Last night the cops knocked on our door. They were looking for a person who used to live here–we receive his mail often. The mail always looks really intense, like he’s in trouble with the government for unpaid parking tickets or taxes or something. At least that’s what I thought, until I looked him up online and found some old dirt. Domestic violence, a political career that probably went no where, and who knows where he is now? Well, folks are looking for him…and it was a little jarring to be watching “Gone Baby, Gone” in our living room (great flick, btw) and watch a cop car go by and flash a spotlight on our house. A few minutes later two fellows were on our front porch asking how long we’d lived at this location, if we bought the place from him, and where he might be.

Lately, there have been more sirens, more gang activity, and everyone seems to be a little bit on edge. Blame the economy…I know I do. While listening to Tavis Smiley on npr, one of his guests said, “When white folks catch a cold, black folks catch pneumonia.” He was referring to job loss, foreclosure, etc. As I look around at the wavering ‘for sale’ signs, the occasional abandoned home, and the packs of kids that move suspiciously around the neighborhood I wonder how true that is.

Last Friday, I performed two back to back shows at the Triple Door. The experience was almost too overwhelming to process. I was a rigid, fatigued, board when I lay down at 2am to try and sleep. I awoke at 10am, shaky and disoriented. The sun was barely shining, the light was orange, the temperature was cold. I felt an incredible peace, a happiness that comes from doing something deeply satisfying. I went on a walk and the neighborhood seemed beautiful and wonderful. I walked to the water. I didn’t know that at 4am the night before, multiple gunshots rang out two blocks from my house. I’m proud to say that 8 of my neighbors called 911–we don’t ignore gunshots in my hood! But when the cops arrived they found nothing and no one…a mystery.