Live in Hartford

Just a Short PSA

Emily Gianquinto — 2010-03-08T17:15:00Z

Live in Hartford learned over the weekend that the famous New Haven Cupcake Truck will be in our fair city TODAY and TOMORROW, for two hours each day during the Big East tournament. That gives you four full hours to get your hands on scrumptious baked goods, people.

The Truck will be "near" the Trumbull Street entrance today from 4 to 6pm and tomorrow from 5 to 7pm. Check the Truck's blog for updates on timing and location. You can also pre-order your dozen or more cupcakes by emailing the Truck at order@followthatcupcake.com. Might be a good idea if the lines are as long as last time the Truck was in town.

Today's flavors include chocolate, red velvet, vanilla, and GUINNESS. That's right, Guinness. I know which one I'll be trying.

Just Another Weekend in Hartford

Emily Gianquinto — 2010-03-01T18:30:00Z

Ho hum. Nothing to do in boring ol' Hartford.

Too bad we don't have a brand-new science center that opens its doors at night every other month so the adult crowd can play in the water exhibit, learn about penguins and polar bears, analyze our batting stance and play weatherman, all while enjoying drinks and entertainment. Wouldn't that be cool?

Too bad we don't have several theaters in town that showcase amazing performances and thought-provoking plays like "Gee's Bend."

Too bad we don't have a world-class art museum in town. Because if we did, I bet it would house a movie theater and frequently show films that run the gamut from classics to indie to contemporary. Too bad that museum didn't show a trio of love-themed films for Valentine's Day, including one of my all-time favorites, "An Affair to Remember." (Laugh all you want, but I absolutely adore Cary Grant.)

Too bad we don't have a funky little basement comedy club where you can see free shows put on by a local improv group that met while taking classes at the local theater company just a block away. And too bad you can't also enjoy beer made on the premises of said comedy club.

Wait, what? Hartford has all those things? And all of those events took place over one weekend? Hmm. Maybe there are things to do here after all...

If you missed "Gee's Bend," you missed what might be the best show I've seen yet at Hartford Stage. Definitely the best one so far this season. Don't miss "Tom Sawyer" in April.

Another don't miss: This month's Art After Hours this Thursday at the Wadsworth. This month's theme is "March Love Madness."

If you're into improv, check out "Improv Idol" at Cloud 9 on Congress Street this Friday at 7pm. Local improv groups competing against each other, judged by Hartbeat Ensemble's artistic directors. Trust me, you'll laugh.

If movies are your thing, catch "The Proposal" at the Wadsworth this weekend as part of "March Love Madness," the Oscar-nominated short films at Real Art Ways through Thursday, or Clint Eastwood's latest, "Invictus," at Trinity College's Cinestudio starting Wednesday.

Or you could stay home all week and lament the lack of things to do here in our fair city. Your choice.

Jury Duty in Hartford

Emily Gianquinto — 2010-02-12T21:03:00Z

I've been a registered voter since I turned 18. I've owned and registered a car since 2006. But it seems that buying a house is what finally got me called for jury duty here in good ol' Hartford. (Or maybe being a lawyer – a coworker also just got called for jury duty, as did two other lawyers I know.)

Maybe I'm just a total nerd about this because I'm a lawyer, but I pretty much found the whole process fascinating. (Though I did have a brief freak-out about whether I would be in the pool for the Cheshire home invasion trial, but it turns out that jury selection is happening down in New Haven.) Like a good little potential juror, I filled out my initial screening form and sent it in, waited for the papers to arrive a week before my scheduled date, and called the jury administration number to see if I was excused from appearing. The recording had a list of maybe 20 people who didn't have to show, but I wasn't among them.

On my assigned day, I pulled into the designated juror lot next to the Hartford criminal courthouse (surprisingly, they don't ask to see your papers before letting you park there) at about 8:10am and waited for the doors to open at 8:15am. The crowd was pretty big. Some people got turned away at the door because only the jury pool is permitted through that early. Everyone else has to wait until normal business hours to get in. Jurors get a special elevator up to their special floor, where we had to check in first with a guy who made sure we filled out our juror information cards correctly and second with our handlers, who took our forms, made us sign in, and handed us JUROR stickers. We were to wear them in a visible location at all times, so judges, court personnel, attorneys and everyone else could easily identify us.

The juror floor isn't a bad place to spend a day. Plenty of chairs, TV, pretty pictures of Hartford and some surrounding towns on the walls, a "library" of paperbacks on a bookshelf, free coffee and water and tea, vending machines, even a quiet lounge. Once we were all herded into the main room, we listened to a short presentation on the nitty-gritty of jury duty – where to park, the lunch break, how to prove to your employer that you had jury duty, your employer's obligation to pay you for the day, what to do if you're self-employed or have daycare expenses, etc. The big take-away was that jurors should expect to be there for the day. Lots of grumbling about that.

Next up was a speech by Judge Michael Sheldon of the Superior Court. I assume the judges rotate the responsibility of talking to jury pools, but I could be wrong. Judge Sheldon spoke to us for 15-20 minutes about the jury selection process (known as voir dire), the importance of our service, our role in the process. Then, after a brief break, we watched the infamous jury duty video. All I'll say about the video is that Judge Sheldon was a lot more interesting. Note to the judicial branch: Time to update the video. I recommend using Judge Sheldon as a narrator.

Shortly after the video, the jury handlers (I assume they have a much more official title, but I kept thinking of them as our handlers) began reading off lists of 20-30 people. Each group gathered at the front of the room and was led by a court officer to a courtroom for voir dire. I was called for the third or fourth group at about 10:30am.

Once our group gathered, we trooped down to a very small criminal courtroom, where the 30 of us filled the jury box and almost every other seat in the room. (Some groups were led across the street to the civil courthouse for voir dire.) Judge Julia Dewey introduced herself and the case, and we were sworn in by the court officer. The prosecutor introduced herself and named the other attorneys and investigators who worked on the case. Defense counsel did the same, and also introduced his client, who was accused of murder. Anyone who recognized any of the people involved was asked to raise their hands. We trooped out of the courtroom to a jury room, and one-by-one each of us was called in for voir dire. The people who knew anyone involved with the case went first, and were dismissed quickly. The rest of us were called in order of our jury numbers. There was a lot of waiting.

I got called in just before the 1pm lunch break. I wasn't really expecting to be chosen for the jury because I'm a lawyer, but one of my colleagues has served on two juries, so you never know. I sat in the witness box and the prosecutor asked me maybe six questions, all of which concerned me being an attorney. Defense counsel didn't ask me anything. I was excused to stand in the hall for about 30 seconds, and when I went back in, I was excused. I returned to the jury floor, where I was told that I wasn’t needed because so many cases had settled that morning. After grabbing lunch, I was back at work before 2pm.

My take-aways from and recommendations about the experience?

The process was very well organized. Yes, there were some lulls and delays with the intro stuff in the morning, but overall, the jury handlers and the court officers who manage this process were efficient, professional, informative and courteous. Kudos to the judicial branch for either providing a great training program or picking great employees.
Expect to stay the whole day and be pleasantly surprised if you get out early. If fewer cases had settled, I probably would not have been excused at 1pm and would have had to stick around and go through voir dire for another jury panel.
Bring the following: (1) something to keep you occupied (a book, some work to catch up on, Sodoku puzzles, your iPod); (2) a snack; (3) your phone (yes, they're allowed in); and (4) your own coffee, because the free stuff wasn't very good.
Remember that jury duty is important. I could have been picked to sit on a murder case, which means I could have been responsible for putting a man in prison for a very long time. That's a big deal. It's important to show up on your assigned day, answer the voir dire questions honestly, and serve without too much grumbling if you're picked for a jury.

Taste of Hartford Restaurant Week: Winter 2010

Julie Beman — 2010-01-15T20:53:00Z

Taste of Hartford Restaurant Week, a summer favorite of Live in Hartford, is being incarnated as a January event!

Restaurant Week will take place from January 18 through January 24, and many of Live in Hartford's favorite restaurants are participating.

For $20.10, participating restaurants will offer a 3-course dinner: appetizer, main plate and dessert (alcohol, taxes and gratuity are not included).

It's a great way to try out restaurants you might otherwise not be able to afford, or an affordable way to take folks out for a special treat.

Reservations are strongly encouraged by Taste of Hartford, and we recommend them too. Last summer we were DENIED at Costa del Sol, but ended up with a yummy dinner at La Casona (not participating) where we planned our fabulous trip to Ireland.

We also went to Carbone's (oh.my.gawd.amazing), and I went with Heather and her lovely husband to Trumbull Kitchen.

This time around I'm thinking of another visit to Carbone's, and perhaps an Intro to Sushi night at Feng.

So get out there! Warm up your cold January evenings and give some love to our wonderful Hartford restaurants!

You Must Be 21 Or Older To Read This Post

Julie Beman — 2010-01-11T00:52:00Z

The word "throttle" had never been in my vocabulary. That all changed this weekend after attending the Northeast Motorcyle Expo at the Connecticut Expo Center.

Slightly skeptical, but completely game, I agreed to join my Motorcycle-Riding Friend at the Expo. I figured I'd focus on the fashion aspect rather than the motorcycle aspect. I knew fashion would be a highlight because I used to live in South Dakota, home of the world-famous Sturgis Bike Rally. Fashion is a big deal at the Rally.

The Motorcycle Expo didn't disappoint.

You could find pretty much anything you wanted at Shitzengiggles Cycle Circus, including this tasteful basic black tank:

The vendors had you dressed from helmet to boots, jacket to delicate underthings.

Wait. Are underthings sporting gemstones delicate?

Well, they're at least versatile, I learned while speaking with Speed Channel personality Michelle Smith, purveyor of the "no needle" tramp stamp.

Because these aren't just any old thongs. No. Each thong is also a necklace.

Here's the deal: the jeweled bits are attached to the fabric with little hooks. While you're washing the fabric, you can unhook the jeweled bits and wear them as a necklace. Patent Pending. Seriously.

After chatting with Michelle, who was trying to convince my Motorcycle-Riding Friend that the rhinestone heart necklace panties were a great Valentine's Day gift, I felt that any other motorcycle fashion would fall short. I mean really? A fringed leather bustier? That's nothing after the Jeweled G.

It was time to move on to motorcycle fashion.

Isn't this pretty?

At the Motorcycle Expo I discovered all sorts of sparkly decorative objects for your bike.

Check out these beautiful taillight lenses. I mean, they're practically like pavé Swarovski crystals.

And speaking of crystals...

...you can get jeweled license plate bolts. Stylin'.

I was thrilled to learn that hot pink duct tape exists.

And I was completely enchanted by this:

"What is this?" I asked my Motorcycle-Riding Friend while pointing at the silvery knifey flamey things.

"It's a wheel," he said.

I'd seen quite a bit, and was more or less ready to go when I realized something. I didn't have to be a passenger forever. I could actually ride a motorcycle on my own!

But first, I would have to learn.

How convenient! The Connecticut Rider Education Program had a booth at the Expo!

There were two simulators in the booth, used for the classroom-instruction portion of the Basic Rider Course, which includes 6 hours in-class and 12 hours on-cycle.

I took the opportunity to try out the simulator. It was super fun. At first I just tooled around a course getting a feel for shifting and braking and using the throttle and turn signal and stuff. At one point the instructor told me I was going 75 miles per hour. I hadn't noticed because I was concentrating so hard.

Then I crashed.

At that point he suggested I try a training course. He loaded up City Course 1, and I drove my virtual motorcycle around a sleepy downtown.

Merging into traffic? A.

Ride safely behind a truck? A.

Avoid a car door being opened in front of me? A.

Avoiding collision with a passenger car that suddenly darted into the street? C. I came within 6.7 feet of colliding with it.

But all-in-all?

I got an A!

Exhilarated, I set out to find a real motorcycle to sit on. They come in all sizes and I'm kinda short, so I needed to find one that wasn't too heavy, and would also let my feet touch the ground. Easier said than done, as sellers aren't actually taking up space in their trailers with their smallest, wimpiest motorcycles.

But MOM saved the day and I found myself on a Suzuki GZ 250. All black. And I wanted it.

I'm not kidding. Wheels were spinning, bank balances were reviewed, cash registers were ka-chinging in my head.

Yes, I almost impulse-purchased a motorcycle.

I was stopped only by the knowledge that I wasn't capable of test-driving it.

I'm signing up for my Basic Rider Course tomorrow.

Standpoint Theory

Julie Beman — 2010-01-05T00:50:00Z


Unattributed print from polychrome on flickr.	Hartford Soldiers' Memorial CA. 1886, courtesy of CT Historical Society

On New Year's Eve I attended a gala at Open Square in Holyoke MA. It was sponsored by an organization called CRUSH - Citizens for the Revitalization and Urban Success of Holyoke. It was fun - I love dressing up and dancing, and got to do both. I met great people, spent time with new friends, and got a midnight smooch. All in all a great success.

But an interesting theme emerged during the evening. It brought to mind something I'd studied in grad school: Standpoint Theory.

Crudely described, Standpoint Theory states that we all stand on, say, a point. From my point I observe and describe the world. From your point you observe and describe the world. When we talk and combine our perspectives we come away with something that is more objective than what we could have described individually.

My standpoint on New Year's Eve? That of a deeply invested and committed resident of Hartford visiting Holyoke, a city in which I have a significant interest.

The standpoint of many of the folks with whom I had conversations? Those of deeply invested and committed residents of Holyoke who are sincere in their desire to revitalize a fascinating and historic industrial city.

The first indication of the emerging theme was when a person expressed complete and utter shock that I would leave Hartford to spend New Year's Eve in Holyoke. Why? Because Hartford is way cooler than Holyoke. It has cooler clubs, cooler restaurants, more better cooler people...

I disagree. I've been to some great places and amazing homes in Holyoke (architecture and history fiends should visit just to check out the canals), and I've met truly wonderful people: Denis, Marjie, Maggie, VanDog and many others.

And as all readers of this blog know, when you start to meet a place's people, you start to feel its spirit.

Later conversations referenced a Hartford full of great restaurants. A Hartford where you can hear live music. A Hartford with cool galleries and that "fabulous museum."

"Hartford is great," said one person, "Holyoke would love to be like Hartford one day."

Said another: "Have you ever been to Providence? Hartford is like Providence..."

I think my jaw hit the floor when I heard that. Don't leaders around here always wish that Hartford was like Providence?

One of the people I was speaking with helped me with my jaw and asked about my reaction.

"Did you say Providence?"

"Hartford's problem," he said, "is marketing. It's a great cosmopolitan city."

Great. Cosmopolitan. City.

So let's see what happens when we combine the standpoints of the various folks with whom I conversed: Hartford has much to recommend it. Hartford is diverse and sophisticated. Hartford is a destination. Hartford is a city to emulate.

Could Hartford already be the city it wants to be?

You call this leadership? (Or: Caution! EmGee Rant Ahead)

Emily Gianquinto — 2009-11-06T21:29:00Z

I've been working crazy hours the past two weeks. Crazy as in at the office until midnight or home at 9pm and working again from home at 9:30pm. Big firm-wide deadline, so I'm not alone. And better than the alternative.

Anyway, I managed to spare some time last week to perform my civic duty and vote for new BOE members. I didn't make it to the candidates' forums, but I did read through candidates' websites, their statements on Cityline, the small amount of campaign literature I got at home and Real Hartford's fantastic windup of the debate at the library. And I know a few of the candidates. So I wasn't the most informed voter, but I did my best under the circumstances, and I knew who Milly Arciniegas was and what party she was with when she greeted me outside my polling place.

This afternoon, I took a short break from work to quickly catch up on what's going on in the city. While reading through Cityline's recent posts, I found this pathetic back and forth that appears to be between a Democratic councilperson, the chair of the Democratic Town Committee, and the-man-who-would-be-chair.

All I can say is ARGH. I'm a registered Democrat. I voted for one Democrat and two Working Families candidates. You want to know why I voted for those three candidates? They were the most impressive. They were prepared. They have relevant experience. I know one of them. And in local elections, parties just don't matter to me. People do. I've more than once voted for Independent and even – gasp – Republican candidates, too.

And I'm also sick of this kind of stuff. I cannot fathom being a member of the City Council and attacking my colleagues on blogs. Nor do I understand why a Town Committee chair, who is supposed to be the leader of his party in the city, would stoop to that level. Most of all, I can't imagine being a City Council member and attacking MY CONSTITUENTS for voting for a third-party candidate. You want to know why your party is losing our votes, rJo and Sean? Because of behavior like this. You don't have a right to my vote just because we're registered with the same party. And to attack the WFP for not showing the proper "appreciation" to Democrats who allegedly "put them in office"? PLEASE. The WFP has been gaining steam and EARNING their seats because they're working hard for them. People in this city know them because they knock on doors and show up to events. And because they aren't wasting time on personal attacks instead of dealing with this city's real issues.

Get the hell over yourselves and do your jobs, people. THAT's what will make people vote for you.

I, for one, know who I'm NOT voting for next time Council seats are up for grabs.

And now, back to work. I promise to write something more positive soon.

It's About Time

Julie Beman — 2009-10-30T00:56:00Z

Science.

Beer.

What more could a girl want, really?

Well, maybe she could have her own time machine. Just a little one. And Dr. Ronald Mallet could build it for her.

Dr. Mallett is Professor of Physics at the University of Connecticut. While his research interests may seem pedestrian to some (general relativity? gravitation? black holes?), there's one subject that grabs even the most jaded person's attention: time travel.

Photo: UConn Department of Physics Web site

Dr. Mallet is the author of the book Time Traveler: A Scientist's Personal Mission to Make Time Travel a Reality. According to a press release announcing Spike Lee's acquisition of film rights to the book, Time Traveler is "...the compelling and touching story of a man whose deep childhood trauma -- at age ten the sudden death of his father -- drove him on a quest to build a time machine in an attempt to go back in time to save his father."

Dr. Mallet believes he has discovered the basic equations for a working time machine, and is telling the world about it.

On November 4, Dr. Mallet will be at the Connecticut Science Center to discuss the scientific theory surrounding time travel and the transformation of his book into a Spike Lee film.

Details:

6:00 - reception with cash bar
7:00 - author talk, followed by book signing
$25/$15 for Premiere Members
Reservations - 860-520-2154

I've already been to the event and I've come back from the future to tell you that it's great.

White Wicker Bassinet

Julie Beman — 2009-10-17T22:53:00Z

A shaft of feeble light catches the curve of the white wicker bassinet, and a dim shadow rises and falls on the wall. The bassinet rests among boxes overflowing with bright games and children’s clothing. It stands next to an empty bed frame. A narrow path runs through these fragments of a family’s material life, and I turn sideways and shuffle through, trying not to brush a single box with my fingertips.

I step on something. My heart pounds and I’m suddenly chilled.

“I have to leave this house,” I say.

It doesn’t matter what I’ve stepped on. Whatever it is, it’s soft, and I think of the baby who slept in that bassinet. The despair I feel is exactly the weight of an infant settling on my chest. I turn and walk up the stairs, leaving the gray basement and the empty bassinet behind.

* * *

We’d arrived at the three-family house, on a boulevard of grand old homes in Holyoke, to meet a broker for a walk-through. We were early and he was late, so we strolled up the block, observed by neighbors who, it was easy to imagine, had their fingers crossed that we would buy the house and do something, anything, to keep it from sliding further into disrepair. In a neighborhood heavily burdened with houses-in-need-of-work, just one more can be a sign-post on the road to that place where desirable is revealed as worn and tired.

Whenever I’ve looked at a house, I’ve approached it tentatively. It’s almost as if a buffer forms between me and the property, and I circle at a distance until I find a polite way in.

This house, with its teal exterior and peeling gray turret,was no different. We walked into the backyard and took in the single electrical meter on the back wall. I frowned at the condition of the garage next door and peered curiously at the collection of plastic flowers nailed to the wall underneath the fire escape.

We peeked, shook and rapped our way to the front of the house, and found ourselves standing on the lawn, wondering aloud how much it would cost to make the necessary repairs to the exterior. As we talked, I noticed that there were pieces of paper taped to a window and the front door of the house. Feeling emboldened, I stepped up to the porch and looked at them.

The paper taped to the window was a building permit. In 2006, the year that he had purchased it, the owner of the house had been granted a permit to rebuild the porch, put on a new roof, and paint the exterior.

The paper taped to the door was a notice that the water was going to be turned off.

And stuck between the mailbox and the wall, not noticeable from the street, was a judgment against the owner of the house from a creditor.

I was moved by the story told by those papers. In May of 2006 the house had been purchased and the new owner had enthusiastically set about undertaking repairs and improvements. In October of 2009 it was back on the market, with newspapers and unopened letters blown into a corner of the porch and empty beer bottles balanced on the railings.

The broker arrived, and after some fiddling with the key, we stepped into the house. Weak sunlight barely passed through the windows. The floor had buckled, and from wall to wall it was covered with trash. In one corner a single brown shoe rested against a pile of flattened cardboard boxes. A child’s blue t-shirt lay wrinkled on the floor next to an open picture book.

In the kitchen a metal trash bin overflowed with beer bottles and soda cans. Dirty pans and dishes were piled on the counter.

The blue-walled bathroom was large and strangely empty.

The apartment on the second floor was cleaner, although its narrow hallways and small rooms pressed in on me from all sides. The appliances had been stripped from the dingy, light-starved kitchen. Stick-on parquet flooring had been used to cover mustard-colored vinyl tile in one of the bedrooms. Looking out of the kitchen window, I could see how rickety the fire escape was.

The third floor apartment was bright and nearly spotless. I found myself thinking that I could live there easily, and was enchanted by the curving turret space with its two long windows and arched doorway.

I can’t help but make up stories to fill in the space left by objects, overheard conversations, body language, or scenes. I allowed my mind to fill up with the story of the owner of this house and his family.

I see him, with a wife and three children, hoping to grab onto the American Dream by purchasing a house on a shady, quiet boulevard, in a neighborhood filled with children and dogs. This is a move up for his family – perhaps out of an apartment, or out of a house with smaller windows on a noisier street.

The well-kept houses on the new street are beacons of what lies in the future: a house-become-home, loved and comfortable, the children growing up with fond memories of hide-and-seek and Christmas.

As each part of the house is improved and restored, the apartments are reclaimed by the family. Ultimately the three floors are rejoined into a single-family home. The little girl who had slept in the bassinet uses the turret as a playroom, and light slants in to illuminate the cribs where her baby dolls lie.

I know this story is a fantasy. The owner was likely an investor who bought at the top of the market and found himself sinking fast as the economy collapsed around him and he stared full-on at the dark underside of theAmerican Dream.

Either way, the house was bought with hope for a better life, and I saw the hope draining away as I descended from the bright third floor into a basement filled with artifacts of happier days. On the first floor, I saw despair turned to bitter rage: nothing is folded neatly or packed into moving boxes. Piles of broken objects tumble and spread on the floor, a painting is hanging by the corner of its frame. A window is open, allowing the wind and freezing air to rush through the unruly space.

* * *

I reach the top of the cellar stairs and walk toward the front door. Two men are looking in the window, hoping to see the house when we’re finished; hoping to grab on to their piece of the American Dream. I turn away from them to face the chaos: the sagging ceiling, the cheaply paneled walls, and the endless trash. I feel trapped in this space, and tricked by its promise.

I shiver again. I wish the men would go away. I want to walk out the front door and never look back. No one should have to live filled with this kind of despair and rage. No man. No woman. And certainly no baby who sleeps in a white wicker bassinet, the future for whom all these dreams are pursued.

Plaza Mayor No More

Emily Gianquinto — 2009-10-09T18:50:00Z

Another grand pie-in-the-sky development plan bites the dust. Cityline reports that the Hartford Redevelopment Authority voted unanimously to kill the project by rescinding its initial agreement making Plaza Mayor LLC the tentative redeveloper for the intersection of Park and Main. The resolution rescinding the agreement cited Plaza Mayor LLC's "significant challenges in obtaining the necessary financing for the project." No financing = no final agreement between the Authority and the developer = the intersection remains empty lots filled with trash and surrounded by chain link fences.

I can't say I'm sorry that the plan as proposed isn't going forward. I never liked the idea of high-rise buildings at that intersection. Just doesn't seem to fit the feel of the area at all. Cityline has a drawing of the proposed "gateway" to Park Street here. To me, those high-rises looked like they would just swallow up the space and block Park Street off from Main Street instead serving as a gateway welcoming people onto Park Street.

I did, however, like the part of the plan that called for a "main square" surrounded by retail. Perhaps in today's economy the retail part is a tougher sell, but why can't the city still pull something together at this site, something that would be a draw to Park Street and an attractive entrance to what has become a very attractive street thanks to the city's taxpayer-funded streetscaping efforts? Why not build a main square anyway? Maybe pare down the whole columns and arches look, but put in a nice gathering place for people, with an attractive, accessible bus stop. Add in some benches and tiered seating areas so concerts can be held there during the summer and vendors can able to sell their wares during the week. That intersection could be a perfect place for another farmer's market in the summer, or for public art installations. Keep one wall as a designated graffiti artist wall that's re-painted every month. Give graffiti artists a sanctioned place to show off their talents.

Barnard Park, just across the street, is always filled with people hanging out waiting for a bus or just chatting and smoking cigarettes. While some people probably call that "loitering" and are uncomfortable with the idea of encouraging people to hang out, I'm reminded of something Will K. Wilkins of RAW said at the live broadcast of Where We Live two days ago. He said something like: "Hartford's problem isn't that there's nothing to do, it's that there's nowhere to do nothing." In other words, there's nowhere for people to just hang out and connect with each other.

I'm not sure I entirely agree with that statement because to me, the parks across the city fill that role pretty well, but his commment certainly resonated with listeners. Wilkins was quoted on Twitter several times just moments after he made that observation and those tweets were re-tweeted by others who weren't even listening to the broadcast.

The people who hang out in Barnaby Park have found somewhere to do nothing. Why not build on that idea and put in a square designed for nothing more than doing nothing? At the very least, a main square would certainly be an improvement over the way it looks now.