Archive | March, 2011

Detroit, Oh, Detroit

26 Mar

What words could describe the fall of a once great American city?

What words?!


This was the United Artists Theater (above). Well, it still is the United Artists Theater but it’s dead. Still standing but dead.

Michigan Central Station. Such great architecture that for decades stood so tall, so colossal, so gorgeous–done with its life. No more visitors. No more sign-in sheets. No more meetings.

Who lived here? Are there lost pictures and notes or wall scribblings still in the attic? When will this building finally finally declare “I’ve had enough!” and tumble to the ground? Where are the families or family that once lived here?

These are the things I wonder when my eyes rest on these photos. BTW, all photos are from a Huffington Post article on Detroit’s despair.

Cars were assembled here at the Fischer Plant. I wonder how many of those vehicles are still on the road or jacked up in driveways sitting on cinderblocks.

Asbestos must be resting in the air. Do the homeless here even bother to sleep outside with so many buildings available?

I wonder what it’s like to be born in a city, live there your whole life and then watch it die right before your eyes. But you’re still there. You’re still alive. You live in a dilapidated ghost town with sky high crime and delicious memories. Yet there is no hope–zero hope–of the very buildings you’ve driven by for decades to have a rebirth.

Whose fingers tickled the ivory on that piano?


These types of buildings would be overpriced “loft” apartments here in D.C. Or in NYC. Or in Atlanta.

It’s almost too much to look upon.

I wonder if this dentist is retired, if he moved to Boca Raton and has a palm tree in his front yard. And if he thinks back to his days of scraping plaque off of patients’ teeth while advising them to floss daily.

I wonder…I wonder if the people who sat in that room watched the Motown greats premiere on the Ed Sullivan Show on that forgotten television. I just wonder.

Ode to the 80’s

22 Mar

This is just an ever so slight music ode that may or may not veer off,  for the 1980’s couldn’t be captured in a mere blog post, no.

I mean, there is no way I could fully podium Madonna, for starters.

“Gonna dress you up in my love. Get into the groove, boy, you’ve got to prove your love to me. Papa don’t preach. I’m in love again. I’ve made up my mind; I’m keeping my baby. Borderline. Feels like I’m going to lose my mind. Gonna dress you up in my love. You might be my lucky star ’cause you shine on me wherever you are…I hope I live to tell.”

They just don’t make music like this anymore. Has anyone even heard from Tears for Fears?

And where did the Jets go? Any chance of Kool & the Gang doing a reunion tour?

How could I possibly forget songs by Gregory Abbott or Cameo?

These were the days pre-cable when on Saturday mornings I would get up after a teenaged night of drinking four consecutive sodas and 3.5 slices of pizza and turn on Dick Clark’s American Bandstand and see George Michael of WHAM!  in a huge t-shirt with one shoulder exposed singing “Careless Whisper.” Or Foreigner oozing “I Want to Know What Love Is.”

While I stumbled out of bed I would actually take sips from the can of soda that sat on the nightstand all night. See, before going to sleep I would plug up the can hole with tissue to preserve the fizz. Sure, the sugar liquid was room temperature but the fizz was still intact at 11 a.m. eastern time. 

Gosh, there were delicious bands like Simply Red and The Human League and Club Nouveau. And, geesh, Bruce Hornsby & the Range.

I could meet a cute guy at the mall on Monday and be IN LOVE with him on Tuesday by lunchtime. His full name would be drawn all over my notebook in swirly swirls and I would get caught daydreaming in biology 101 and given the evil eye by Mr. Snister whose entire life was centered around copper and helium. Three Tuesdays later I would loathe the guy from the mall because I’d find out that he wasn’t that into me after all and had only one thing in mind and there I was stuck with his full name all over my notebook. Meanwhile he didn’t even know my last name. Flared nostrils.

I had gobs of friends. I rode big yellow school buses. I had big dreams of going to Hollywood and becoming a star, having my name on the Walk of Fame. PMS hadn’t yet entered my body and the words “sodium ” and “cholesterol” were foreign terms I could care less about. This was before anyone could look my way and label me a barren spinster. Jokingly, of course. This was when shows like St. Elsewhere were on television. And Family Ties and The Wonder Years. Shows with real opening theme music.

This was before the snake pit that Vh-1 is becoming. Or the sewage hole of most cable television. Long live the sitcom!

I wonder, could there even be a modern day Mr. Belvedere? Has anyone even seen Wesley?

Just a slight ode. My soul can’t take further reminiscing. I told you this would veer off from the topic of music.

8 Mar


Now see, this is the kind of reading I like to wake up to.

Especially this excerpt:

“Creative people have a great deal of physical energy, but they’re also often quiet and at rest. They work long hours, with great concentration, while projecting an aura of freshness and enthusiasm…This does not mean that creative people are hyperactive, always “on.” In fact, they rest often and sleep a lot. The important thing is that they control their energy; it’s not ruled by the calendar, the dock, an external schedule. When necessary, they can focus it like a laser beam; when not, creative types immediately recharge their batteries. They consider the rhythm of activity followed by idleness or reflection very important for the success of their work.

             Creative people tend to be both extroverted and introverted. We’re usually one or the other,   either preferring to be in the thick of crowds or sitting on the sidelines and observing the passing show. In fact, in psychological research, extroversion and introversion are considered the most stable personality traits that differentiate people from each other and that can be reliability measured. Creative individuals, on the other hand, seem to exhibit both traits simultaneously.”

This information makes me happy.

It’s like a flicker of light shining on me. Us. Severely misunderstood creative ones. Us who make no sense in our existence otherwise. The flip side is that this very description sounds like manic/bipolar symptoms. Hmm, so that’s why a coworker once suggested that I try medication. Not to mention random folks I’ve met and–ahem–collided with.

But reading this was spiritual.


Me likey.