At some point today, in the eyes of the Commonwealth of Virginia, I became a complete and official resident of Richmond. Before long, I call a city project a waste of my tax money. I checked the State Board of Elections Web site a few minutes ago and my application was processed today

Things went through with the Department of Motor Vehicles when I called last Wednesday. I forgot to ask for the change of address card to add to my license and I hope they send one anyway. It's been a week so probably not. I'll stop by the DMV Select office at Hopewell City Hall and see if I can do it there. I know a lot of people in Hopewell are disappointed that I don't live there but I was talking to one of my fellow journalists recently and she agreed that, when it's a small town, it is a good idea to be a commuter. I can at least say I had lived there.

I forgot I took this picture as I was moving in back in August

This is now home. I literally live here. When I head back to my mom's house tomorrow, it'll be just that: my mom's house. It seems weird but at the same time it doesn't. If you start at my junior year in college and exclude the nearly seven months total I was there for school breaks, Hurricane Isabel, unemployment and throwing in the towel last Nov. 25, I haven't lived in that house since August 2003. It's been over six years since that bedroom in there was truly my bedroom; since I gazed out of the front windows with some regularity; since I took out the trash; since I haven't had to think hard about what I wanted for dinner; that I went days without leaving Hampton city limits. I am writing this from my bedroom at home. I am at home. This house atop Chimborazo in Richmond, Va., has become my home.

I haven't been able to say that about any other place than my mom's house and my chapter house.

I can't wait to complain about something being a waste of my tax dollars. Never mind that I'm only indirectly paying real estate taxes.

I went back to the end of high East Grace Street and then went over to Libby Hill Park to take photos in the rain. Because I could. I tried to reshoot two of the pictures from rva@night but I didn't mark where I was. Whatevs. It's not like I'm a good photographer or anything anyway. I'm mostly doing these out of boredom and access to a SLR camera. Now I just need better conditions than night and rain to take a good photo of the downtown skyline with a good camera. Anyway, I nearly nailed one of the photos from Saturday so, at work, I have a picture from upper East Grace during the day and, when I get home, I have the photos as my wallpaper at night.

Sorry for this becoming a photo blog lately but I did mention a while back that I was going run more photos here. After I get a clear day shot from Church Hill and Libby Hill, I'll probably be done for a bit. That is until i get access to the top of one of these buildings or a parking structure far enough away to get a nice wide shot.

It's a crisp autumn night. I just got back from an assignment in Hopewell and, per my general custom after dark, I don't drive through Fulton on the way home. It's nothing really against it other than the lights at Parker and Williamsburg and at Carlisle and Government are stupid and apparently it was too much trouble in the history of Richmond for Darbytown Road to make a seamless transition into Government Road at Williamsburg Road. I just think it's a bad idea to sit at a traffic light for minutes for absolutely no reason ANYWHERE at night.

Anyway, I wasn't quite ready to go home so I deviated from even my night route even further and approached the flood wall. On the Manchester side, as I showed y'all last Saturday, you can go to the top and take photos. So I did. And quickly wondered why in the blue hell I was standing on the flood wall in South Richmond alone at night holding an SLR camera. So I went to where Grace Street ends at the edge of Church Hill between 22^nd and 23^rd streets and took a couple more. Although, in all, I took about 40 pictures, there's a pesky problem that arises when you try to take photos at night without a tripod.

This might be my favorite photo of all I have taken

I want to take photos from the top of the James Monroe Building one day.

My sister will begin hospice care soon. I think I already braced myself for when the time comes but that was a fun thing to hear about from my mom right before Rae's funeral.

My mom thinks she has figured out what she's going to do. We're going to transfer the house over to me, she's going to move into one of the combined assisted living/nursing homes (so if she starts losing her memory she might be there long enough to think it's home) and, once she moves, we figure out what we're doing with the stuff in the house then we're selling the house.

If the recession is over and I find something to do for a living closer to or in the city of Richmond, she's maybe coming up here. It'll really just be me and her then. Alexander is in South Hill and was already out of the house when I was born. I have absolutely no idea where my half sister is. She called me my sophomore year in college and that was it. My aunt and uncle are flaky. My cousins are way older than me. As much as I dislike my brother-in-law for myriad reasons, I need to make sure my niece and nephews know where to find me.

I'll still have my friends and my brothers but I never thought my family would disappear.

Since I figured I should look respectable for Rae's funeral tomorrow, considering that I'm a pallbearer and all, I cut No Shave November even shorter than I planned. I also decided to take the plunge and go sans beard and goatee. I haven't done that in over a year. That's right: I haven't seen my chin since early 2008, if even that. I also discovered that there's a tiny scar on the side of my mouth from the accident. It's so weird to not have a beard or goatee. And so cold. I might stay this way till I get too lazy to shave again (probably after Thanksgiving).

After my trip to Verizon Wireless, my call to the DMV and the letter I sent to the registrar's office, it is finished (except for my bank account, which I'm going to switch to another bank before 2010 is done).

I no longer live in the city of Hampton, the oldest continuous English-speaking settlement in North America. I leave it in its 399^th year.

Since August 2001, I haven't lived there full time but I 1) had a fear of losing mail 2) fully expected to move back there and 3) did not want to admit that I no longer wanted to live there.

In these past eight months, I realized that, regardless of me staying in this house past June 2010, which I fully plan on doing for at least one more year, I am going to live in Richmond. I love it. This is my new home. I have invested time, energy and initiative into RVA and it was high time I made it official.

I think I was waiting to find a place I could call home. I found it here. I found it in this house. To the point that I hope I find a higher paying job and begin buying people out. Or at least live somewhere very near or inside Richmond.

It seems so weird though. Weirder than when I decided to change my name. I guess it was because the option to change my name was always there since there wasn't a boy's name picked out. You can't change your hometown but I guess you can outgrow it.

I miss living less than a song away from Wendy's, Walmart, Food Lion and Taco Bell. I miss being a few minutes from the beach. I miss the continuum of elementary school to college being right there. But then there's here. It's just ... here. Come visit me. I can show you why I love this city. Easily.

But ... wow. I no longer live in Hampton. I no longer live in Hampton. I live in Richmond.

I realized a few weeks ago that Richmond is my new home and it was high time I made it so. I guess I knew that when I had the option last year to have an 757 number but picked an 804 number instead.

It seems so weird. I'm truly a part of this community. It's 25 miles away from my job so I might be able to pull off being being civically engaged to an extent. Regardless, hello, RVA, I'm your newest citizen. <3

Some of you probably noticed that I have been very quiet on the Internet today. I just didn't seem appropriate to be joking around online all day after I found out around 8:30 this morning that the publisher's wife, Rae, had died. She had cancer. She had been out of the office for a while but she eventually felt strong enough to come back. Then, all of a sudden, it came back. Hard. She was gone was we all braced for when the news would come. Every time there was a call for Jim over the intercom, I cringed.

She was one of our editors. She did some of the pages and, for all intents and purposes, she was the uncredited editor in chief. She gave everything a final once over before we sent it over to pre-press. Our editing and headline-writing styles clashed. She made the final compromised version of our redesigned newspaper. She had been married to Jim since they were 20. They are 62. That is 42 years of marriage. They spent what? over two thirds of their lives together? I just can't imagine what Jim is going through. They saw this coming but they were married 42 years. I just can't imagine.

Jim put in the following from Henry Van Dyke in tomorrow's paper:

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come ot mingle with each other.

I took some pictures of the river today. It's over flood stage and neared moderate stage early this morning. I couldn't get too close and I thought it would be stupid to get pretty close. Here are some shots from the Boulevard Bridge and the top of the flood wall near the Mayo Bridge.

This is the James at the Boulevard Bridge. Usually, you can see rocks and islands from here.
The River is at 13 feet upstream of here. It's around nine downtown. Flood stage is at 12 and eight respectfully.

some people got a high water permit and got XTREEEM in the rapids.
Richmond is the only major urban city in the country with Class IV rapids in the center of town

Mayo Island and downtown. I love that skyline. I wish I took the good camera with me this weekend.

You knew a black and white photo was coming.
There are a lot of tiny islands downtown in the rapids. Homeless people live on them.
I hope they realized something was up and got off them.

Another shot of downtown with Mayo Island in the foreground.
Mayo is the third-largest island in the city and the only one with road access. It is home to two businesses.
City Hall is the building in the background with the spire.

The Mayo Bridge, of course, goes to Mayo Island and connects downtown with Southside at what used to be the city of Manchester. Chesterfield County's address grid begins here because, before Manchester was a city and subsequently merged with Richmond, it was in Chesterfield County. The James Monroe Building (the ugly thing in the background) was the state's tallest building until Virginia Beach built its Town Center.

This is one two spots politicians use for their campaign photos. The other one is a little bit farther upstream.
I am Elliott Robinson and I approve this message.
I also approve of No Shave November.

I don't think I can ever explain to you all what just took place but tonight was an example of what our letters mean and showed me that I will live by them until my last breath.

TDF

So a hurricane made two landfalls then came to ass rape Virginia as a nor'easter. Awesome.

It has been raining since Tuesday. It isn't supposed to stop till early Saturday. The James River in Richmond may hit moderate flood stage through the rapids (15 feet). It's already about 10 feet (action stage). It was forecast to not quite hit 9 feet at this point in time. Downtown is just below action stage (six feet). There's no forecast for down there but it would have to quadruple for the floodgates to close.

We were about seven inches below normal with rainfall here and now we're just down three. We left work early today because the main road into Hopewell was flooded and the Virginia Department of Transportation is estimating that the outgoing side of the road could go under at some point as well.

Farther downstream, my mom is trapped in the house with no power. She called around noon to tell me that she got a reverse 911 call about a storm shelter being open but she wasn't going. She is now cold because, although the furnace runs by gas, we got an electric thermostat when the house was renovated. A gas furnace can't run without anything telling it when to turn on or off (btdubs: I still find it interesting that my mom's house had gas heat and water but an electric stove).

Elsewhere in Hampton Roads, my friends are stranded or off from work or class. Some of them don't have power either. Meanwhile, I'm in my warm, dry room 200 feet above upper reaches of sea level. At this moment, I can't say I miss Hampton Roads. At all.

The James is supposed to crest early Saturday and I might go take pictures. I don't know why. For some reason, ever since I moved to RVA in March, I've wanted to head over to the river while it was raging.

Although I've technically been up here for three-and-a-half years and it is flooding here, I haven't been here as a real coastal storm pounded Hampton Roads. It's so weird to be kinda removed from the ludicrous flooding. Reading news reports and tweets, seeing pictures and getting phone calls from down there is making me wonder why I loved living there so badly. WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME LIVING MORE THAN SEVEN FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL MADE LOGICAL SENSE? I mean, the city all but hollowed out Chimborazo over the past 300 years so this house could crash down into an old beer vault or railroad tunnel or something at any second but, if I have to worry about flooding in this house, we have a HUGE fucking problem.

It's like this is furthering my break with Hampton Roads. All day, I've been picturing myself down there and thinking to myself, “Fuck that noise.”

I don't think I'm going to work tomorrow, though. I think the newsroom is going to have a Pre-Monday on Sunday to make up for it. I don't know what I'll do tomorrow. I guess there are some thing I need to take care of that would be really great if I did them on a weekday so maybe I'll do that. And maybe I'll go ahead and cough up $10 and go to the DMV to make being a Richmonder all legal and official and stuff. Ha. I don't know what to bring to change my address. I never got around to changing my address on my phone bill (goal for this weekend/Monday) and I don't get a tangible car payment statement. I have a hospital bill around here somewhere but that's about it.

First off, many combolations are in order for notaprettygirl6 because SHE GOT A JOB IN HER MAJOR. FUCK THE DEPOT. You have absolutely no idea how happy I am for her. I don't think I've been this happy for something in my own friggin' life. It has seriously made my day.

On top of that, I got my official wedding invitation for the Rev. Mountain Drew's wedding. Yep, my roommate from the first year of the viaduct is a minister and engaged. I'm probably spending New Year's in NOVA and his wedding is on Jan. 2. This will be the greatest New Year's weekend I've ever had. (especially if I get to spend at least part of it with notaprettygirl6) Oh yes.

In other news, I've heard from my roommate that the landlord next door paid a visit for the first time in months so the neighbors must be officially gone. Over the weekend, I happened to look out the bathroom window, something I have never done before. It was a straight shot to the upper back deck. They had propane tanks up there as well. They not only would have burned their house down if one thing with wrong with that generator, they would have taken out the entire block. I also wonder how they could afford gas and propane and a propane grill and a generator and Halloween decorations but not power and water. And why they put everything that could be flammable and inflammable on the second floor wooden porch of a house built in 1910.

Photo courtesy City of Richmond.
Hopefully, this house will become less of a fire hazard.
And maybe get some proper love.

Also, this weekend, Bill should be coming up, partially to be emergency guest host “Upon Further Review.” Additionally, Dan Wood is possibly coming up to visit as well. I planned on being completely irresponsible on Saturday so this should be a blast, especially since I'm thinking about celebrating a roommate's birthday because everyone should celebrate both weekends. I need to celebrate anyway because the neighbors are gone and Ashie has a new job.

Back to “Upon Further Review.” My sports editor and, if we had a real staff, sports reporter just launched their own radio show and can't make their own second episode. Bill knows sports so I suggested he stand in. I think it will be awesome. If you have Facebook, I think you should join the group and listen in on Saturdays at 4 p.m.

While I'm making shameless plugs, I want to plug “To the Editor” again (see the link on my sidebar that says “LEDITOR EDITOR”). I'm running the fan page for it and I think you should be a fan. If there is 140 people in the group by 11:59 p.m. next Monday (especially if they are of the journalism persuasion), I'm shaving my epic beard off. I'm not joking. I want to go back to a goatee anyway, since my mom is buying me new clippers for Christmas and I may as well start off with a clean slate.

What else? ... I think that's it. I think I'm finally back in the swing of things after being sidetracked by my fall but I still don't have front teeth. That reminds me that I need to talk to the oral surgeon to see if anything has progressed with Blue Cross Blue Shield of Alabama, which should be referred to as “Those Bastards” until I at least have incisors.

Other than that, I'm pumped. I'm just pumped. It's been almost a year since I left my old job and everything seems to be clicking now. It's about that time to look to 2010 and plan for more awesome, especially since ASHIE HAS A REAL JOB!

I bet you all have been waiting for an update on the house next door. There are some things to update. I wish there were better things but there are things.

First off there's this:

Photo courtesy Shaunelle De'Braux

Yeppers, that says “CONDEMNED”. And “NO TRESPASSING.” Exclamation mark. After getting the 48-hour warning, they decorated for Halloween and had a jolly good time. On Halloween, my mom, in observing the house from the car across the street for a few minutes during our Tour de RVA, was sketched out by them. They were, in fact, the only thing my mom was sketched out about the whole time she was in the city. I still haven't told her the story of them just yet.

We assumed they were going to get everything back on, since the show went on with Halloween. We were wrong. This appeared Nov. 3 and we thought that meant they were gone. The next morning, I heard their back door a few times and I figured that was the landlord getting the stuff out and hopefully deciding not to make it a slum anymore because, seriously, that is the worst-looking house on the block, not including the two being renovated and the one that is abandoned but well closed.

Yesterday, I heard about their door being open and I thought nothing of it since it was closed when I got home and was certain it was the house getting cleaned out/boarded up if the landlord is just going to let it rot on a block that is in the middle of revitalization.

Today, when I came home, the door was wide open, much like it often was in the afternoons when they lived there. Again, assumed it was the landlord.

Then I heard the woman. And then they were apparently hanging out on the front porch. I called dispatch but they were back inside or somewhere before anyone drove by. Apparently, they had been about for a bit so it would have taken just one fortuitous patrol from police to get them because no silly condemnation sign is going to stop them.

At least they're doing a slightly better job of concealing themselves than running the generator 24 hours a day. I don't know what to make of them and their situation. I guess they would have been perfectly fine with no water and running the generator and having the front door open for no apparent reason probably all winter long and didn't think anyone would care until, God forbid, the house burns down and it's suck a tragedy and why didn't the landlord do anything and blah, blah, blah. I've seen that far too many times south of Richmond.

File photo

Note how close the green house is to ours. I don't want them in there and getting cold and then setting the house on fire by accident. I don't want my sprinkler going off. I mean, it's great that we have sprinklers and my plants are conveniently underneath it but I just don't want a disco inferno next door minus the disco. Really, this is why we started calling people in the first place. We don't want them to burn the house down. We don't want them to go without running water. We weren't out to get them evicted; we want them to get help. There are children in there (hopefully not still), remember? If we weren't college students and/or getting paid barely enough to have dinner every night, we'd pay it ourselves because there are children in there.

I'm hoping they just hang out there or something and don't actually live there still.

But, no matter what is going on over there, it seems like the city really doesn't give two shits. Nor does the landlord. We don't know what to do to get them out of there. The more this goes on, the less I feel sorry for them. The fact that they are flagrantly disregarding the condemnation with the door wide open in the middle of the day is ridiculous. The fact that, as far as we know, the landlord is just going to let them stay as long as he gets rent is ludicrous. The very real chance that they and who knows who else could die unnecessarily in a fire because this is apparently low on the city's agenda is outrageous.

We're back at square one. I guess it goes back to calling the cops and hoping they pass by when the door is open. They can't live like this and shouldn't. I definitely don't want those kids to live like that. I don't know what to do.

Welcome to the real world, huh?

Last year this time, I wasn't sure if I would be a reporter when Election Day rolled around again. At the time, I very unofficially had my current job and my other option was to go back to college and figure out how to pay for it and everything else later. But, deep down, I knew I wasn't going to leave the industry just yet. There will come a time when an opportunity arises and I'll walk away. It's not that I don't have the heart for it but it's that I'm the last of a dying breed. Although, right now, I'm reading a Twitter feed and a Facebook feed and have been running this Web log for five years, I wasn't taught in the ways of the the not-sure-what-we're-evolving-into 21^st-century newsroom. And writing and managing a twice weekly isn't helping. I don't have the time to write as I'd like because I need to manage and I can't manage as I'd like because I need to write. Of course everyone who calls about something doesn't realize that when I don't end up at an event or something doesn't run when they expect it or it takes a day or two for me to even remember that the person called.

For example, I was barely in the office today because it was Election Day. Tuesday afternoons are generally when I start editing things for Friday's paper. Then, on top of election coverage, we had someone threaten to jump off a bridge. I literally did not have the time to find out what happened with that tonight. The polls were about to close.

For the third election in a row, I knew who the victors would be. You sometimes pick up on those during campaign coverage. For the third election in a row, I picked the correct campaign party to attend. For the third election in a row, I was surrounded the joy I could not partake in. I sometimes miss not being able to cheer on a candidate openly or criticize a government policy because I do not believe it is right. You know, be a normal citizen. The first time I was a normal citizen in the comfort of my own home since graduating from college was trying to get something done about the generator. it's part of the reason why I knew I could not live in the Tri-Cities. I can turn off being a journalist here. Well, I can't fully turn it off but I can ignore sirens in the background, stagger through the Fan and buy frickin' groceries without being the Man from the Newspaper.

I guess, on a smaller scale, I know how some people who are always in the public eye feel.

I'd love to join a cause or protest or openly talk about my political beliefs one day. Then again, I don't want my personal life to cast everything I did in journalism in a different light. I probably say too much here and on Facebook and on Twitter already. I guess, overall, they will always be some things I just can't and won't talk about much like some people who had top military clearance won't say a word about anything despite years and years of not being in the loop.

To be honest, I don't see how journalists can live in the communities they cover. If things worked out differently last year, I probably would have been working in and covering Hopewell. It would have driven me crazy just because I couldn't do anything. I'd live in a house owned by a delegate down the street from a police officer, shop at places that advertise with us and some that did not, come to an election where I would have to continually cover a candidate that I hoped would lose with ever fiber of my being and so on and so forth. I feel it would just be a tangled web that could only end with a real or perceived bias. I just need anyone who wins an election to talk to me not prosecute crimes against me unless something happens to me on the clock. I can't just say, “Hey, Chief Tunstall, could you run over to the house next door and see if they have a fire hazard in the backyard?”

Then again, in cases like that, perhaps it could be a good thing. Maybe that generator saga wouldn't have gone on for so long. But, despite getting something done, that would be bordering on pulling a favor from a source. And I don't approve of that.

I do approve of the red condemnation sticker on that house tonight. I guess they didn't get the utilities turned back on, which I find to be ridiculous considering their Halloween decorations. That also means they would still have no water and no electricity at this very moment. There would be a gas-powered generator still running on the wooden back deck of a 100-year-old house. Or a fire. Or a fire later in the year when something else got cut off and it got cold in there. I did have a pull a favor to get the city over there but at least it wasn't pulling a favor with the city.

Again, I wish it didn't have to come to this but what if that house caught fire? What if they got carbon monoxide poisoning? What if, as annoying as the noise and my thoughts of danger and illegality, I hoped someone else would call because it it would erode my objectivity or the owner was an advertiser or someone I needed to get certain aspects of the newspaper done? What if I sat here and did nothing until something horrible happened in that house with children in it?

Being a journalist is a complicated thing.

But, if I didn't constantly make my life complicated, who would read this damn thing?

My mom came to visit Saturday. There was a lot of fear and loathing on my end because 1) almost every phone conversation I have with her is the most annoying thing in the world and 2) although we generally have a good time in person, topics from our phone calls eventually come up and I'm done with hanging out with her 3) I figured the entire city would descend into chaos while she was here and she would then drag me back to Hampton by the ear.

Surprisingly, except for the rain and cold that persisted until she left (when it became mostly clear and warm), it was a perfect day.

I picked her up from the bus station and then took her down Monument Avenue from Hamilton to Lombardy. From there, we headed up Main/Ellwood to Thompson to Carytown. We were going to get out and walk but, as I said earlier, it pretty much didn't stop raining. From there, I headed across the Boulevard Bridge and showed her where I used to live in Forest Hill, Forest Hill Park, where I face planted and rode down Riverside Drive. After that, we had lunch at Mojo's. She loved Mojo's because it reminded her of how her hangouts looked when she was my age. After that, we went to my house. She loved it. At this point, I was beside myself because I could not believe that she liked everything so far.

Then she met Loaf.

Although I thought it was obvious from my stories, she had no idea he was 70 pounds. I came inside first and he trotted up to the door. From the way I was talking to him, she thought he was a tiny puppy. She bent down to meet the dog and cane face-to-face with the ginormous Loaf.

She screamed.

He freaked and, after remembering he was a dog, began to bark. I didn't know what to do so I let him out.

He did not stop barking.

This was when I figured the neighbor's kids would start screwing around with him because, apparently they have a habit of throwing thing at him. I decided to give her a quick tour and push her back out but she wanted to sit and socialize for a bit. Matt eventually came home and I quickly told him his dog was outside. In the rain. Disasters.

The rain let up so I thought we could go walk around or something. We got back in the car and it started raining again. I showed her Libby Hill then went down to the Bottom before cutting through Manchester to get tea at Crossroads at Forest Hill and Semmes. After that, I decided on showing her the waterfront/Belle Isle but it rained AGAIN. After that, in no particular order, we went by U of R, drove through the Fan, drove around VCU, went through Jackson Ward, went to Fulton, went on Laburnum over past the racetrack, took the Richmond-Henrico Turnpike into Shockoe Valley, drove past the capitol and had dinner at Bill's Barbecue.

After that, over eight hours had passed and it was time for her to head back. Again, she told me how much she loved the city and everything she saw and that she wants to come back soon, especially when it's sunny and warm so she can see things like Maymont.

The day was amazing. She didn't ask why I was still single (I'm a little grumpy about that at the moment and her asking would have been grounds for me kicking her out of this area code Saturday). The neighbors didn't have the generator or do anything odd (although Ma, as she waited in the car for about five minutes when I stopped by the house on the way to Fulton, did ask what was up with them and how many people lived there). There wasn't any ludicrous crime (thankfully). She also thought WRIR was interesting.

As I pulled away from the bus station, I breathed a sigh of relief, went home to take a nap and then went to a party dressed as the Arthur Ashe Statue at Roseneath and Monument. Why, you ask? Because he looks like he's about to beat children. Seriously. Look at the street view.

LINK TO THE STORY HERE

If you're reading this, you've been following this story in 140-character chunks on Twitter and/or Facebook since Oct. 18. Or you actually read this on a constantly basis. Anyways, I'll spare the introductions.

I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors because I did not proofread this and I am very, very tired.

When I got back from my misadventures in Atlantic City, I came home to a loud humming noise. Really loud. Like not able to get a full night's sleep loud. It sounded like a generator but I didn't know for sure. A few of my roommates and I discussed it and wondered where it was coming from. That was the end of it. We figured it would be gone in a day or two after whatever electrical work somewhere was done.

It didn't go anywhere.

The hum became a constant companion. It had many variations, to the point that we started naming them. It was a constant drone that changed in pitch and intensity as a piece of machinery not designed to run for days on end nonstop did so. We gave the people who had the confirmed generator the benefit of the doubt. We griped about it to ourselves or through social networking and that was it.

Then, after a night meeting and having to be at work at 6:30 a.m. to put together a newspaper, I had about enough. I figured it had to be illegal. I wanted to call someone, anyone in Richmond who would tell me if the generator had to go or if we had to accept it as another sound of the city.

The suggestion was made that led to a call to the city's 311 line Oct. 21. I tried code compliance and I got bounced around to a few offices. I also sent an e-mail to the main public affairs account.

The next afternoon, I contacted Community Assisted Public Safety, which told me there had to be a police report first and I should talk to the First Precinct. So I called the first precinct. The person who answered the phone seemed genuinely concerned. I told her how it was: there was a generator that had been running since at least Sunday and the day was then Thursday. I had not heard it turn off. If there is no power, there are children in that house. Is this safe? Is this legal?

I was told that a unit would go out and assess the sound and, since there were children, social services would stop by if it was determined that there was a generator running to a house with no power. I came home hoping the noise would be gone. Nope.

At this point, the variations in pitch and tone began to grow in intensity. At times, it would quietly hum before revving and growling like a V-12 waiting to leap off the line. Sometimes there would be silence for just long enough to give us all false hope. Then it would jar us awake, leaving us lethargic the entire work day.

The next night was Friday. I didn't care that it was Friday and the city was hopping. I wanted to go to sleep. I needed to cover something at 10 a.m. No one answered at the precinct at 9:54 p.m. Oct. 23. I called central dispatch. The guy who answered sounded like he could not believe I was calling about a noisy, potentially unsafe generator on a Friday night. I was told someone would come out if someone had the time. I knew that meant no one was coming. I missed the 10 a.m. appointment.

We did get a mention on the Church Hill blog (see entry before this one).

At this point, I was about to give up. I had called everyone I was told to call. Obviously no one cared. We wondered if it could catch their house on fire. We wondered if the cost of gas to keep the damn thing running surpassed the electric bill. I thought of one last thing. I looked up who owned the property and called the number that went with it. The person seemed concerned that there was a generator attached to what he called "his house" and said he was going to check that out. Nothing happened.

I left a message for CAPS on the 25th. I called public works again on the 26th and was told that there had been calls about the house to the office that day before me. I again hoped that something would come of it.

Some people may say we should have gone over there and talked to them. That's a big unknown. We don't know them. Everyone's quick to say "they could have come to me first" but the x-factor of their reaction to a neighbor telling them to cut it out outweighs what could have come of it. I may die from doing something stupid but I didn't want knocking on some stranger's door because it sounds like a prop plane from hell is in their backyard. Besides, they had to have know someone was going to call or stop by at some point. I know there's general community apathy everywhere but this is interrupting sleep. Some people will walk past a sexual assault, sad to say, but by God, if it wakes them up, they're going to be hell to pay.

Nada.

We got suggestions to talk to the neighbors but we were also advised not to talk to them because of previous history with that house. We half seriously thought of breaking the generator or just setting their house on fire. I nearly brought an ax.

On the 26th, I tried the police one last time. I mentioned that I had called before and, as far as I knew no one had come out. I was told someone would.

Then it was Wednesday. I had articles to write, photos to edit and an early day today for layout. A roommate upstairs had a midterm to study for. I sat in the living room trying to ignore the noise but I couldn't. I stopped hanging out in my bedroom because it somehow seemed louder in my bedroom.

As if on cue, one my roommates came home and the generator got exponentially louder. She announced that she could no longer sleep in the house and was no longer going to try. She also suggested contacting CBS6 to see if they could at least get some exposure and prod the city into action. As she looked for a contact e-mail, I remembered that my cell phone hold a treasure trove of awesomeness. Within a few minutes, I had Wayne Covil on the line and he said he was on his way over.

Then things got interesting.

He was surprised at how loud it was and how we put up with it for so long. We mentioned that we were at the end of our rope and one of us was going to do something equally illegal before the week's end if that fucking generator did not stop running. It was obvious it was not a temporary fix. The cost of has had to be more than what the electric bill was. The thing was bound to catch fire. A couple other neighbors were outside. There were stories of them stealing water and other things.

Wayne tried to figure out exactly where the generator was. He peeked over the fence and saw nothing. It couldn't possibly be on the second-floor deck of a century-old house. We headed up to our balcony. There was a gas-powered generator on the wooden second-floor deck of a wooden house.

As Wayne gathered his film equipment out on the sidewalk, a man appeared on a bicycle and headed to the backyard. We figured we lost the video for right now. Wayne was going to show it to his producers to see if he could proceed the next day. The noise did not stop. Instead it grew louder. He headed up to the balcony and discovered that the man was gassing up the generator as it was running. As it was running.

A few moments later, the children who live in the house came out because of the camera lights and the louder generator noise. Then the woman who lives there came out.

Enter chaos.

Wayne interviewed some of us after the woman next door screamed at him for a bit and left. One of my roommates and I thought it was a good time to get the hell out of dodge at that point. We didn't expect the confrontation to happen then and especially not from our balcony.

As today wore on, I felt a little less sorry for them. I mean, I wanted them to get assistance if they needed it or arrested if the generator was powering some hydroponics or a meth lab or something. I certainly didn't want it to be obvious that we called someone but, at the same time, what the fuck did they expect? That this was atrocious, rattled the brains of not only us but people on the other side of the block and was a HUGE fire hazard. What if we sat idly by and let their house burn down? What kind of members of society would we be? I wanted code compliance or CAPS involved first because I figured they were just having a rough time and they needed to know a generator is not the answer.

Then I though about the kids. They are in a house with no power and a generator running in a fire trap situation. They needed to be safe and warm and have lights. There are things out there that would give them assistance. Why didn't they think of that for the kids? What if we never called anyone and one or all of those kids died? What if the city never responded and one of those kids died? We had to get TV out here.

Later today, it came out that there was no water either. The city claimed Wayne presenting the situation was the first time they had heard of anything. The city gave the neighbors 48 hours to get the water and power turned back on. They said they were seeking assistance. The agreed to talk on camera. I missed the segment but I'll post a link in another entry if I find it.

I'm heading home now. The only full night's sleep I've had since the 19th came out of a day where I was awake for 20 hours and crashed and burned. I'm looking forward to sleeping tonight. And I'm looking forward to the people next door having water and power and a better quality of life and I hope they aren't too pissed that they wound up out there on the news.