device) while on dismounted patrol. These men were and are with A/4/31, the unit, since 2001, has had four combat tours. Our’ brother Polar Bears are still under the hammer. With deep regret, Ed. Pro Patria.
• Military & Veterans: Politics for the deserving: 5/11/08 – 5/18/08
  On Oct. 2, 2006, Capt. Scott Quilty, 26, was leading a foot patrol in Rustimullah, a town south of Baghdad. An improvised explosive device, or IED, detonated near him. He lost his right arm and right leg.

  The best worst injury

• Photo from AP Photo by Gerald Herbert – Daylife
  President Bush, right, shakes hands with the prosthetic arm of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit with patients at the physical therapy wing of Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, Friday, March 30, 2007.
• President George W. Bush watches U.S. Army 1st Lt. Scott Anthony Quilty of Francetown, N.H., demonstrate his walking abilities Friday, March 30, 2007, during a visit to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C. Standing with the President is Lt.
  President George W. Bush watches U.S. Army 1st Lt. Scott Anthony Quilty of Francetown, N.H., demonstrate his walking abilities Friday, March 30, 2007, during a visit to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C. Standing with the President is Lt. Quilty’s wife U.S. Army Capt. AnnMarie Dora Quilty. Lt. Quilty was later awarded the Purple Heart by President Bush. White House photo by Eric Draper
• President Bush, right, shakes hands with the prosthetic arm of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty
  President Bush, right, shakes hands with the prosthetic arm of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit with patients at the physical therapy wing of Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, Friday, March 30, 2007. At center is his wife Annmarie Quilty,
• President Bush watches as 1st Lt. Scott Quilty goes through his exercises as he visits with patients
  President Bush watches as 1st Lt. Scott Quilty goes through his exercises as he visits with patients in the physical therapy wing of Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, Friday, March 30, 2007. Between them is his wife Annmarie Quilty.
• Bush Apologizes for Poor Conditions at Walter Reed Army Medical Center
  President Bush, right, shakes hands with the 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit to Walter Reed Army Center in Washington, 30 Mar 2007
• The UNH Connection: An Electronic Newsletter
  PROUD VETERAN
  In 2006, while serving in Iraq, Scott Quilty ’04 (pictured with President Bush at Walter Reed Army Medical Center) lost his right arm and leg in a roadside bombing. But he didn’t lose his commitment or his hope. He tackled his rehabilitation process with determination, married his high school sweetheart, AnnMarie Dora Wilcox Quilty ’03 (also pictured), and today is leading a pilot program that will help train other survivors of traumatic injury. Focusing on his blessings is a poignant exercise for Quilty, whose close friend and UNH roommate, Ben Keating ’04, lost his life while serving in Afghanistan. “Knowing that for whatever reason I was still here and a guy like Ben isn’t — who was my better on every measurable level — kind of solidified within me that I needed to, regardless of the situation, push through the darker periods to rise above being a victim of it all,” Quilty says.
• The long road back for a wounded warrior
  There were dark days, but a retired Army captain who was injured by a roadside bomb feels lucky to be alive. First of two parts
• Soldier wounded in Iraq bombing
  FRANCESTOWN (AP) – A Francestown soldier serving in Iraq was seriously wounded over the weekend in a roadside bombing.

  First Lt. Scott Quilty, 26, had to have his right leg amputated below the knee and his right arm amputated below the elbow, his father told The Sentinel.

• A Need to Take the World Seriously
  Capt. Benjamin Keating ’04 and 1st Lt. Scott Quilty ’04 began their UNH journey together in 2000, when they enrolled in the Army ROTC program. They participated in countless early morning field exercises, spent many a late night studying for exams, and, as seniors, became roommates. By 2006, they had something else in common: both were assigned to serve in war zones, Keating in Afghanistan and Quilty in Iraq.
• U.S. Programs Office of Survivor Corps
  Survivor Corps and the global consulting firm Booz Allen Hamiliton are hosting an Initiators Conference on the Community Reintegration of Service Members and Veterans in an effort to bring together the leaders of key government, business, nonprofit, and academic institutions currently engaged on this issue. Booz Allen Hamilton, which has a long history of commitment to America’s service members and veterans, has joined us in this effort, bringing their extensive experience in helping leaders and organizations collaborate to address complex issues across sectors.
• Scott Quilty with George W Bush — PHOTO
  Bush, right, shakes hands with the prosthetic arm of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit with patients at the physical therapy wing of Walter Reed on Friday.
• Bush promises vets a better Walter Reed – USATODAY.com
  Bush, right, shakes hands with the prosthetic arm of 1st Lt. Scott Quilty during a visit with patients at the physical therapy wing of Walter Reed on Friday.
• Rockingham Ambulance Online – News
  Two Stars of Life proudly represented Rockingham Regional Ambulance, Inc. this year. EMT – Intermediate Scott Hurst and Operations Center Coordinator Scott Quilty were selected by their peers and managers to represent both Rockingham Ambulance and the State of NH at this annual event.
• LSN – Landmine Survivors Network – Bios
  Scott Quilty – U.S. Program Manager
• UnionLeader.com – New Hampshire news, business and sports
  Capt. Scott Quilty, center, and his wife, Capt. AnnMarie Dora Wilcox Quilty, pose with President Bush during Scott’s Purple Heart ceremony at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington. (COURTESY)
• PC World – Unlocked G1: Not (Yet) Worth the Effort
• Scott Quilty ’04 – UNH Alumni Association
  In early October 2006, Scott Quilty ’04 was seriously wounded in a roadside bombing in Iraq. Read more
• Facebook | Scott Quilty
• Neighbors Working To Help Family Of Injured Soldier – New Hampshire News Story – WMUR Manchester
  Neighbors are reaching out to help the family of an Army soldier from Francestown who was seriously injured in Iraq.

  First Lt. Scott Quilty was on foot patrol near Baghdad last week when he was taken down by an explosion. Doctors had to amputate a portion of one of Quilty’s arms, and part of one leg.

  “He is really battling infection, so he has a very high fever. He is still in critical condition,” said Raisa Marshall, Quilty’s neighbor.

• A MEMORABLE MEMORIAL DAY – KarlfromNH.com Weekly Columns
  On October 1st, 2006 after being in Iraq for just six weeks, Scott was struck by a roadside bomb while on patrol. He was a platoon leader, 30 men, and he had trained at Fort Drum in Watertown, New York. They were members of the 10th Mountain Division, a Combat Infantry Unit. At the tender age of 26, Scott was to lose a leg and an arm. He was lucky to have survived at all. Flown first to Germany, and then later to Walter Reed, he is still in rehabilitation there. Not once, through any of this ordeal, did he complain or regret his service. His family stood by him for months as he underwent over 15 surgeries. Skin grafts, closing of wounds, countless procedures undoubtedly painful beyond reason, and still never even a hint of “poor me”.
• Does the board wish to help out? – Viper Alley – Dodge Viper Forum
  Neighbors are reaching out to help the family of an Army soldier from Francestown who was seriously injured in Iraq.First Lt. Scott Quilty was on foot patrol near Baghdad last week when he was taken down by an explosion.

  Doctors had to amputate a portion of one of Quilty’s arms, and part of one leg.”He is really battling infection, so he has a very high fever. He is still in critical condition,” said Raisa Marshall, Quilty’s neighbor.

  Quilty is now at Walter Reed Medical Center. His mother and father have rushed to his side. Quilty’s mother quit her job at a New Hampshire Inn, anticipating his need for care when he returns home.”It’s time for the community to step up.

  It’s time for the community to take responsibility, help take the burden off of Janet and Scott’s shoulders so that they can focus on their son, not worry about the electrical bill,” said Marshall.Marshall decided to help by writing a compelling letter outlining financial needs.

  The letter was emailed to dozens of peo

• GI SPECIAL 4J5 – 5/10/06
  Francestown Soldier Injured In Iraq

  Lt. Scott Quilty, 26, a UNH graduate, had his right arm amputated below the elbow and his right leg removed below the knee.

  Oct. 4, 2006 By STEPHEN BEALE, Union Leader Correspondent

  Lieutenant Scott Quilty, a native of Francestown, was injured in Iraq Sunday night when an improvised explosive device was detonated while he was on a dismounted patrol with the Army platoon he led.

  As a result of his injuries, Quilty, 26, had his right arm amputated below the elbow and his right leg removed below the knee, according to his father, R. Scott Quilty, who said he had not been told where in Iraq the attack had occurred.

  “He had only been there six weeks and they have been moving him around,” Quilty said today in an interview. “He didn’t have any permanent station at the time.”

  Quilty said that his son was initially taken to a hospital northwest of Iraq and then transported to a military medical facility in Germany on Monday. He is scheduled to arrive a

• U.S. President George W. Bush Visits Walter Reed Army Medical Center | Article from Getty Images (by Event) Individuals | HighBeam Research
• Francestown soldier injured in Iraq
  Lieutenant Scott Quilty, a native of Francestown, was injured in Iraq Sunday night when an improvised explosive device was detonated while he was on a dismounted patrol with the Army platoon he led.
• Shindig benefits injured GI’s family
  Go back about a month ago, for instance, and put yourself in the shoes of Scott and Janet Quilty, well-known residents of the tiny Monadnock village of Francestown. Early one Monday morning, some of that dreaded news found them: Their son, Army First Lt. Scott Quilty, 26, a college scholar who’d gone to Iraq just six weeks before, had been seriously injured when a roadside booby trap blew up his platoon.
• Survivor Corps US Program Update
  Last week was a busy one for the Survivor Corps US Program. On August 18th and 19th, Survivor Corps hosted a round table discussion for organizations serving the recovery and reintegration needs of US Veterans. Participants discussed the value of connecting newly returned service members and veterans with other veterans who had been through the same experience for support. This type of relationship helps both individuals to overcome traumatic experiences and participate in community.
• A Day in the Life of President Bush (with the troops at Walter Reed): 3-30-07
  A Day in the Life of President Bush (with the troops at Walter Reed): 3-30-07
• The long road back for a wounded warrior
  Scott Quilty has always been a leader who shows us how to beat our own doubts
• Hosted by Siteleader.com
  (tags: ping.fm)
• Roger Wolfson: Why Obama Supporters Need to Do More than Vote
  (tags: ping.fm)

Zach Goldfarb wrote a great post over at the Washington Post and popped me an email to see if I had any comment on it. I did! The article was posted on Friday last and is called TechPost: Washington’s Twin Tech Towns. My comment starts right below the following video:

I attended the Spank party for Robert Scoble and Gary Vaynerchuk because I wanted to hang out with Robert and Gary.

I really must remind the reader that this is what the gathering was, a small get-together that mushroomed into a big event.

Unlike the Pulver Breakfasts or PodCamps, this gathering started as the ultimate cult-of-personality fest — even I popped there to meet THE Robert Scoble — and to meet folks I have known online, on Twitter, on Facebook, and in the blogosphere, for almost ten years!

Then it became an amazing schmooze-fest! I not only got to meet the Scobleizer and Mr. Wine Library TV but I met a dozen people I had only known virtually online!

I am very pleased to see things like this happen spontaneously in DC. It was fun, playful, generous, and I got to connect to people I had met a couple weeks prior at Geoff Livingston’s BlogPotomac such as the amazing and enthusiastic Shana Glickfield.

I must rush to mention that there were very few PR and marketing folks. There was the lovely Rachelle Lacroix from Fleishman-Hillard and a couple others — this was a group of people who were hard core geeks and nerds and programmers and developers and all the most choice horse meat in the world of entrepreneurs and programmers.

I may have read the crowd wrong, but we were all there for an audience with A-list blogger Robert Scoble and A-list video blogger, Gary Vaynerchuk.

I am still giddy that Gary Vaynerchuk recognized me from across the room and that Robert Scoble bragged to his friends that we had finally met after knowing each other online for close to 8 years.

I hope there are more of these!

Chris Abraham, Abraham Harrison
http://www.chrisabraham.com

I have had too many Big Slices and Jumbo Slices for my own good, generally after a night of drinking up in Adams Morgan, Washington, DC.  Well, I always assumed the Jumbo Slice was a variation but it is an official regional pizza style! Huzzah! At least according to A List of Regional Pizza Styles via digg

While this one sounds like it’s merely a style based on size, I’ve seen arguments for it in the comments (here and here) and over on Boing Boing.

While I’m not sure it’s going to be a widely recognized style, It’s in the interest of Slice readers to know about it, even if it, so …

Yes, the jumbo slice of D.C. is mainly known for its size. There are many competing places offering this style. The link to the article below tells about the development of the jumbo slice, the competing claims of who has the “First Oldest Original Jumbo Slice,” a laboratory-based nutritional analysis, and the fact that people only eat it when they are drunk.

Jumbo Slice Lore of D.C. [Washington City Paper]

Here’s the Washington City Paper Article (and, it is totally exactly like this):

When bars close on a Saturday night in Adams Morgan, cops usually can gauge the impending mayhem by the length of the line at Pizza Mart.

On a night in mid-October, the unruly column forms in front of the pizzeria right on cue, at 2:45 a.m., just after most bartenders have shouted their last call. Never mind that it’s the first cold weekend of the season, or that the nightlife district along 18th Street NW seems filled to only half-capacity tonight. Just about everyone on the strip has come here to bump elbows and jostle himself one step closer to a single slice. It’s so tight that served customers have to make their exit with their slices over their heads, negotiating them like clumsy waiters.

Amid the catcalls and the laughter come the night’s first genuine fighting words.

“You bitch!”

And the rejoinder: “You ho!”

The crowd forms a circle. A formidable young woman in a blue tank top lunges at her braided foe, and the pair go tumbling onto a sidewalk strewn with greasy paper plates and leftover pizza crusts. Some patrons break out of the line altogether to get a better view, and ecstatic men shout whatever catfight clichés pop into their heads.

“Rip her shirt off!” screeches an overjoyed meathead, his right hand pumping the air in a fist, his left forearm cradling a slice of pizza.

As the swaying throng bumps up against cars parked along the sidewalk, a man in a teal Mitsubishi decides it’s time to get his sporty ride out of harm’s way. He is blocked by revelers who are hanging out in the street. First, he nudges the riffraff with his front bumper. Then, unwisely, he decides to lay on his horn. Someone cocks a slice of pizza back to his shoulder and hurls it, like a circus clown in a pie fight, clipping the rear wheel well on the driver’s side. The driver brakes hard, thinks better of it, and then moves along.

Back on the sidewalk, a volunteer referee has managed to tear the women apart. But the circle hasn’t broken up just yet; now two dudes are swapping unintelligible insults and throwing wild haymakers. It’s not even 3 a.m.

There are two easy ways to find yourself in the middle of an early-morning slugfest at Pizza Mart: Hit on someone else’s significant other, or try to cut in line for pizza.

After all, owner Chris Chishti’s crew isn’t serving up just any kind of slice. His renowned “jumbo slice,” a greasy slab that requires two paper plates to handle, runs nearly a foot-and-a-half long, and weighs in just shy of a pound. Novices at the counter often have to ask how to go about eating such a beast. As any jumbo-slice veteran will tell them, you just fold it like the morning newspaper and go to work.

In the five or so years Chishti’s been dishing out his trademark, it’s become a staple for late-night bargoers who are looking to coat their stomachs before the long cab ride back to the ’burbs. As for the Tijuana-cockfight atmosphere, one can’t help but notice that the excess commotion merely reflects the excess of Chishti’s slices.

But they weren’t always so monstrous. In fact, when the Pakistan native opened his modest carryout in 1997, he had no intention of stretching his pies far beyond their initial 18-inch diameter. That is, until one of his neophyte cooks left behind a mangled dough ball after a busy night in 1999.

When Chishti strolled into his shop the next morning, he figured the misshapen mound was unusable. But then he took a fresh dough ball from another tray. “What I did, I took that dough ball and put it with the other dough ball,” says the mustachioed Chishti, clapping together his cupped hands to illustrate the epiphany. He kneaded the oversized ball, dropped it on a baking screen, and sent it through his conveyer oven dressed with cheese and sauce.

What came out the other end was jumbo indeed, and its creator saw no reason to stop there: “I said, ‘Let’s go bigger.’”

Three different pizza shops on the main drag of 18th Street now serve the city’s famous jumbo slice. Each proprietor asserts his own form of jumbo-slice originality:

•Chishti, owner of Pizza Mart: “I’m a pizza maker. I was calling mine the jumbo slice. Then he went over there and starting calling his the jumbo slice.” “He” refers to Jawed Khan, owner of Pizza Napoli.

•Khan: “We came in with the biggest slice.”

•John Nasir, owner of Pizza Boli’s: “I don’t know how you can ‘invent’ something….Maybe [Chishti] took the idea from one of our stores.”

As the first cook on the block, Chishti stakes the only legitimate claim. He was the first pizza maker on the block to widen his pie beyond 20 inches, and he also bestowed the now-famous moniker on his peculiar slice. But his brainchild has been hijacked over the years—by his former pizza associates, no less—so the genial Chishti gets a bit prickly over the issue of jumbo-slice legitimacy.

“You don’t need a coat and a tie to make pizzas,” says Chishti, arguing that his competitors are businessmen rather than cooks. He says a secret recipe for his jumbo slice accounts for a taste superior to the other pizzas on 18th Street. “I’ve been doing this for 23 years—that’s my experience.”

The most visible spat unfolded last year, when Nasir, owner of the 75-store Pizza Boli’s chain and a former business partner of Chishti’s, greenlighted one of his franchises to open just three doors up the street from Pizza Mart. The franchisee, Kerry Guneri, made the jumbo slice his featured product. He and Chishti quickly found themselves in the middle of a neon-sign war:

•March 2003: Guneri opens his Pizza Boli’s. He installs a neon “Jumbo Slice” sign in the window on the southern side of his store. It’s facing the Pizza Mart, where Chishti’s window holds a mere plastic “Jumbo Slice” sign.

•July 2003: Guneri compounds the insult by installing two additional neon signs. These read “Original Jumbo Slice.” Chishti decides to respond the very same day Guneri’s new signs go up. He calls Xin Guan Signs near Chinatown, Guneri’s supplier, and orders a neon sign that reads “Real Original Jumbo Slice.”

•July 2003: Guneri tells the Washington City Paper (“Pie Fight,” 7/25/03) he’s through installing the neon signs, which cost about $700 apiece. “This place is lit up like a whorehouse as it is,” he says.

•August 2003: Chishti installs a final neon sign, designed by one of his regular customers on a piece of scrap paper. It reads “First Oldest Original Jumbo Slice.”

Anyone who bothers to parse the vying shops’ respective strings of adjectives surely would see that Chishti invented the jumbo slice. But what escaped both proprietors was the fact that nobody cares. In reality, many self-proclaimed jumbo fans couldn’t tell you whether they’d eaten a slice from Pizza Mart or Pizza Boli’s the night before. It’s like trying to remember whether you stopped at an Arby’s or a Hardee’s on a road trip.

When Khan, once an employee of Chishti’s, opened up the rival Pizza Napoli just down the street from Pizza Mart in late 1999, he knew the game wasn’t about creating a special sauce or even serving a marginally better pizza. It was about making a bigger slice.

“They had an 18-inch pie and then went to a 22-inch,” Khan says of Pizza Mart. “[But] we came in here and started with a 30-inch. That was the biggest.” Chishti disputes that Khan’s pie was ever larger, but the point is clear: Size trumps everything else.

In spite of Chishti’s talk of a secret recipe for his jumbo slice, the customer demands only that his belly be full in the end. The gluttony imperative was lost on Bill Thomas, owner of the Blue Room club on 18th Street, and proprietor of the now-defunct Kung Fu Pizza, which once occupied a portion of the same building. When he opened his kitschy, martial-arts-themed pizzeria in 2000, Thomas and his team had spent months working on recipes for gourmet pies, even experimenting with spring water in their dough.

“We actually thought quality would sell, and we were stupid,” says Thomas. Kung Fu Pizza shut its doors after a four-month run. The eatery stayed open late and attracted a small following from the wait staffs of surrounding bars, but the Adams Morgan party crowd never took to the Asian finger food and modestly sized pizza. “At the end of the day, it was all about the big slice,” he says.

When your slice’s supremacy is predicated entirely on size, the only way to improve it is to make it larger. So Chishti has expanded the diameter of his pie at least five times since he opened, finally arriving at the 32-incher he cooks today.

The pies on 18th Street have stopped expanding only because there’s no larger pizza oven on the market. Khan has considered buying an oven designed primarily for large cakes; Chishti, who’s already upgraded his oven once, has started cheating with the one he has, sending his pies over the burners stretched in one dimension. This method results in slightly larger, if oval, pizzas.

Such evolution has made the slices unwieldy—and not just for the customer. Both Chishti and Khan grew their slices right out of the delivery business. Chishti decided years ago that he wouldn’t even try to bring his No. 1 product to your front door. “You put it in the box and send it, by the time it gets to the customer it’s soggy,” he says. “We don’t want that to happen to our jumbo.”

Khan, however, was more determined. He ordered custom cardboard boxes that measured nearly 3 feet across, just so he could deliver the entire jumbo pie in its original form, rather than stack the slices on top of one another in a single box. When the boxes buckled under the sheer weight of the pies, sending all the grease to the center, he looked into heavy-duty cardboard boxes that cost three times as much as the pizza itself. He even special-ordered an insulated, jumbo-size delivery sheath; it could have doubled as a toddler’s sleeping bag.

But in the end, most of his drivers couldn’t even fit the pies into their cars.

Khan had to scrap the delivery venture after just a year. Which was fine with him, because all the action comes in off the street.

Like any overhead-conscious carryout proprietor in D.C., Chishti likes to keep the inside of his business spare. The eatery includes a handful of stools and a pair of steel counters, but there are no chairs and no tables. No customer bathrooms. No artwork. And certainly no nutritional-information charts.

Even though your average clubhopper loves to crack a joke about fat content as she paints her face with tomato sauce on 18th Street, she doesn’t really want to know just how much energy is stored in that jumbo slice.

The Washington City Paper sent three cheese jumbo slices, one from each of the jumbo-pizza makers, to the ABC Research Corp., a food-testing laboratory in Gainesville, Fla. Calculated on the basis of the lab’s calories-per-gram analysis, the single slices from both Pizza Mart and Pizza Boli’s soared over the 1,000-calorie threshold.

Pizza Boli’s trounced the field with a whopping 1,309 calories, and Pizza Mart settled for silver with a respectable 1,117. That’s roughly equivalent to two Big Macs, or, for active women and most men, about half the calories the U.S. Department of Agriculture recommends for an entire day’s intake, let alone as a Friday-evening nightcap. By comparison, Pizza Napoli’s slice made for light fare at a modest 917 calories, but it weighed significantly less than the competitors’.

None of the slices necessarily jibe with today’s low-carbohydrate diet fad, either. Each sample stored more than 115 grams of carbs alone, including the comparably dainty slice from Pizza Napoli, which had a disproportionately high carb rate. The slice from Pizza Boli’s again led the pack in fat content; its roughly 53 grams just edges out Pizza Mart’s 47.

The growth of the jumbo slice may have been foiled by the undersized ovens, but not before it became the city’s lone culinary icon, the District’s own take on the supersize phenomenon. It was an unlikely turn, given that the jumbo slice has nothing to do with America’s growing waistline. That petite, Bally’s-going little tart who comes pinballing out of the club, dying to get her hands on a slice of pizza that could probably be wrapped around her torso—she’s not the same woman buying the latest meal deal at McDonald’s four times a week.

No, the jumbo slice sprang from the very same beast that sustains it: drunkenness. Any jumbo-slice owner will tell you that the majority of his weekly sales are made over the course of about eight hours on the weekend.

“Sometimes people throw a slice on you,” says an exasperated Chishti, who tries to clock in exclusively during the daylight hours now. “They’re drunk, they fight with each other, they argue… Sometimes you’re serving pizza to guys who are so drunk they’re hard to handle.” In a painful show of irony, Chishti was once the target of a flying jumbo slice, hurled by a loaded patron who said the pizza was too large to eat.

There’s an old joke that says everybody’s eaten a jumbo slice but nobody remembers it. The joke gets told quite often, mainly because it’s true. Most people, when they consider the sheer size and uncontrollable grease, can’t stomach the thought of eating a jumbo slice during the day. Drop an open napkin on a jumbo slice and it disappears.

The sober and sensible tend to stay clear of the big slice and, for that matter, the 18th Street pizzerias altogether. Over the course of a weekday lunch hour in Adams Morgan, the staff at Pizza Mart might sell just a few slices. But once the bars close and everybody’s sauced, the jumbo becomes the centerpiece of 18th Street’s pre-dawn circus. And priced at $4 or less, it’s a perfectly affordable, even expendable, toy. That’s why so many slices wind up in the street, on top of cars, and, often, in people’s faces. It’s an insane spectacle for a neighborhood where many people still beg for change each day.

“The funny thing is, now people know about them,” says Adams Morgan resident Mindy Moretti, baffled by the jumbo’s popularity. “You see people taking pictures of other people eating them. They’re almost a…tourist attraction.”

And like any tourist magnet, these slices require their own police protection. Officers Andrew Zabavsky and Dustin Roeder, two D.C. bike cops assigned to Adams Morgan, have made the area in front of Pizza Mart something of a default post during their weekend-night shifts. Most cops would rather handle parking complaints all night than work a strip full of obnoxious, drunken brawlers, but Zabavsky and Roeder have staked it out as their beat. Riding mountain bikes, they spend much of their night dodging drunks who stagger out into the street.

“Most of the fights tend to gravitate around the pizza joints,” says Zabavsky. “Some days it’s off the hook, one after another after another.” It doesn’t matter where a scuffle has its roots—out in the street, inside a club, or way back in childhood—the fuse often gets lit in the jumbo-slice line. Roeder talks about the pizza servers as if they have the most treacherous job in town: “With the bars, at least they can send a bouncer out to flag us down for help. But the pizza guys, they’re pinned in back there.”

The cops have collared many bruisers on 18th Street, but it’s often the less violent jumbo-slice incidents that stick out in their minds. “Craziest thing I ever saw with the jumbo slice,” starts Zabavsky: “This guy up near McDonald’s drops his slice right on the ground—cheese-down and everything. He picks it right up and starts eating it like nothing happened. He’s smiling.”

On a Friday night, the sauce on your Pizza Mart jumbo slice comes out of what’s commonly referred to as a “garbage can.” There’s nothing necessarily unsanitary about this storage method; it merely indicates the massive amount of pizza that will be moved in a single night.

The volume of cheese is similarly industrial. On a Friday afternoon in mid-October, Pizza Mart receives a shipment of roughly 900 pounds of a mozzarella-provolone mix. That’s nearly half a ton.

“And I’ll probably be back on Monday,” sighs 55-year-old Thomas Carroll, a deliveryman for Nino’s Pizza Dough, sweating as he schleps the 30 boxes with a handtruck. Asked if that’s an extraordinary amount of cheese, Carroll laughs. “You see all them boxes?” he asks, gesturing to about 1,500 stacked and bundled pizza boxes on his truck, each destined to hold just a single slice. “Those are for [Pizza Mart], too.” Of the 40 or so regular deliveries Carroll makes, only a Maryland pizzeria takes in more product than Pizza Mart. And right behind Pizza Mart on the list is the Naval Academy.

Inside the Pizza Mart kitchen, there are no chef hats, no high-flung dough, and no handlebar mustaches. The rush-hour spectacle is more a lesson in ergonomics than in Italian culinary tradition. This is where, on a busy weekend night, an assembly line of cooks will manufacture upward of 800 pounds of pizza in a matter of hours. There’s nothing romantic about the process:

One guy takes a gooey dough ball off a plastic tray. Tonight there are about 80 dough balls ready to go for the late-night blitz. He kneads and stretches the dough to its 32-inch diameter, drops it on a screen, and passes it to the next cook.

This guy dresses the dough. He ladles his sauce from the plastic can with what looks to be a family-size salad bowl, and he sprinkles mozzarella-provolone mix from packages pulled from 30-pound boxes. When the pie’s ready, it makes its slow crawl through the oven on a conveyer belt, out the other side to the last cook.

This guy cuts the pie, places the slices onto aluminum-foil-covered plates, and drops them onto a metal tray with a thud. He needs to fold the bottom third of each slice back onto its upper portion just to make sure it stays on the plate. “Sometimes, during the day, they’ll say, ‘Oh, I don’t want this. You folded it. That’s no good,’” says Munir Butt, working the register on a Friday night. “But not right now.”

Finally, the slices go under the heat lamp. From start to finish, the journey lasts less than 10 minutes. Pies ride on through the oven, shoulder to shoulder, throughout the night.

Out front, three workers serve the slices and man the register. They’ll handle the slices with metal tongs, in order to keep the grease off their hands and clothes, and they’ll bang the counter with their tongs when they’re ready for the next customer. They work three, four, sometimes five people deep in the line, just to keep up with the 2 a.m. rush. A tiny fraction of the slices—maybe 2 percent—are so mutilated that they don’t make the cut. Of the slices they do serve, some look as if they’ve been sat on. Regardless, every slice will be pounced on.

“The pizza guys really have cultivated this post-nocturnal feeding frenzy,” says Scott Bennett, owner of the newly opened Amsterdam Falafelshop on 18th Street. “The way I see it, when the tide comes in, all boats float. God bless the pizza guys.”

But no one in tonight’s kitchen, nor its owner, will be getting rich off the jumbo slice. In favorable weather, a jumbo joint might sell anywhere between 600 and 1,000 slices on a strong weekend night; priced between $3.50 and $4 a pop, that might bring in somewhere between $2,000 and $4,000 in an evening. But after covering rent, ingredients, and the pay for seven staffers or more on the busy shifts, the owners will be left with pocket change on each slice.

So if you can’t pack more weekends into a year, you may as well pack more pizzerias into the city. Nasir, for one, says he may be serving his big boy out of a new Pizza Boli’s on U Street NW by the end of this month. Khan has already started dishing his own monstrosity out of his kebab house, also on U Street.

But Khan sees no reason to contain the jumbo slice within the District. Early next year, he expects to open a pizzeria in Florida. After researching locales in South Beach and Key West, he says he’s just about settled on the City Walk area of Orlando.

“It will be all about the jumbo,” he promises.

The mess left behind after the weekend pizza craze has put the jumbo slice and its purveyors at the very top of the Adams Morgan NIMBY list. Moretti, a member of the local advisory neighborhood commission, says an uncanny wind tunnel carries greasy paper plates up 18th Street, across Columbia Road, and all the way to her Adams Mill Road apartment building on gusty weekend mornings.

“Several of us have joked about going and collecting all the paper plates, putting them in a trash can, finding out where the [pizzeria] owners live, and dumping them in their yards,” says Moretti.

When bars and clubs become a nuisance, residents can force owners into line by threatening to withhold their support for a liquor-license renewal. But when it comes to the pizza joints, none of which serve liquor, the residents hold no bureaucratic aces up their sleeves. Essentially, the pizza places reap all the benefits of a nightlife business without being held to the same standards. “We can hold up against bars because of the [alcoholic-beverage] commission,” says Bryan Weaver, also a neighborhood commissioner. “But there’s no Shitty Sauce Commission where we can go and say, ‘Hey, these guys are making bad pizza.’”

The commission has supported a neighborhood liquor-license moratorium since it was introduced in 2000. Some members, resigned to fielding cheese-and-crust complaints at each monthly meeting, say they would be willing to place a similar moratorium on the jumbo, if only it were possible.

“Our hands are tied as far as the big slice goes,” says Moretti.

The public-health implications of the jumbo are on full display on a recent Sunday. In the hours before dawn, the mess on the sidewalk in front of Pizza Mart forces squeamish passers-by onto their tiptoes, hopping from one small patch of visible concrete to the next. Greasy plates and pizza boxes, too many to count, blanket the sidewalk. Maimed slices sit on top of cars and inside flowerpots. Fat pigeons peck their way through tomato sauce and cheese.

The inside of Pizza Mart looks the same as the outside, only no pigeons. At 4:30 a.m., cashier Butt shuts off the neon, locks the front door, and mouths an apology through the window to a few tardy stragglers hoping to get a slice.

The last jumbo customer of the night, now satiated, looks over both shoulders before dropping his empty pizza box between two cars parked at the curb. What’s one more bit of cardboard added to the mess? He takes a final sip from his soda, leans over, and places the empty cup on top of the box.

On the sidewalk, a bored bouncer gets his kicks by shining a flashlight on the rats that have come out to feast on more pizza than they can handle. These rats live a good life, and this is their prime feeding hour—a short window of time after the heavy foot traffic has died down but before the sprawling slices have been scooped up. Aside from the bouncer, their only company is a lonely sot dry-heaving beside a parking meter, his chin covered in spittle.

Butt says a homeless guy agreed to clean up the storefront after close tonight for 10 bucks, but by 5 a.m. it looks as if he’s a no-show. As usual, this morning’s pizza detail will fall to just one man: Anwar Tate, a 29-year-old Department of Public Works employee, who works his way up 18th Street every Saturday and Sunday morning armed with a metal rake, a heavy-duty shovel, and a ride-on vacuum. Tate’s chipper today, and he’ll need to be. He’s got only two hours to knock off the entire block before Adams Morgan’s early risers come out expecting a pizza-free street.

“You try to get it off the sidewalk as quick as you can,” he says, handling the slices with either the shovel or his gloved hands. “It’s just part of the job.”

There’s plenty of pizza refuse beyond Tate’s jurisdiction. Slices have been flung into the yards of residents along Euclid Street NW and throughout Adams Morgan. Paper plates and napkins dot a path all the way over the Duke Ellington Bridge and up to the Woodley Park Metro station, over half a mile away. And because plenty of slices found their way into cabs, surely some of the 800 jumbos dished out at Pizza Mart have traveled over the Potomac into Virginia by now.

Butt says Pizza Mart, despite brisk business, didn’t have a single fight last night. But when he turned his back for just a second during the blitz, some asshole made off with the tip jar. It was only $15 or $20, to be split among the staff at close. “Not much,” he acknowledges. “But you work hard for it.”CP

I was going around the Internet and the blogosphere for work looking for folks who are using ooVoo and stumbled upon Adrianne and her article, The AfroSphere is making headlines, and ooVoo is keeping us connected. The article is all about how the members of the AfroSpear think tank keep connected online using ooVoo and I think that’s cool and what ooVoo should be used for.

I asked about the AfroSpear story and Adrianne popped me the AfroSpear history:

The origins of “AfroSpear” started from a discussion a group of us had in regards to developing a community of African/Black progressive minded bloggers. From further discussions it developed into an idea to create a diasporic-wide think tank type blog comprising of 6 bloggers: 3 women and 3 men. The vision was that it would focus on discussing issues, exchanging ideas and creating strategies, with the objective of developing concrete and viable solutions to tackle the concerns relating to those of African descent worldwide.

The 6 we initially started with had developed a relationship by exchanging ideas and having discussions and respectful debates on each others blogs. We didn’t always agree, but what we had in common was our love for our community and a commitment to the progress of those of African descent, both near and far. We came from 4 different countries on 3 continents. We brought a variety of experiences, perspectives, ideas, beliefs and values in an effort to foster understanding, wisdom, knowledge and strength.

So we are currently and forever will be a work in progress. Standing still is not an option! When one stands still, you actually start moving backwards, you get left behind as others move forward. We don’t claim to have all the answers but we are searching. We want to be a part of, connected to and add our collective voice to the variety of other Afrocentric/Black individuals, cells, conglomerations and collectives out in the AfroSphere. To the best and the brightest for the progress of our people.

And to meet the members of AfroSpear you can explore Adrianne’s blogroll:

• Agloco-Own the Internet
• Black Women in Europe Award winning blog
• Black Women in Europe Shop
• Black Women in Europe Social Network
• Blog Rush
• Christopher Plantener
• Dynamic
• Facebook-JobsinStockholm
• FortyPlusTwo
• Gary Reid
• JobsinStockholm.com Blog
• JobsinStockholm.com For English speaking professionals
• JobsinStockholm.com Store
• Louis Armstrong Curriculum Guide
• MySocial Bio
• MySpace-JobsinStockholm
• ooVoo World
• Robert Wesley Branch Agency
• Squidoo-Black Women in Europe
• Squidoo-Expats in Sweden
• Squidoo-JobsinStockholm
• The Rock Consulting Group
• Women in the African Diaspora
• Women in the African Diaspora Social Network
• ZN

I am amazed. I am speechless. I am honored. I am pleased. I am embarrassed. No matter what the rush of feelings I may experience in response to the kindest of words expressed on my behalf by Mr. Dan Hull in Our Wunderkind in Berlin, the most meaningful thing Dan reminded me of was that “under 40″ is still young. Via Chris Abraham Online.

One often forgets that when surrounded by Überwunderkind who are “under 30.” Thank you, Dan, my mentor. All I can say in response is that we really should trade jobs — that was a gorgeous bit of publicity, mate. Are you sure I need to attend Law School? Either way, please check out What About Clients?, Dan’s “blawg” — law blog.

Dan, I hope you’re attending New Year’s Renaissance Weekend in Charleston. I would love to buy you a car for that amazing testimonial. Or, maybe just a beer — you have a new car.

Before coming to NLADA I received a Jury summons in the mail. Not being worldly enough to know that there was such a massive difference between petit jury and grand jury, I really didn’t make much of it. It would be a couple days at most, and I am sure I would be passed over. I was, after all, working for an association known for its position helping poor folks find good legal assistance. What prosecutor would want to put up with such a loose cannon?

The answer to that is the Grand Jury system of Washington, D.C., which doesn’t care much about who or what you are in the world, just that you are eligible. Unlike most juries, the Grand Jury is an investigative group, voting not on sentencing or penalties, but the legitimacy of a case to proceed from the US Attorney’s Office to the Court and Jury.

And since there are four Grand Juries convened at overlapping start- and end-dates, each with twenty-three Jurors, only 16 of whom are needed to form a quorum allowing a vote, the system can afford to be draconian. By draconian, I mean to say that no matter how much I hinted as to my compassion and passion for the equal service under the law for the poor and indigent, it was all for naught; in fact, I could have well twitched wildly and hinted that I was receiving messaged from Betelgeuse and it would have really mattered little. Since there are so many, attrition and poor voting have been assumed and I was sadly too square to really subvert such a stalwart system.

It took three weeks for my fellow Jurors and I to realize that our job as Grand Jurists was not to do what the Prosecuting Attorneys told us to do. From the beginning of our five-week commitment, we were told that the Assistant United States Attorneys were our legal counsel and there to help us decide the fate of upwards of 125 lives: would the case be indicted and end up in court or would the case be thrown out. We were never advised that the personal lives of anyone we indicted would never be the same again; we were never warned that these private investigations would in fact become public record if we made a choice to pursue the case in the courts. We were constantly being reinforced that it was in fact about the victims and about the case; we were insured that our decisions were a formality and were an indictment in fact made against an innocent man, the court would be able to discern the truth and justice would be upheld. The innocent would go free and the guilty would pay their price to society. All we had to do was decide that there was a possibility that there might have been a viable crime committed and that was good enough because it was not our job to deal with sentencing or particulars.

I indicted a majority of the cases we investigated during the first few weeks. It took two weeks for us to become conversant in the acronyms and lingo of criminal law. For example, ADW/WA is short of Assault with a Dangerous Weapon While Armed and PWID-PCP is short for Possession With Intent to Distribute PCP. During the last couple weeks I became better at recognizing the different moods of the AUSAs.

They were all rock stars, each with his or her own stage presence. One female attorney showboated and I referred to her as a pit bull. She seemed indefatigable as he worked the system hard, making sure her cases received priority attention; she was a real rock star, but one Jurist made the observation that she seemed to be putting is on: she was neither our ally nor our counsel, she was a state employee trying to move cases through the system past nameless, faceless Grand Juries, none of which really knew what was going on. It seemed to me that over time, the system has really come to forget about the true nature of what the Grand Jury is there for. Funnily enough, I was told by the Liaison to the Grand Jurists that the Attorneys preferred the mature Grand Juries much more than the greenhorns. That sounded plausible to me since there would be less frustrating hand-holding and remediation. It seemed true enough until I saw how we voted over time. As the end of our duty approached, we challenged the AUSAs over details, the detectives over their credibility, the witnesses over their consistency, and oftentimes kept the interrogations focused and on-track.

My Grand Jury was a fast track Grand Jury. We were given priority to homicide, sexual abuse, childhood sexual abuse, and domestic cases. By the end of the five weeks, my fellow Jurists and I were rubbed raw. We watched as other Grand Juries planned parties for the last days, a two hour lunch. We were so burdened by the proceedings that we rejected the party and used our time to get the hell out of 555 4th Street, NW, and into small groups and away to lunch. Even our Secretary, who worked in a methadone clinic, started to burn out. I asked the court reporter how he was able to release the emotions of listening to so many worse-case-scenarios; firstly, he said he ran ran ran, secondly, he said that the rotation for most of the court reporters and attorney’s was pretty short. Even so, there were lifers. So I started going to the gym for a couple hours every night.

I wanted to explode; I wanted my innocence back! The streets were darker, the news stories less gray scale and more black and white, and my sweet liberal nature was starting to calcify, chip and crack. I am not na’ve and have been a backpacker and photographer through many of the world’s cities; even so, I felt a lot less safe in my own DC than I had felt before. Now, it is less severe since I have been sharing my feelings, fears, and some of my venting with friends and family. I am one of the lucky ones. What happens to the witnesses after their usefulness is expired’ What happens to them in their community, in their family, and in their home’ What services, support, and trust can one find after taking upon one’s shoulders Herculean task of standing up to your abuser or the abuser of someone in your community; what support for the witness who comes to the courthouse to defend the reputation of an accused when he knows that there is little chance of it mattering. I can see now why so many communities have become insular: it doesn’t seem like the system is there to prevent crime or to protect them, it merely serves to clean up many of the messes that the system enabled in the first place. A lot of amputations happen, it seems to me, that were unnecessary were the limbs better cared for.

Although some of the Attorneys have excellent bedside manner with the witnesses, nobody thought to make sure there were boxes of Kleenex beside the witness stands. As Sergeant-at-Arms, I rushed downstairs to the convenience store before the first week and bought a large box that lasted the entire five-weeks.

Even though I am not at liberty to discuss any of what transpired in the secret investigative hearings, I will say that despite what Hollywood feeds us, one punch or one bullet or one beating usually doesn’t kill a man. The human body is amazingly ‘ if not too ‘ resilient. Some of the physical, mental, and sexual abuse was so massively destructive that I almost wished some of these victims would have at least blacked out or passed on; but no, there I was in a room with someone who had in them something unexplainable. Some sort of vacancy; some sort of resignation that did not take the body but removed some sort of essential flame from the eyes.

When all was said and done, I recognized the Grand Jury system as something amazing and awful to experience on one level; on another level, it is too secret, it is too powerful, and it is essentially a bureaucratic system that has fallen into a rut. There was no reason why our Grand Jury had to field all of the violent cases and there was no reason why we couldn’t have spent a full day with a third party educator who might have been a better job at priming us than the attorneys who’s job it was to make a case against the accused. It was always US vs. Accused; their prime agenda never veered: get violent criminals off the street. At what cost? Justice?

Posted Jul 22, 2002 – 10:43 AM

After 30 years, in my opinion, Richard Dawkins’ book, The Selfish Gene, is just coming into its own. Via The Times Online and 3quarksdaily

“It is sobering to realise that I have lived nearly half my life with The Selfish Gene — for better, for worse. Over the years, as each subsequent book has appeared, publishers have sent me on tour to promote it. Audiences respond to the new book with gratifying enthusiasm, applaud politely and ask intelligent questions. Then they line up to buy, and have me sign . . . The Selfish Gene. That is a bit of an exaggeration. Some do buy the new book and, for the rest, my wife consoles me by arguing that people who newly discover an author will naturally tend to go back to his first book: having read The Selfish Gene, surely they’ll work their way through to the latest and (to its fond parent) favourite baby?”

“I would mind more if I could claim that The Selfish Gene had become severely outmoded and superseded. Unfortunately (from one point of view) I cannot. Details have changed and factual examples burgeoned mightily. But there is little in it that I would rush to unwrite now, or apologise for. Arthur Cain, late professor of zoology at Liverpool and one of my inspiring tutors at Oxford in the 1960s, described The Selfish Gene in 1976 as a “young man’s book???. He was deliberately quoting a commentator on AJ Ayer’s Language, Truth and Logic. I was flattered by the comparison, although I knew that Ayer had recanted much of his first book and I could hardly miss Cain’s pointed implication that I should, in the fullness of time, do the same.”

A reflection on a two-month sailing trip from Acapulco to Los Angeles on a 42-foot Jeanneau catamaran. Almost two-years-ago now.

My spiritual experience of sailing during Lent during my Jesus year birthday of 33 and all the important lessons and experience I have been lucky to have as a result. Although I am a member of the Vestry of Saint James’ and its currently both the most exciting time and my favorite time on the Church calendar, Lent, I responded to the call of my best friend Mark when he asked me to come to Mexico to help him complete his sail from Charleston, SC, to Los Angeles, CA.

I joined the sail on March 1, spent my birthday on the boat, and find myself stuck in Cabo San Lucas over a month later.

What I have realized is that sailing allows one to better understand the nature of God’s grace in my life. Little did I know that it would be as much help to me as it has been to him.

I had never sailed with Mark, even though he lives and works from the deck and cabin of a gorgeous yacht catamaran named Kinship II. I have never been much of a sailor and so much of my sailing enjoyment has been vicarious. It just never interested me and Mark never really pressed the issue.

A little over a month ago, Mark called me and told me that the crew of six he started with in South Carolina had started abandoning the vessel beginning at the first stop after a grueling trek from the Keys all the way to Central America, through the Panama Canal, and back up the Pacific coast of Mexico. The faithful remnant left in Acapulco because their money had run out and the time schedule had slipped and slipped and slipped, as sailing schedules are wont to do.

So, when Mark suggested that he would pay for me to fly to Acapulco to join the crew — him — I took this as one of those veiled manly calls for help which never really show either fear or desperation.

When you spend time with men’s men, you have to read between the lines. I was in Acapulco within five days. I might have hurt a relation with a client and leaned on my lovely friend Sarah a little too much, to say nothing of the strain on my new and wondrous relationship with Wendy, but it was Mark! The brother I never had.

We burnt two weeks moored off of the Club de Yates de Acapulco as most of the beatings that Kinship II had suffered on the long passage through the Gulf, along Central America, through the Panama Canal, and up along the Pacific coast were being healed by our angel, Gabriel, who took the time and the pride to get us up to ship shape.

I have been officially sailing the Pacific sea since the first day of Lent, 5 March. An equal time has been spent stuck in port and harbor as it has been sailing miles offshore; some of it has been gentle and awe-inspiring while other parts have been punishing and trying.

Although I have not officially given up anything for Lent save my job, I have been able to use the time to become more essential.

Things have been very difficult for me over the last year or so, at least since 9-11, but including the technology crash. Technology and the Internet is the basket I had been placing all of my eggs and I had been compensated very well for it.

During the last six months, thought, I have be grasping at straws, asking myself what I want to do with the rest of my life. Become a lawyer? Go to business school? Pursue a PhD?

I was stuck in a myopic infinite loop. My priorities, my goals, my desires, and my true wants and needs were befuddled and unclear. Sadly, I have unintentionally hurt people as they were caught in my personal panic as I desperately searched for my equilibrium while not giving myself either the time or the slack with which to find it.

On 8 March, in addition to everything else, I became 33, which to everyone I have spoken to at Saint James’ and elsewhere is my “Jesus year.” Allegedly, the age Jesus the Christ died for our sins. Lord knows this was renting space in my mind as the date approached. Lord knows that there was no way I could even remotely find the time or the money to be able to take this time to both help my friend and save myself. But there it was, and I am still sailing with a lot of help from my friends.

Sailing takes time, and it takes its own time which has nothing to do with either my desire or the requirements of society. The moment one becomes willful enough to disrespect the nature of the sea is the day something breaks. Its as simple as that and is kind of spooky at first. Easy as she goes. Cliche sentiment seem to reverberate on the sea. The 96-hour passages blur one into the other into one long day, and when the limits of my tolerance were reached I was rewarded with a pod of a hundred dolphins dancing in and out of my wake. Or a field of basking green sea turtles in the middle of the sea. Or a dense morning fog clearing to a double rainbow.

God can be very remedial in his lessons when you are sailing. He also protects fools and drunks and I am most certainly a fool at the very least. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction and Karma is direct, reciprocity is king on the sea. When I am tempted to be willful and push myself past either my abilities or my energy, I always either hurt myself or break something onboard. This is not a joke. It seems gentle — the sea always does — but it is life or death.

The lesson I have learned thus far is that there is a definite rhythm I have been blind to, within which everything works beautifully.

As a striking example, last week we were on route from Manzanillo to Cabo San Lucas and it was to be a milk run. Easily enough diesel to motor from where we were anchored at the Las Hadas Resort to where we were to moor in Cabo San Lucas. First impossibility: we ran out of diesel prematurely because the engine was detuned and was drinking the fuel quickly. So we ran out with just enough to bring us in to port when we finally made it to port, which was still 150 miles away.

That’s okay, we have a sailing catamaran. We sail easily in 5 knot winds. During the second day, the main sail halyard snaps at the block, at the top of the mast. That’s okay, we have a redundant halyard — which snaps four hours later! We string up the Genoa line and limp the rest of the way. Impossible, but normal I guess.

Things like this happen a lot. When we arrived at Cabo San Lucas, we could not find anyone who would climb the mast, until we ran into Sebastian and his family, from Vancouver, BC. He shimmied up the mast for free and we were back on schedule. We ran into many people like Seb along the way and the Cruiser community around the world is amazing generous.

Sartre was wrong, hell is not other people: grace is other people.

Every day of this trip has humbled me; every day has given me confidence. Not once have I felt humiliation and every day has been a celebration. The confidence not to fear what will happen next, to remain present and observant, to remain vigilant but not aggressive.

And I have been thriving and I am strong and worthy of supporting Captain Mark as his only crew and of protecting the delicate fiberglass exoskeleton Kinship II so that she is seaworthy and makes her voyage to Los Angeles on one pristine piece.

On the sea, nothing needs to be forced, nothing needs to be rushed; in fact, there are very few things that can be rushed. I have had to turn on the hourly chime on my wristwatch because I have experienced a couple of these 96-hour days. Time shrinks and expands. Being on watch exacerbates this experience. Time is relative in a practical sense as it can stretch or compress, and some nights I have been on a watch for what feels like an hour starting at 0100 and then the sky lightens and turns pink and the morning comes. Other times, I fight for wakefulness and after making a go of trying, I wake Mark and ask him to take the watch instead so that I can catch some sleep for a little while. This is too much to risk, too much to lose, if I were to try any harder and fall deep into an exhausted sleep leaving no one at all to keep an eye out for cruise ships or super liners.

What’s on the line is the safety of the boat — a quarter-million-dollar investment — and the safety of the crew. There is only one person, usually sleepy and bored, who takes watch and single-handedly keeps the fragile and absurdly delicate vessel going 8 knots out of the way of container ships moving at 25 knots. There is a feeling of trust, the kind of confidence-building experience that can easily undo damage done in the workaday world of corporate America, can rebuild the confidence and self-love that might have blossomed in simpler times. I know they did for me. On the sea, either alone or with a crew, one can renew one’s faith in oneself and others.

Post Enron, dot-com, 9-11, and Clinton, my world changed in significant ways. I am a pretty technologically-savvy fellow and when I graduated from GW in 1993, during a low point in employment and jobs, I became an Internet and web developer in addition to photography and writing. Although a student of literature at University, I didn’t choose graduate school right away but instead became part of the great excitement of the dot-com explosion. I have been using the Internet since a bet version of Mosaic; since I played with MacWeb, when I noodled with lynx. I am pre-Internet and as a teen I was part of the BBS culture. It was natural for me to join the excitement and during the 90s I didn’t explore graduate school or law school, but rather put all my eggs into the Internet economy. And I was rewarded for a time.

Recently, times have become tough and I have lost much of my confidence in my choices, what I have to offer, and in myself. Luckily, I have never lost my Faith.

While on Kinship II, Mark and I went over my life because I needed distance and clarity. I was able to note the five things that are most important to be in my life, and I am proud to say that I have four out of five of them in spades: A partner, my family, my friends, my spiritual life, and money.

I am told that there are so many rich Americans who suffer from a true lack in their lives. So many Americans who might have money and a partner, but lack friends, family, and spirit. Or have money and nothing else. I am reminded every day that in a conscious, present, spiritual life, money is the easiest to secure for many of us as it is the most valued. Surely, it can feel that way. There are days when I lose sight of all the things in my life for which I am amazingly grateful and focus on only the things I lack, in this case money. And then it is often a downward spiral, where lack begets lack and before I knew it, I find myself feeling not only like a loser but like the worse kind: the fellow who failed to live up to his potential. In these times, I lose sight that I have had money before and that I will have money again. Its easy when one lives in a small world — or a world, shrunk — to find oneself skewed: both in perspective and proportion.

But on the sea, its different. As a geek, I liken it to rebooting my desktop computer. Rebooting the PC is the secret we techies have for fixing most of the problems wrong with most desktop PCs. Most of the time, these slowdowns occur because there are too many things going on on the PC that the user is no longer aware of: memory leaks, infinite loops, crashed software. These things cannot fix themselves and most users cannot truly sense this chaos in any way short of system slowdown. Not all problems result in the blue screen of death, some just send the computer into a morass. A skilled technician can fix some of the problems from the keyboard or by using a piece of software as an elixir, but the simplest thing one can do to set everything right is to turn the machine off, wait a minute and then turn it back on. Reboot.

So as I sit in an Internet cafe in Cabo San Lucas, Baja California Sur, Mexico, wondering if I am spending Lent the way I should. Mexico is a traditionally catholic country, truly religious. I have not given up coffee, chocolate, or even beer; I am not attending church and I am three thousand miles away from my pew in my parish, Saint James’ Episcopal Church, Capitol Hill.

Yes, I am spending Lent better than I could have ever imagined, in my opinion. For all the fears, stresses, and anxieties I have been suffering under, I have had my head truly buzzing so that I couldn’t hear myself think clearly, to say nothing of the soft voice of my Faith.

On the boat, I have had time to think. At first, way too much time! I felt guilt and boredom; I felt like I needed to do something, needed to get back to the office to make sure everything was all right. After two weeks — yes, I buzzed for a fortnight — I started to relax. I felt my heart, my face, by body, and then my mind become more tranquil. On the boat, I have been getting a good lesson in Faith, in trust, and in moving with the flow as opposed to opposing it, striking against it. To force it makes it break; to avoid it doesn’t make it go away; to fear it doesn’t help. Whatever it is. To be completely honest, I have not felt so good about myself and what I have to offer in ten years. I feel like a tiger!

So I have done the most irresponsible thing imaginable in dropping everything and flying three thousand miles to help a friend by replacing his crew and becoming a sailor for what will be over six weeks. It would never have happened had the request come in any other form than what I perceived as a mayday, an SOS. But it did and I am here and I am changed. Does this mean that I will be doing this irresponsible thing again and again? Will I need to do this again in the same way, taking an unscheduled, selfish, and fool hardy escape again? Probably not I have learned so many things and the next time I become overwhelmed or lose faith in myself or my life experience and am myopic and suffused with fear, all I need to do is remember; or, be reminded. Quite possibly this very writing will be enough; if not, then Mark, my friends, my parish family, or you.

Instead of being changed into a bum, a drop out, or a vagabond, am becoming more clear that I want the life I have, that I can handle the life choices I make, that I make fine life choices. I have had an amazing growing up, brilliant parents, a world-class education, and have many friends, and a fine girlfriend. When I make a life choice there is a good chance that my decision is a result of a very fine coming up and I should not worry too much. My choices will probably — based on a thirty-three year track record — be moral and kind.

I have been spending the last three years attending Saint James’ Holy Week religiously. Saint James’ offers one of the most spiritually rich Holy Week and Easter I could ever have imagined. From Maundy Thursday through Easter Eve, the Spirit is palpable and the presence of God is undeniable; similarly, I have a profound personal and spiritual experience while sailing. As arcane and transcendent and as undeniable as what I experienced in Church. To be sure, I am grateful to have had spent a truly blessed experience.

The next time I wish someone Godspeed, in my mind and heart that will forever be between 2.9 and 8 knots.