Outside the Snow is Falling, and Friends are Calling "You Rock!"

If I were the kind of blogger up who was up on all the latest technology I might do such high tech things as own a cell phone, utilize that devices camera function to capture images of all the flippin' snow engulfing my town, and then post the resultant files to this space. To do less would be a dereliction of sacred duty!

Surly Luddite though I am, I rest easy in the warm confines of my office, confident that despite the carnage of cutbacks engulfing ink-and-paper outlets statewide the Snooze will deploy some kind of robotic freelance photographer to snap the necessary pics. Then they will employ either a rosy cheeked intern or an outsourced Indian telejournalist with an American holiday cliché style guide to appropriately caption the image above the fold.

Shoveling the parking lot of my place of employment earlier this morning, I noticed that people were spinning out at the intersection of Washtenaw and Summit. The city plow trucks hadn't been out yet so I scooped two out. The first was a sedan with EMU decals, driven by a young woman who told me how muched I rocked as she finally pulled off. The second was a minivan, that depite my earlier efforts and front wheel drive, couldn't make it off without my actively pushing. The dude driving turned out to be Rois Savvides, proprieter of the Tower Inn Cafe.

He offered me free lunch!

Things I Miss About the Ypsi

Well, I must say, the 40 degree weather makes it a hard thing to regret....

I do miss Michigan!

There are a lot of good things going on here. And there are jobs. But we don't have the following:

Middle Eastern Food
Greek Food
Anything but seafood
Drive through anything
Shadow Art Fair...
My friends
My family

What are things that you would miss about Michigan if you left?

The H D- or "Miz Morris"

Payback

Let's assume that you are like me.

You live in Hipsitucky, where you are often approached by strangers asking for money. These seekers offer a variety of reasons for exactly why they need this money (they need bus fare, they need gas money, they have a flat tire) but you assume that the real reason remains unstated: they want money to buy drugs or alcohol.

If you're like me you used to help out people but after years of being approached again and again with the same reasons (sometimes by the same people!) you stopped giving people the benefit of the doubt.

Imagine your surprise this morning when a gentleman who bears much resemblance to those seekers enters your place of employment. He goes right past you and hands your boss a $5 dollar bill. "Here's the money you lent my last week," he says. "I'm sorry I didn't make it in on Friday like I said I would but I didn't didn't have it then."

Once the man leaves you ask what that was all about. "He said he ran out of gas," your boss says.

How does this make you feel?

If only . . .

Local Politics in a Landlord Town

I was surprised when Paul Schreiber was elected mayor. Not just because he was the only candidate for the city income tax, but because I didn't even realize he was running until the debates.

From the signs in peoples yards it seemed like it was just Steve Pierce versus Lois Richardson, Pierce being the favorite north of Michigan Ave and Richardson more popular south but with Pierce the clear winner.

At the debates I was put off by Pierce's naivete and disappointed by Richardson's lack of direction, especially since I had admired her during the few city council meetings I've attended. Schreiber made a solid case for the income tax so I ended up voting for it and him. I figured it was a waste on both counts, even if it was the right thing to do. I don't remember seeing any Schreiber signs until a few days just before the election, but lo and behold he won!---even if the income tax lost.

I assumed that if people bother to put a sign in their yard that they would bother to vote for that candidate so I was a bit surprised, if pleased, by the results. Maybe it was silent majority thing, with the "unsigned" yards being secretly pro-tax and thus pro-Schreiber but now I realize it was clearly the landlords.

At the time of the last mayoral election (two years ago now, really?) I was living in a flat above Michigan Ave (not far from Steve Pierce actually), so no yard. Now I reside in a quiet studio in a quiet house on a quiet street. I came home one day to see a sign in the front yard reminding me to re-elect Sherrif Dan Minzey. Walking around town I noticed that all the properties owned by this management company had Minzey signs in their front yards. I was reminded again of the debates when I noticed another, much less prominent landlord wearing a Pierce shirt to match the Pierce sign in his front yard.

I rented a house with some friends during my time at EMU but doubt I'll do it again. I should like to think that if I did I would have the rights to put a sign for whoever I wanted in the front yard.

This election I didn't know what to think. The council seat was open in my ward and even though this guy said he was running, it really only boiled down to this guy and this guy.
This guy even hosted a forum between the two on his blog.

There were an awful lot of signs for the second guy in my neighborhood*, even though the first guy lived on my street. I was for the third guy and hadn't noticed a lot of signs for him, but given the above described Landlord Factor I wasn't sure what to expect.

If I were a more research oriented blogger I would look up exact how many properties in Ypsi are rentals. Or at least on my street. That way I could predict the future!

No Comment

(Photo Credit: Kitty Cutts)

Love Lost in Austin, TX

So Drew Barrymore is filming a movie here in town. Apparently the story is set in Austin and folks from said city are a bit pissed about being passed over. Their alternative weekly has spoken ill of this burg. Because, you know, that helps.

So I wrote them a letter.

And they published it, this week of July 11 to 17!

Bicycles in Town is Dead, Long Live Ypsilanti Cycle

This past Saturday I biked to downtown A2 on an errand. I took Packard out but decided to take Washtenaw back since I like to do loops. My pedal crank had been wobbling for a couple of weeks but since it had yet to fail me I figured it would hold out.

Unfortunately, it did not. I made it as far as Arborland before the pedals became so loose that they wouldn’t even spin. I broke down almost exactly in front of the bicycle shop next to All Creatures Animal Clinic. “How fortunate!” thought I.

Last time I took my bike in to Ypsilanti Cycle, Paul had noticed the loose crank but told me it was nothing to worry about. It would give eventually but was a simple fix. So when I wheeled my bike into the Arborland store I figured that I would just enjoy the air conditioning for a few minutes while they made the necessary repairs.

The guy there looked at my bike for about two minutes before he told me that it would probably cost more than I had paid for the bike in the first place. I wasn’t offended because this was probably true (I bought it for $50 off a friend five years ago) but I was a bit surprised by his attitude. I got the felling that he thought it was both a waste of time and money to even consider fixing it.

I asked him to take a look at it anyway. He wandered off, wandered back, and told me they didn’t have the part in stock. I thought about asking him to see if he could possibly order the part but decided against it. The guy didn’t seem that interested in my business.

It’s four miles from Arborland to downtown Ypsi, but it was a nice day so I didn’t mind the walk. I wanted to stop at the credit union anyway.

I’ve been going to the Michigan Avenue bicycle shop for as long as I’ve lived in Ypsi, from the original Bicycles in Town, through the new Bicycles in Town, to the latest incarnation as Ypsi Cycle. Usually I've dealt with Paul, who greeted me by name. It had been several months since I’d last been in but he remembered the crank problem. It was late in the day by then and they are closed on Sundays but he told me they would have it ready by Monday.

I just picked it up. In addition to replacing the entire crank mechanism---it turns out that the threads were entirely worn away---they put on new pedals. The total cost, including labor? 15 bucks.

Riding away, I realized that they had also polished the rust off my bell.

On "Hipsitucky"

So about a year ago my friend Chris decided to write a blog about his life in Ypsi. He called it "My Life in Hipsilanti" and he invited some of his friends (including me) to contribute. It had barely got started when Chris, being Chris, randomly decided to delete the blog without telling anyone.

At the time Blogger wouldn't let you recycle a deleted url, so when I decided to relaunch the project under my own auspisces I did so under the name "Hipsitucky." Anyone reading this knows that "Hipsilanti" is a lame play on "Ypsilanti" that has appeared on "Cool Cities" funded banners around town. Chris appropriated it ironically, and my putting the "Hip" to "Ypsitucky" was done with similar tongue in cheek.

Little did I know how controversial the "-tucky" permutation was! I knew it referred to the migration of folks from not-quite-so-down-south to this fair city of ours but had no idea it was ever considered derogatory. Apparently, some people think being from Kentucky is an inherently bad thing.

I try to be respectful of people's sensitivities but will admit that I have a hard time taking this seriously. But since I have recently discovered that people not only read this thing, but actually reference it in heated discussions about the word "Ypsitucky," all permutations thereof, and who exactly is entitled (if anyone) to employ said word and said permutations--I feel compelled to make the following statement.

My use of the word "Hipsitucky" is not meant to disrespect the city of Ypsilanti, the marketing concept of "Hipsilanti," the great state of Kentucky, anyone who migrated from Kentucky to Ypsilanti or their descendants. Nor is it meant to dishonor any trials these migrants may have endured.

I meant only to celebrate the quirky heritage of our funky little town by using the quirkiest, funkiest little word I could find.

In a mofuckin' mulberry jam!

After soccer (Sundays and Wednesdays at 6 in Frog Island, people! All welcome!) last night I decided to check out the mulberries in front of the Thompson Block. I've lived in Depot Town for three years now, have been frequenting the area for as long as I've lived in Ypsi, and only just noticed that bush last week.

Mulberries are nothing new in my Ypsilanti. I've spotted several trees (bushes?) in various parts of town over the years but never have known what to do with the fruit except pop the odd handful in my mouth. However, word has come from Adster's lady friend that they make great jam. So I spent and hour filling up a few water bottles worth.

But the recipes in my cookbook all call for at least as much sugar as berries (four cups to four cups!) and discussions with more experienced cooks than I have confirmed this. So screw it. I gave a jar to Kitty Cutts, mixed some up in my oatmeal this morning and plan to smoosh more into my peanut butter sandwiches this week. Any other suggestions for their use are welcome. In days of yore I would have stirred them into a legendary KD2 smoothie but these days I lack a mechanized blending device.

Whilst picking said fruit I was greeted by a woman who lives in the apartment building adjacent to the T-Block. I had heard that she frequents that bush and was afraid that she might view it as an incursion onto her turf but she seemed quite happy to share. In fact, she directed me to a tree where I can find free tart cherries.

Construction on the T-Block is finally underway for real and given the gentry-friendly aspirations of the remodelers I can't imagine that a crooked bush that craps stainy berries is long for this world.

So get them while the getting's good!

Even without reading the text . . .

. . . you know why I posted this picture.





You know who I hope to remind you of.

I haven't seen Ypsi's own "No Face" in a couple of years. Asking around, it seems that no one else has either. I remember when he started walking around on crutches and people said he had thrown himself in front of a bus, tried to kill himself again. Last time I saw him he was in a wheelchair. He was slumped forward and the hole where his faced used to be was full of black shadows. I assume he's dead now.

How come he didn't get facial reconstruction, like the guy above? Would it have made a difference?

I think the painter dude saw me naked

So I come home last Friday to find my maroon building spotted randomly with pink paint, looking rather like it had developed a case of the chicken pox and been daubed with calamine lotion.

"Ah, it seems that they will soon be changing the color of my residence!" I thought.

I was wrong. The plan was to repaint it, but to renew the regular color as opposed to replacing it. The odd pink spots turned out to be primer. I know this because the painter dudes explained it to me this morning.

I was able to sleep in a bit today and woke to the sounds of FM talk radio and dudes talking about Tiger Woods.

"Ah, it seems that today is the say that my residence will be painted!" I thought.

I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom to get the day going, commando style because that's how I sleep in the summer. I did not occur to me to look behind me. When I came back into the bedroom I saw that one of the top of a ladder framed in one of my windows. A painter dudes was working on the wall immediately outside my bedroom. He broke eye contact as soon as it was made.

"Didn't know you were right there," I said.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's cool," I said.

Then I sat down and meditated.

Block Partly

One of the nine or ten thousand perks about living in Depot Town is that I get to monitor development on the Thomson Block.

I pass it every morning on my way to work, and I can actually shave a few square meters off my frequent walks up River St. by cutting behind it. I did so yesterday and was shocked to see ACTUAL WORK being done on the building.

For years it sat abandoned and for months it sat undisturbed even as it was theoretically being renovated. The Barnes' only managed to hang a sign out front. The Beales matched them in that and did a bit better by parking a construction trailer out front. I remember that they were hauling garbage out of it sometime in 2007 but apparently Beale the younger ran out of money.

The project is apparently back in the green for having leased space to the dude who took over the Elbow Room. The rear wall has been knocked out and is being re-bricked. The front doors were open this morning and sturdy looking chaps were hauling in particle board and other building type stuff.

I doubt they'll have lofts (or anything else) ready by Fall 2008 as their sign proclaims, but I'm excited nonetheless.

Irony, thy name is meta

A year ago I had a professor who said that Gladys Knight had served as a model for Aunt Jemima and that as a result he would never listen to Gladys Knight, Pips or no Pips. A couple of quick wiki checks, plus the added fact that Aunt Jemima was never that attractive, led me to discount his assertion.

I didn't think of it again until "Midnight Train to Georgia" came up on my shuffle this morning. For some reason my curiosity was aroused and I googled "Gladys Knight Aunt Jemima." Well I found (via google books... awesome) Slave in a Box: The Strange Career of Aunt Jemima by M.M. Manring, available in full-text excerpt, natch.

From what I could gather from the excerpt about Gladys Knight, she did appear in an Aunt Jemima commercial, though not as Aunt Jemima. Instead she's a kindly grandmother who serves her grandkids the high-fructose, high-racist stuff.

But that's not even the kicker: google has started serving text ads on google books (natch). And what were the first two ads it served up for this consciousness-raising critique of racist imagery in pop-culture? "Sexy Black Skin Care" and "African Nose Jobs." I did not follow these links, perhaps they're more positive than I suspect. I kind of doubt it though.

Pedestrians, three episodes

1) Yesterday was my first appointment at Packard Community Clinic. I found it to be awesome. I got excellent care, spent less time waiting than at my old expensive doctors office, and it was free (with Washtenaw Health Plan)! Even if you have no insurance at all it's still on a sliding scale.

But never mind the appointment itself, how about how I got there? My intention was to bike, but I found that my tire was flat (again), so I had to take the bus and walk instead. I was pretty sure that the 5 stopped right by the clinic, but because I didn't want to miss it, and because I had time, I got off about half a mile early and walked the rest of the way.

This was a good decision. The weather was gorgeous, and the stroll helped me to take in the character of that strip. I think it's developing into a pretty vital neighborhood. Shi-shi bike shops, diners, car repair, grocery stores, doctors' offices, it's pretty much got it all.

Anyway as I walked across the PCC parking lot I was almost run over by a Ford Taurus, whose driver then slowed down (from about 40 mph, I think) to wag his finger at me and caution me "gotta look both ways." I thought about telling him "gotta give the right-of-way" but it seemed pointless.

On the way home, after telling my new doctor I don't eat fast food, I grabbed some fish and chips from Mary's Fried Chicken, and picked up some bar tape from Two Wheel Tango. I was really feeling the need to bike so I took the Chariot back to Ypsi Cycle and asked if they could figure out why my tires kept going flat. They tinkered around with things for a while but eventually just ended up giving me a new wheel, as well as wrapping my handlebars with the aforementioned tape, all for a measly ten bucks. Truly those dudes do rock.

2) As I biked home -- illegally on the Pearl Street sidewalk (fortunately Steve Pierce and his Segway were nowhere to be seen) -- I almost collided with a creature I'd heretofore only heard tell of around campfires and women's studies classes: a middle aged man, decked in pinstripes, exiting the back door of the Deja Vu.

Clearly he was so satisfied that he was neglecting his surroundings. Even as I screeched to a halt a few feet from him he didn't even turn around to see what the ruckus was about. As I passed him I turned to see he was still grinning as he got into his Buick, and I felt a twinge of empathy. If he hadn't just received untold pleasures, this man probably would've felt the same way I did that morning in the Clinic parking lot. I resolved not to ride on sidewalks again if I could avoid it (this lasted approximately 6 hours).

3) Later that evening as I left the Co-op, I waited on the curb for another Ford Taurus to pass before I crossed the street. "I learned my lesson," I thought. "Never cross a Taurus." But the driver waved me by.

"Hey!" He shouted. I turned. "It's the pedestrians we need, right? One love, baby!"

One love indeed.

a response, ment with good natured love and apprecitation...

I will belive it when i see it.......... we three suck...

apathy for life!

The impending Ypsilanti blog Renaissance

Wait till the semester ends, you'll see! April 28th, look out suckas!