16th Street NW, December 3

Chatter, at this time, focuses on just when Peebles will jump in. As Loose Lips columnist Mike DeBonis reported last night, "The door is still open" for the smooth-talking Peebles to get back into things.

If he doesn't, City Desk can guarantee that the guy is going to go nuts. Having met Peebles at last month's Washington City Paper holiday party, it's clear that RDP has spent a good long time poring over reports, Census data, policy tracts, and what have you, all in preparation for those innumerable candidate forums at which your hopefuls get to spew their stats and pitches.

With no more than the slightest of prodding, Peebles downloaded on me all kinds of stats on poverty in Wards 7 and 8, wisdom on how education reform gets accomplished more efficiently than it now is, and more general talk about what kind of leadership the city needs. On that last front, "adult" is how he characterized the need.

Anyhow, if Peebles really stays on the sidelines, he's going to need someone to tell all that stuff to. And if he doesn't throw his hat it, he may wind up saying it all to himself.

Plus, take a look at this graph from his non-running-now statement. Does this sound like a guy who's really sitting this one out?

For nearly a century, Washington, D.C. has provided life-changing opportunities to four generations of my family. Dating back to 1935 when my grandfather, Thomas Willoughby, came from segregated North Carolina in search of a better life, this city embraced him with open arms. He secured a job as a doorman at what is now the Wardman Park Marriott Hotel and held the position for 41 years. He married my grandmother, Mamie Newsome Willoughby, at First Baptist Church and they had five daughters, all of which attended D.C. Public Schools and went on to college. After a prolonged illness, Mamie passed away while my mother and her sisters were young and my grandfather took care of his five daughters, his mother-in-law and his own mother by working around the clock.

Saturday's 3000-meter steeplechase qualifier was enlivened by the presence of Anthony Famiglietti, a 30-year-old 29-year-old runner from New York who trains in Tennessee. Famiglietti, who looks like he might have made you an Americano, whizzed past you on a fixie, or perhaps sold you weed at some point, studied philosophy, paints, sculpts, and has produced a 12-song CD of ambient music, according to the announcers. He has a Web site that loads slightly quicker than it takes to run a steeplechase, and on it you can buy his DVD, Run Like Hell.

There was a great PIP interview with Famiglietti during the race. I didn't take notes, but in it he talked about how he didn't share the American ideal of success and how he instead tried to embrace pain daily. In the wall-to-wall Phelpsphest, it was about time someone slipped a turd in the punchbowl. "Famiglietti with an...unusual perspective there," one of the commentators coughed out. (I looked for video but no dice; I did find this one, where Famiglietti talks about passion and runs through fire.)

"Fam" was out in front for most of Saturday's race but finished third in the end. Today, in the finals, he finished 13th. Afterward I like to imagine he punched the stadium wall, shouted something about Gregor Samsa, and wandered out into the Beijing night, and a tear-stained sophomore art major chased after him, and now they're planning on moving to Portland.