Dinner is served at the Hillbrook Inn in Charles Town, West Virginia.

Washington (CNN) – When the owner of the Hillbrook Inn went looking for ways to boost business, she turned to a new and increasingly popular tool: daily deal sites like LivingSocial and Groupon.

More of article here.

Reagan and sister watch the final shuttle launch. (Dan Merica)

Washington (CNN) – Crowds filled the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in Washington on Friday, as they regularly do during the summer months. This Friday, however, was different, as people lined up outside the building, waiting for the last launch in the shuttle program’s 30-year history.

More from article here.

“I am going to be a world champion boxer,” he would say at three-years old and his commitment to the sport has him on that path. The son of immigrant parents, Singh is more than meets the eye — his shy personality, small frame and even smaller effect on a scale allow him to blend into almost any room.

Stepping into the ring, however, Singh’s demeanor morphs from reserved to confident. After just minutes and it is impossible not to notice the young boxer. But it is the people who know him best — his family, friends and coaches — who know the boxing ring is not the only place Singh stands out.

A Different Kind of Boxer from Daniel Merica on Vimeo.

George and Doree Dickerson

There was never a time in my life that I was so in awe of one human being. Like a priest, giving a powerful Sunday sermon, he commanded the crowd and all eyes were on him. He was in control without even saying a word. He not only had undivided attention, but he had the most moldable heart and mind one could imagine. However, this man wasn’t religious. He wasn’t even speaking to a crowd. He was my grandfather and he was speaking to me.

The smell of sweet cake began to fill the room as I heard the creaky oven door being opened. This was a common experience at my grandparent’s house. When I was younger I thought that my grandmother kept a cake in the oven at all times, anticipating her next guest and with the flick of a switch, a hot cake would be ready for the welcoming party to present. Even though this wasn’t true, she was the consummate 1950’s wife.

Winter in Las Vegas was far from brutal, the occasional dip into the 40’s but nothing steady. With very little prior experience with the cold temperatures, any day below 60 was freezing to me, causing me to don some sort of head wear and a coat.

The slow drone of the heater could be heard in the background as my grandfather cracked open the box to a freshly bought LEGO set. The only other audible sound, other than the spattering chatter between my grandparents, was the drone of the TV, constantly set, at the time of his life, to CNN. As talking head after talking head waxed poetic about the state of affairs in America, I couldn’t have been bothered to listen.

“Let’s get this started,” said my grandfather, with a warm smile.

We were off.

There is no two ways around it, my grandfather was the most influential male figure in my life at that time. When I was a boy, my father left the family, leaving my mother, two sisters and myself to work together through the times when the void was apparent. He was at my tee-ball games, drove me to my soccer practices and taught me the lessons of manhood. While the unimaginable strength of my mother filled the maternal side of my upbringing, my grandfather stepped into the paternal void. While my opinion has since changed, at the time, I was left with a palpable feeling of loss and uncertainty.

“Don’t worry about that piece,” my grandfather said to me, “the answer for where that goes will come with time.”

Like most houses occupied by people of impressive age, my grandparents house was a museum to life. Filled with trinkets from around the world, a statue from South Africa, pictures for Australia and even a piece of the Berlin Wall, their house was a collection of artifacts from a life well spent.

If the house was a museum, my grandfather’s library was the centerpiece, the Mona Lisa in a sea of paintings, the Hope Diamond surrounded by second class gems. His leather bound law books, filled with knowledge that was second nature to him, seemed to be busting from the book shelves. Everything the room was a testament to the life he and my grandmother had made together though 66 years of marriage.

Countless pictures lined his walls. There were pictures from his day as District Attorney of Nevada, pictures with mobsters, pictures with politicians, pictures with people who fell in both camps. There were pictures with his father, the once governor of Nevada and pictures of his proud military family. There were pictures of poor people and of the rich. There were pictures in America and pictures from faraway lands.

These were pictures of life, and at ten years old, I could already begin to see the man that I wanted to be. I began to perfect my skills of emulation.

“I think I’ve got this one grandpa,” I said beamingly, as I placed it on the side of the pirate ship we were now building.

Building in the study always took longer than normal, my eyes jumping from picture to picture as I would slowly lose focus on the plastic pieces in front of me.

At times I would get frustrated, like any child of my age hoping to impress their idol. My hands quickly moved from piece to piece, blue, yellow and green plastic, grazing my hands as I tried my hardest to appear competent.

“Be patient,” he would say, as he saw my hands zipping across the mahogany oak table. “It will take a while with something like this, but…” As he spoke his aged hands moved through the piles, at a pace much slower than mine. He continued, “That is why it will be rewarding when we finish it.”

Almost with perfect timing, he pulled out the right piece. As if a director, with unbelievable focus and concentration placed the piece in the perfect place for my grandfather, he concluded his monologue with a nicely time crescendo.

“You planned that,” I quipped, with what I thought was wit. He smugly smiled with a bellowing laugh, saying, “Why would I ever do that?”

We would continue to build as the cake from the other room began to cool down and was then frosted. The smell began to emanate from the kitchen, getting stronger and stronger as more time went by. My grandmother, slowly shuffling with two plates in her hands, set two plates in between the plastic pieces of our project.

With a caring smile and a pat on the head, my grandmother set down the forks and told us to “enjoy”.

“Thank you for everything you do,” said my grandfather, standing up slowly, to give my grandmother a loving kiss on the cheek. With a smile, my grandmother walked away from the table, glowing like 66 years had reversed and she had just received her first kiss from my grandfather.

I was ten years old, no permanent father figure, no relationship to learn from. I was ten years old, unsure of my future, unsure of marriage in general. I was ten years old, and in just a few seconds, in just one six word statement, my grandfather proved to me that not only can marriage work, but how important being in love is. I was ten years old and I was in awe.

As years would pass, we would finish the pirate ship, we would finish planes, we would finish boats and we would even finish the skyline of New York City, all with patience and concentration.

When I come back from college, the low drum of the news still plays in the background. As my grandfather has aged, his politics has changed. CNN has slowly changed to Fox News, Anderson Cooper morphed to Glenn Beck, and while my politics may stand at odds with his, his messages of independence and confidence still hangs in the forefront of my psyche.

The cake is still served, no matter who walks in the door. The books still bulge from the bookshelves and the pictures still fill the wall. The LEGO’s have come and gone, ebbing and flowing into the endless list of hobbies I had as a child. The deep mahogany table still sits in the middle of the room, filled with memories of the past.

My life has changed and so has my grandfathers. He is a decade older, as am I, but the messages that were imparted on me during those winter days still stay with me.

“Never remain complacent,” said my grandfather on my most recent visit home. “I am so proud of you, you have learned so much, but never be happy with what you have. Always strive for more.”

I have learned so much, so much from him, my powerful influence.

District Wire News was lucky enough to have her join us for our special edition, District Talk. Here she is talking about the arrest of Mayor Vincent Gray and the future of his administration.

Copyright Bentley University

It has been a while since I last blogged but with school and work and everything in between I just haven’t been able to make time for it. But not to worry adoring fans, I have something from the way back machine to bring you. During my senior year I wrote this editorial for the Bentley Vanguard. You see, at Bentley, having a long email signature seemed to be the cool thing to do for a few months. People were including things that no one cared about, all in the name of self promotion. Here was my response.

There comes a time in everyone’s Bentley career when you feel like the number of e-mails you are sending out, and your obvious importance, requires you to take a few shortcuts and permanently affix a signature to the bottom of each e-mail that comes from your “midas-esque” fingers.

The thing about signatures, though, is that they should be exactly that, a signature.

A brief scan through almost anyone’s in-box will prove that this is far from what is happening, with most signatures straying away from pithy sign off to boastful resume.

What Not To Do (Courtesy Sitepoint Blog)

In some cases, an e-mail signature has morphed into more of a phallic size comparison for some than a time-saving sign off.

Here is a challenge for readers: Go through your in-box and find some of the longer e-mail signatures you can find. A brief scan of The Vanguard e-mail account rendered one gem of a signature, listing everything from former membership in organizations to former jobs held. In total, the signature was 11 lines long.

This has got to stop. We understand you are important, we understand we should be careful with what we send to such a well-connected leader and we understand that you used to work as a clerk at CVS, but really, do you need to send it to everyone?

Are you really providing vital information to those whom you e-mail, or is this just another way to send out your resume?

It has become an increasing trend for people to put former positions held as well, including everything from “Former President and Founding Member of Club X,” to “Former Intramural B-League Basketball Captain.”

We skimmed through our collective lives and thought of some of the former positions we have held. “Former Las Vegas Day School 5th Grade Class Secretary” or “Former Middle School Student of the Week (10 times).” How about former jobs we have had; “Former Subway Sandwich Artist,” or “Former Babysitter, Grades 6th – 8th, for Tommy and Johnny.”

And what if we got into future goals and aspirations? “Future Father to Michael, Juliette and Gwyneth,” one could read.

It is not far-fetched to assume that some students have their future so planned out.

“Future Husband of the Year,” said one dreamer. “Future Inmate 23345691,” pondered another.

“Future CEO,” “Future CPA,” “Future POTUS,” these are all aspirations of some and if your former positions on campus are important, why aren’t your future aspirations?

Where does it stop? Where do we draw the line to ludicrous signatures?

E-mail is a revolutionary means of communication and something that has totally changed the way we do business.
What e-mail was not meant for was to let the world (or those who read your e-mails) know of how important you are or what positions you used to hold.

It is one thing to give people a sense of who you are and what you do, but it is another thing completely to dispense your resume with every click of send.

We all collectively have information that we would like everyone to know, but show a little discretion and remove the items of minor importance.

It is an ego-cutting measure, we understand, but it takes a big person to realize they aren’t as important as they think.

This number is starkest in Ward 8, a ward that Gray defeated incumbent mayor Adrian Fenty with a 59 percent margin. In Wards 5, 6, 7 and 8 — three out of four of those wards Gray won — his approval rating is 42 percent. As I found in Anacostia, there are a number of issues nagging voters from the region.

Here is my report.

It seems like there is a holiday for anything and everything you could think of. Well, for all of you get nostalgic for your younger years, when pillow fighting was allowed, today is your day. Little did anyone know, but April 2nd is International Pillow Fight Day, and a number of Washingtonians decided to celebrate — by holding a pillow fight on the Mall.

For more, check out Chandler Clay’s post at TBD.com.

Stories will vary from a reflection on how being young has changed over the years to an in-depth look at how youth unemployment led to political instability in Egypt.

There will be more to come, but take a look at this poster for more information.

(Poster by Janelle Flores/NPR)

Quique Aviles, a Salvadoran poet and activist heads up the program. Aviles says that art saved him from his drug addiction and is the reason why he believes a program like Paso Nuevo is critical to a cities well-being. He believes so strongly in this program that even if funding is cut, Aviles will continue to work with these kids and help them find an outlet in acting.

Here is my report.