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!