When you're roaming around the city with nowhere to go ...
Bored and unable to sleep in on a Saturday morning, I continued my a.m. driving series through Detroit's Southwest neighborhoods. When I hear that Journey song about the boy "born and raised in south Detroit," this is the part of town I imagine. See, there really is no "south Detroit." You have the East Side, the West Side and Southwest. The rest of the city has its own designations like Woodbridge, New Center, Corktown, Warrendale, Midtown, Brightmoor, Palmer Woods, Hubbard Farms, Delray, Indian Village, the Cultural Center, and so on. But really, the Big Three are East, West and Southwest.
I don't spend as much time in this part of the city as I would like, should, but I have a feeling that will be changing this summer. I've discovered more to this area then I previously thought existed. Color me lazy or sheltered, but I really ventured only as far as Mexicantown and parts of Vernor West, the former being a slew of restaurants with a strong suburban clientele. And while there is nothing wrong with that, but when I venture out into some of the fringe neighborhoods or go into some bizarre-o, out of the way bar in an area no one else I know would go (save for, of course, my homeboy who spearheads many of these ventures), the last thing I want to see is a room full of people who, well, look like me. Give me the obscure, the true local flavor, not some perfumed pig to comfort the young couple from Clawson. And I found a lot of that flavor while getting somewhat lost around southwest this morning, tooling aimlessly up and down Vernor far west than I ever knew existed, down Springwells, Mullane, Lawndale, Junction, etc. Fuck a bunch of farmers market or waiting in line at Toast. I want to see some real shit.
Looks like I missed the taco truck ...
And in a social climate where seemingly everywhere I turn with a camera people are constantly suspicious and nearly always aggressive with remarks and questions like "Why are you taking pictures?!!?" and "Who are you working for?!?!" (for which answers are, in this order: "fuck you and fuck you"), it made my day when I saw this guy.
Nice guy. Totally restores my faith in humanity for at least the next 12 hours, until some some dolt fucks it all up. We need more Carloses in the world -- even-tempered polite individuals just grilling up about 20 pounds of finely seasoned chicken at 10 a.m. on a Saturday.
Swung by the old Tiger Stadium, where recent news reports have been agog with the erection of a 10-foot high fence, the definite precursor to the structure's demolition. That bitch, finally, is coming down.
Just tear it down, please. It's an eyesore and a waste of space in a Corktown neighborhood that is choking on its own potential to be a dominant part of the city. We've all had our fun at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. Great. Great fucking times. But those times expired, so rip the goddamn thing down already.
