On Sundays, DCist publishes opinion pieces about life in D.C. Today's column comes to us from reader John Heaton. If you have an opinion to share, please email us. Almost every city has it; some local delicacy that represents the roots or fabric of the area. NYC has cheesecake and pizza, Philly has cheesesteaks, and, going out to the left coast, the Seattle area has coffee and smoked salmon. What does D.C. have? Nothing. Some... more ›

On Sundays, DCist publishes opinion pieces about life in D.C. We're keeping it in the family today, as the following column was written by my cousin, Rajiv Shah. If you have an opinion to share, please email us. more ›

On Sundays, DCist publishes opinion pieces about life in D.C. The views expressed below are solely those of the author. I have lived on Capitol Hill since 1992, and the only thing that I do not like about living in this city is my so-called voting rights. I wish that the government would take them back. The lines of the federal district were drawn in 1791, but the people who lived here continued to vote... more ›

On Sundays, DCist publishes opinion pieces about life in D.C. The views expressed below are solely those of the author, who, in this case, is Charles Gray. If you have an Opinion to share, please email us. more ›

On Sundays, DCist publishes opinion pieces about life in D.C. The opinions below belong entirely to the author, who, in this case, is reader Timothy Ebner. To add your opinion to the fray, please email me. Leave it to our Capitol City to make politics out of the holiday season. Apparently political correctness now goes as far as Christmas trees or should I say Holiday trees? This year House Speaker J. Dennis Hastert (R-Ill.) wrote... more ›

On Sundays, DCist publishes opinion pieces about life in D.C. The views expressed below are solely those of the author. more ›

On Sundays, DCist publishes opinion pieces about life in D.C. The views expressed below are solely those of the author. more ›

Six months ago, I plunked down what meager savings I had and purchased a few hundred square feet of condo in the Brookland area of Northeast Washington. I had been living in a Columbia Heights rowhouse, surrounded in coffeeshops and bars by the newly rich, made wealthy by timely purchases of neglected townhomes. My morning walk to the Metro was a minefield of construction detritus and orange cones, houses being gutted and rehabbed, and holes being dug and filled in with upscale grocery stores and luxury condos. On weekends I’d walk through the neighborhood, stopping to take in the curious new vistas that changed weekly, fresh iron skeletons and powerwashed brick facades that showed up daily like the morning paper. In such situations, one’s natural feeling is a fear of missing out, and the most casual of friendly get togethers tended to turn to talk of taking the plunge, of investment trusts, and the existence and/or longevity of a housing price bubble. Ultimately, I became seduced, and began a process that quickly developed its own life, pushing me through legalistic hoops until I found myself standing in the dining nook of my condo, holding a bottle of ten dollar champagne and wondering what I’d gotten myself into. more ›