Portrait of a Student as a Young Rapper

Alonzo is an aspiring rapper. He's originally from Bed-Stuy (like Biggie!), but now resides in Petworth. Around 3:30 p.m. today, we catch him hanging by the entrance to the Tenleytown Metro Station with his friends. As he raps, a friend records the song.

Brockett says he's been out of class since 11 a.m. He's a senior, and he doesn't have very many credits left to graduate. Some days, he and his pals "hit up Chipotle." Maybe later, they'll go to Union Station, a good spot for checking out the ladies.

Portrait of a Student as a Young Fashionista

Traivr (left) is a sophomore. We found her hanging out near the front of Domino's—$2 pizza slices!—on Wisconsin Avenue. Like her glasses? They were handed out today for a movie she saw at the Newseum with her history class.

Portrait of a Student as a Young...Student

This is Amadeo, a sophomore. At the moment, he's waiting for a bus to take him to Chevy Chase, where he works at the Broad Branch Market. School was "horrible," he says. And tomorrow won't be much better: He's got three exams and he won't be able to start studying for them until 8 p.m., after work.

Images by Darrow Montgomery

We left Keith here. Sad place, right?

February 19 is not being kind to Keith.

"This is not my average day," he tells me. "This is an unfortunate situation."

Keith identifies existing, underground utility lines for a living. Too bad, he failed to see what was right in front of him: His gas gauge.

Right now, his car has no gas in it. He feels stupid. Sometimes, he leaves his truck running when he's getting out for a relatively short period. He thought he was more vigilant.

As Carlos Iglesias and I leave our latest stop on Bladensburg Road in Northeast, Keith approaches us. He wants help. He's crying out for it (from up the block and across the road).

"Can you drive me to the gas station?" he says. "And can you drive me back?"

He's coming at us, neediness in his eyes. We offer to drive him to the station, but hell no, we're not going to wait around for the guy!

"I've never had this situation," he says, as he climbs into the back. He's talkative. He chats about his circumstances until the end of the ride, a few blocks away. Then he gets out and we drive away—'cuz, you know, when you have gas in your car, you can do that.

Today, I'm spending my time with Carlos Iglesias, a construction consultant in the District who helps builders stay in compliance with city codes.

After our first stop for the day, Iglesias and I head to another condo building on Bladensburg Road in Northeast. This 18-unit structure is almost done. But—and this is a maaaaaaajor 'but'—Washington Gas has not hooked up the building's gas meters, and Iglesias has been waiting three weeks already for crew-members to come out.

We're here to check if anything's changed. It hasn't. Ugh.

This is no good.

Thus far, Iglesias has been in a good mood. I ask how average his day is going. I'm wondering if this irritation has left him less sunny. Now, after all, he's got to spend several hours at Washington Gas, trying to move things along.

"Let's quantify it," I say. "On a one to ten scale, how are you feeling? Five is average. One is downright suicidal. Ten is blissful—like maybe Linda Argo, head of Department of Consumer and Regulatory Affairs, has just called to congratulate you on your building code prowess."

Okay, I didn't say all that. But I said something along those lines.

Iglesias pauses to consider my question. He's searching for a number.

"Six or seven," he says. "I wouldn't say eight. My meters aren't in. But that's average."

As a construction consultant, Carlos Iglesias spends a lot of time checking things. He started working at sites as a 12-year-old, assisting his dad with carpentry work. At 16, he apprenticed with an architect, and began reading D.C.'s building code books like they were old testament scrolls.

"I'm a believer in the code," he says today. "It's like being a believer in the constitution."

Talking with Iglesias, I feel like I'm being proselytized into a strange, bureaucratic religion.

After arriving at the construction site—we are visiting a small condo project near the intersection of 14th Street and Colorado Avenue—Iglesias and I head to the basement. There, he points out some average issues he's had to deal with:

AVERAGE BUILDING ADDITIONS

Behind Iglesias is an additional sewage pipe, not in earlier plans. Above him, there's also a new HVAC output duct. He advised builders to make both changes.

They did.

AVERAGE REPORTER HAZARD

As Iglesias is talking, I am writing notes. Often when one writes notes, one's eyes divert down to the page. Luckily, I glance up just in time to notice I am half a step from walking into this pipe. The day is about to go from average to painful and possibly messy.

Thankfully, it stays average.

AVERAGE NIMBY NEIGHBORING BUILDING

The construction project sits next to a residential building. Back in early October, residents there complained about the project, saying that developers were trying raze the entire structure. This wasn't the case. But the city stopped construction for an entire month.

After checking out back and in the basement, we leave the construction site. People are working. There are no red flags for Iglesias about anything that's been accomplished since he last stepped onto the site.

This is Carlos Iglesias. After spending a few hours together, I would deem him an above-average District citizen. He's a diligent 24-year-old, who lives with this wife and two young children in Ward 4, where he was born and raised. Besides the Ward 4 connection, he has some Adrian Fenty-esque tendencies: By the time he's 30, he'd like to go back to law school, and eventually run for city council. If D.C. ever gets a voting congressional seat, maybe he'd run for that too.

For now though, Iglesias works as a construction consultant for Bello Bello and Associates, which advises builders about whether they're adhering to D.C. building codes. His average day is spent visiting construction sites, retrieving documents from downtown city offices, and waiting for government workers to get shit together for him. That's it, in a nutshell.

We met at a small new condo project close to the intersection of Colorado Avenue and 14th Street in Brightwood. Remember Colorado Kitchen, Gillian Clark's down-home, neighborhood eatery? That place was closed so this building could go up.

I arrived at the site wearing jeans, gray converse sneakers, and a plaid button down shirt. Proper construction site attire, I believed. Iglesias showed up looking like this:

That cannot be average. But Carlos spends a lot of time hopping from construction sites to offices. So, he likes to look his dapper-ist. I'll get to what he actually did today in some later posts.

Well, that is a national group of youth who are destined for greatness and influence. Former White House Press Secretary Michael McCurry put it like this, on the occasion of tonight's Junior State of America Inaugural Reception: All the kids who got involved in student government were "weenies," according to McCurry. All the "smart kids" got involved in the Junior State of America–"state" appears to be short for "statesmen." Those smart kids, over the years, have included Edwin Meese, Charles Schwab, and Michael McCurry. Oh sorry, already mentioned McCurry.

Aside from McCurry, the other banner name at tonight's reception was Robert Gibbs, the very-soon-to-be White house press secretary. Our roving correspondent missed Gibbs's doubtless-breathtaking speech before the group of precocious wonks, but a source at the event said that Gibbs spoke of the importance of "relishing these next couple of days." Awfully edgy stuff there.

Other than all the spinmeisters talking turkey with America's future leaders, there were a lot of waiters moving around with spicy fried fare and dips. The event, sponsored by Politico and Facebook, had extraordinary bean dip, too.

• Peter Nickles officially becomes the new D.C. attorney general by a vote of 7-5-1. But the real fun came before the final tally, and lucky for you Loose Lips has live blogged the action. Personally, my favorite line was: "Mendo cites a call he received from anonymous OAG employee yesterday after committee vote against Nickles, who said, 'It was like he saw the American army in the distance.'"

• NPR's Michel Martin gets a bunch of smart moms together to debate Michelle Obama's sacrifices, gains, and choices in becoming first lady. Jolene Ivey, co-founder of the Mocha Moms; Leslie Morgan Steiner, editor of Mommy Wars; author Rebecca Walker and Anna Perez, former press secretary to First Lady Barbara Bush. All of the women wrote pieces for theroot.com.

• Still figuring out your thanksgiving plans (and by "figuring out" what I really mean "trying to make some because your folks are far away, and the random invites you've received are not terribly appealing")? Well, perhaps the Washington Post can provide some inspiration. 

• After getting over its cupcake sugar high, the Washington Post decides to report on something a bit more natural and pure: tea, particularly Oolong tea.

First floor of Station 9. Creative Obama t-shirts and attire abound.

Right to left: Asewe Onyango, Allyson Little, Shane Gooding,who all volunteered for Obama over the last year.

The crowd right in front of the CNN screen.

Pushpam Jain and John King, who canvassed and fundraised, respectively, for Obama.

Frederick Isasi, Senate staffer for Jeff Bingaman of New Mexico, with family, friends, and the party's littlest Obama supporter (check out that t-shirt).

The Sexist:

Wolf Blitzer will call the election for Obama at 11 p.m. In the following days, a bunch of hill people—like not Capitol Hill people, or Heidi and Lauren from "The Hills," but actual people living in rural hill regions will get together and push over a tractor. It's hard to know where this will occur. Possibly Appalachia. Possibly the Ozarks. I believe the Ozarks. As for Sarah Palin, in ten years, she'll have five more kids, and in 20 years, Bristol Palin will be running for a state senate seat in Alaska. She'll only have one child, having been scared straight by having her mother be Sarah Palin.

Ted Scheinman:

The election will be called for Obama at 12:15 a.m. The frothiest-mouthed reactions will occur in the real Virginia, while those in fake Virginia will respond in a typically fey way. They will drink wine coolers in more moderation than the real Virginians will drink real alcohol. Within the next ten years, Sarah Palin will run for president, and then either remain a successful executive in Alaska or go into academia—her field being taxidermy, of course.

Mike Riggs:

The election will be called for Obama at 9:30—he'll take the entire east coast. Yes, South Carolina included. In Phoenix, there will be blood on the streets. There will be little discussion about the results from Republicans, who will just start looking way, way in advance to 2010, when they can begin plotting the next election.

Jason Cherkis:

The election will be called for Obama at 10 p.m. All the swing states will go for Obama. Nothing dramatic will happen. I talked to people today, and they were really sort of cautious. In ten years, Sarah Palin will be doing nothing. She will be home in Wasilla. You will never hear from her again, except when she has her own talk show and it plummets in the ratings. She'll be like the next Huckabee—only not funny. I heart Huckabee.

Will Mitchell:

I've already called it, at 7a.m. this morning when I walked into the building. Actually, I called it at 2:30 p.m. My sandwich artist at Harris Teeter asked me if I'd voted, and she said she was going later as soon as she got off work and picked up her kids. I told her it would be a "blow-out" for Obama. She gave me a knowing look. And I gave her a knowing look back. After the election, I personally will be flipping over cars. But, I do that every night.

More volunteers than voters...

The Mild Mild West's trench coat mafia...

The last remnants of an all-day bake sale.

Apparently between 7 a.m. and 8 a.m., a line snaked around the back of Horace Mann Elementary school. For most of the day though, the field looked like this.

From left to right: Murray Belman and James Lowe at Horace Mann Elementary School in Wesley Heights.

James Lowe is here 'til the end. The Wesley Heights resident arrived at Horace Mann Elementary School, just west of American University, at roughly 3:15 p.m. and plans to leave when the polls close at 8 p.m. His mission: get Carol Schwartz elected. His tools: this little stack of glossy, yellow, instructional papers with Carol Schwartz posing in her classic cheetah necklace. Someone dropped them off at his house yesterday afternoon.

But, this isn't the first time Lowe has come out to support Schwartz. Lowe says he has known Schwartz for roughly twenty years through participating in the Republican political scene in D.C. He helped fundraise for the candidate in late summer and early fall, and his daughter, in her late 30s, was at the polling place earlier that day. Lowe said he estimated there were five people total that had shown up throughout the day to help get Schwartz elected. Hey, anything for the candidate "that holds people's feet to the fire more than anyone else in the Council," he says.

"You're from the City Paper?" he asked after I introduced myself.

Right, I said.

He brightened a bit. "Loose Lips endorsed Carol," he said.

Indeed. Liberal leanings were forgotten—City Paper was embraced.

Schwartz was joined by fellow Republican and friend Murray Belman, a Spring Valley resident, who signed up on Sunday to help Schwartz during election day. Umbrella in hand, he declared: "I don't care if it snowed, I'd come out for Carol."

Belman said he'd arrived at the precinct around 3 p.m. and that he'd "stay until his wife gets here, and tells him to go home."

• And now for some local drama (from the Washington Post): D.C. Council Chairman Vincent Gray breaks an unspoken rule and endorses an at-large candidate while his current colleague Carol Schwartz fights for her political life!

• Apparently, there were some doubts about Michelle Obama's awesomeness. Now, those thoughts are gone from the campaign, according to a story in the New York Times. 

• Washingtonian is not wasting any time in covering the inauguration hoopla. Yesterday, it launched its Inauguration Nation series, which will "track the step-by-step process—and madness—of planning and putting on inaugural events." First up: checking out the Marriott Wardman Park Hotel, home to past inaugurations' splashiest affairs, and  glorifying the whims of ridiculously wealthy hotel moguls.