Community spotlight: Snohomish County
the issue
Like many communities across the state, Snohomish County has seen a spike in homelessness and
people
struggling with behavioral health disorders in recent years. They had invested in embedded social workers to
partner with law enforcement to engage people into services. But too often, there was nowhere for people to go to
get the support they needed. People who wanted treatment were not able to get into a program right away or ended
up involved in the criminal justice system rather than treatment, and too many were unable to secure housing.
our response
Working in close partnership with Snohomish County, the Snohomish County Sherriff’s Office and
community
partners, we designed two new programs to specifically address the community’s most urgent needs.
The Snohomish County Diversion Center
is a 44-bed facility that provides residents a thorough needs
assessment, assertive engagement into available services, medication assisted treatment options, and
individualized support and recovery plan development.
The Carnegie Resource Center
serves as a gateway to a multitude of resources including mental health
counseling, substance use disorder treatment, employment services, housing enrollment, veteran programs,
health insurance navigation and public benefit enrollment.
how it's working
In their first full year of operation, these new programs are delivering!
at the carnegie
233
got deposit assistance to secure housing
165
received benefits to access primary care
Community spotlight: Spokane
the issue
Our partners at the City of Spokane and Spokane County, and other community stakeholders have
been
working together for several years to decrease the jail population, reduce unnecessary ER visits, and provide
safe, stable housing options in the downtown core.
our response
To address these pressing community concerns, we converted the Carlyle from assisted living to
serviceenriched
housing for justice-involved individuals. Thanks to the support of the local legislative delegation,
we secured capital funding to upgrade the facility to meet current housing codes in 2019. And with amazing
ongoing support from community funders, we are able to provide on-site services and activities that are
specifically designed to meet our residents’ needs and build a strong community within the facility.
This transition allows Carlyle residents to secure affordable housing and get the support they
need to build
healthy, productive lives in the community.
how it's working
Housing stability increased
Treatment success increased
Emergency service use decreased
Recidivism risk decreased
Superbad - E Hoje 〈PREMIUM ✭〉
In 2007, the central conflict of Superbad was logistical: how to bridge the chasm between juvenile fantasy and adult reality. Seth’s desperate, misguided plan to buy liquor with a fake ID named “McLovin” is a metaphor for the adolescent condition—a frantic performance of maturity. The film’s humor derives from analog failure: the police cruiser, the shattered bottle, the embarrassing voicemail left on a crush’s home phone. “E hoje,” however, this landscape is almost unrecognizable. The “party” that Seth and Evan risk everything to attend has been largely replaced by the “hangout” or the private Snapchat story. The grand, terrifying gesture of buying alcohol for a girl is obsolete when social interaction is mediated through screens. Today, Seth would likely send a risky text; Evan would over-analyze an Instagram like. The epic, three-act struggle of Superbad has collapsed into the ambient anxiety of the group chat.
Ultimately, to watch Superbad “e hoje” is to feel a specific kind of nostalgia—not just for 2007 fashion or music, but for a texture of life. It is a nostalgia for the un-curated self, for the embarrassing voicemail, for the conversation that happens when you are too drunk and too scared to be cool. The film argues that growing up is not about achieving the goal; it is about surviving the journey alongside the people who see you at your worst. In a world that optimizes every interaction for efficiency and image, Superbad stands as a clumsy, heartfelt monument to the mess. It reminds us that the most terrifying thing for Seth and Evan was not the prospect of failure, but the prospect of facing the future alone. And today, surrounded by the noise of a billion virtual friends, that fear has never been more prescient. superbad - e hoje
Paradoxically, while the external quest has become easier (alcohol delivery apps, dating platforms, constant connectivity), the internal crisis Superbad diagnoses has become more severe. The film’s genius lies in its revelation that the goal—sex, popularity, the party—was never the point. The point was the conversation in the car, the fight on the staircase, the whispered confession, “I love you, man,” before falling asleep. This is the fragile intimacy that “e hoje” threatens to dissolve. In the age of curated perfection, the vulnerability Seth and Evan display—his admission of being a “pathetic excuse for a human being,” his friend’s fear of being left behind—is now often hidden behind layers of digital performance. We have achieved the superficial goal of constant connection, but we have lost the chaotic, beautiful, and often embarrassing friction of analog friendship. In 2007, the central conflict of Superbad was
Furthermore, Superbad serves as a critique of modern masculinity that feels even more urgent today. Seth and Evan’s obsession with sex is revealed to be a mask for their fear of emotional abandonment. Officer Slater and Officer Michaels, the absurdly childish cops, act as a funhouse mirror of the future: two men whose friendship has become their entire world, hiding in authority figures and reckless fun. “E hoje,” where discourse around toxic masculinity is louder than ever, Superbad offers a radical, if messy, antidote. It suggests that male bonding does not need to be performatively tough; it can be tearful, jealous, and deeply loving. The film’s final image is not of a sexual conquest, but of two boys bouncing on a trampoline at the mall, having failed at everything except the one thing that matters: staying present with each other. Today, Seth would likely send a risky text;
In the pantheon of teen comedies, few films capture the specific, sweaty-palmed terror of adolescence quite like Greg Mottola’s 2007 masterpiece, Superbad . On its surface, the film is a two-hour odyssey of crudeness: two awkward high school seniors, Seth and Evan, attempt to lose their virginity by supplying alcohol for a party. Yet beneath the raunchy jokes about phallic drawings and fake IDs lies a surprisingly tender eulogy for a specific kind of male friendship. When we view Superbad through the lens of “e hoje” (“and today”), the film transforms from a period piece of 2000s excess into a diagnostic tool for our current era of curated digital intimacy. The question is not just what Seth and Evan did to survive their youth, but what happens to their anxieties in a world that has traded the epic quest for a quiet swipe on a screen.
