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.

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.