When I was growing up, my father insisted on doing all the house repairs and upgrades himself.  “How hard can it be?”  He would ask, and hours later he’d be nursing a mild electrical burn while my mom looked through the yellow pages for a legit contractor.  The house I grew up in was filled with light switches you had to wiggle as you turned on, lumpy, rippled wall-to-wall carpeting, and doors that opened the wrong way.  (The door of my bedroom closet opened into the closet.) “EH, CLOSE ENOUGH!” INSTAGRAM’S FUNNIEST CONSTRUCTION FAILS



Keeping tabs on a city like DC can seem daunting ­–– there are so many moving parts to keep track of and so much that’s changing on a regular basis. And while your commute home might be filled with more “When did that open?” and “Has that always been there?” moments than you’d like to admit, one thing’s for sure: It’s easy to stay interested in this humble abode we like to call home. One of the most exciting and buzzed about developments on DC’s calendar as of lately is The Parks at Walter Reed. DC DEVELOPMENT(S): THE PARKS AT WALTER REED


Take me out to the ball game,

Take me out with the crowd…

Buy some peanuts and Cracker Jacks,

I don’t care if I never get back…

Is this the song DC will be singing as they root, root, root for the home teams of JBG and ODA Architecture as they complete work on West Half, a development located at the foot of the Washington Nationals major league baseball stadium ? It might as well be. DC DEVELOPMENT(S): WEST HALF


When a recent study found that 20001, right here in DC, was the second-most gentrified zip code in the entire nation, my first thought was, “they must have miscalculated, because no other zip code could be more gentrified.”  I should know – I was there for more or less the entire process.

I moved into 20001 in 2003. My girlfriend and I rented a bedroom in a two bedroom apartment on 6th Street from a recently divorced 29-year-old New England society type who’d spent the previous decade living on a school bus with her ex-husband. (The owner of the house, a retired World Bank employee, lived in Ethiopia.) After work – she was an office temp – she’d come home and write poetry at her desk, eating antidepressants out of assorted sample packs she got from her doctor. She told us the neighborhood was bad – she had two large dogs “for protection” – but really it just seemed deserted. There were nice cars parked on the street, Jettas and Volvos, but I never saw the owners. They stayed barricaded in their houses, day and night, waiting for their property values to increase. LOOKING BACK AT DC’S MOST GENTRIFIED ZIP CODE