I would too, if I had to eat dinner every night with, and take parenting/teachable moments from, Dr. Adam Bricker.
This is probably almost as good as "Stoned," starring Scott Baio.
Found somewhere on tumblr.com
What do you think the members of Deep Purple meant when they sang in their song "Let's go/space truckin'/c'mon"?
What is space trucking? Is that some euphemism for getting high? I mean, when you're just engaged in standard, garden variety truckin', I presume he means truck driving, as in an 18-wheel, eastbound and down sort of fashion. You know? Like in a "coz-we-got-a-great-big-convoy-rockin'-through-the-night" sort of way, as made famous in the over-the-road drama starring Kris Kristofferson and Ali MacGraw, and made famous in the song by C.W. McCall?
So, there is that sort of truckin', which is what I assume is the inspiration for the Deep Purple lyric, only they added a more spacey, nebulous component to it. I think.
How does one space truck, exactly? Can you get CDL certification for that?
The NFL team in Detroit -- there is nothing Lion-like about them -- is enough of a national embarrassment. It takes some drunken bar slut and her sister-in-law from Clinton Township (my guess) to submerge to new lows.
Would love to have seen what started all of this. Her crying at the end is just-- I'm sorry -- it's just pure gold.
If you woke up one morning and realized you were all-powerful, what is the first thing you would do?
Submitted by loveless.
Find some discredited hack to speak to you, in my name, all while misinterpreting my message and instead asking you for money so he can drive a car nicer than yours and live in a house thrice the size of the one in which you dwell.
Walking through Detroit's Central Business District in 2005, I took this picture of the David Broderick Tower, the second-tallest building in the city's skyline.
I would like to think I have a pretty vivid and wild imagination. Never in its deepest tarpits nor throughout its gleamiest light showers, could I have ever forecasted that one day I would be rooting around the inside of the building in the dark, and making my way to its roof, via 36 floors, to drink beers with friends and touch the sky.
It happened that way when a like-minded drinking buddy and ghetto purist served me up with one hell of a birthday present: Red-carpet access to this stunning hulk of architecture and city icon.
Like most things in Detroit, the David Broderick Tower was aglow in activity and commerce for decades. According to information gleaned from books and online sources, it housed an array of commerical ventures, including dentist offices, and a radio station, to name but a few. And like the rest of the city, when the retail and commercial space collapse of the early to mid-80s rendered some of the city's signature buildings half-empty or otherwise obsolete, the Broderick Tower sat, exposed and vulnerable. It was recently named one of the tallest abandoned structures in the world by some Web site not worth mentioning here. Gone from the inside of the Broderick is anything worth of value, any solid piece of glass in a window pane, and the life with which this dynamic structure once bristled. There is word of redevelopment that in 2010 is slated to include commercial, retail, and residential space. And if you visit the website of the building's owners, they make it look like you can sign up for a loft today. But, when I was in there the other night, it doesn't look like anybody other then pigeons and curious humans are the only ones occupying so much as floor one.
A couple of quick calls from homeboy and, with the help of a third party, we were in. Regrettably, time was not on our side, as we really needed to haul ass up to the roof to catch the sunset. We could have spent a good 6-8 hours on the floors leading up to the roof alone, enamoring ourselves with the debris-clad ghosts of this once-proud skyscraper and the people who were once its inhabitants. I was lead to believe that during such expeditions, unless informed otherwise, that use of your camera flash is a no-no, so getting quality shots with limited sunlight on a shitty camera was tricky, at least indoors. Still, I did my best. To walk around these floors is part starfucking, while the other part is that component of you that makes you say "holy shit."
We still had some daylight to work with on some peeks from various floors.
We would navigate about 8 or 9 levels and take a breather by walking around some of the floors to catch our breath.
We reached one of the top floors as it was getting dark, which was unfortunate because we found ourselves on the penthouse level. Imagination sprints while flapping its arms wildly at the thoughts of what life was like in this grand unit. Sadly, I have no photos but trust me when I say the suite encompassed the entire floor, had four slate balconies at each corner of the building, and it's own built-in bar. We traversed another floor, up a narrow wooden staircase that looked like something out of an Escher print and, bingo, the roof, and the city, at least for this night, was ours.
You come down to the ground a changed man after an adventure like this. While the farthest cry imaginable, I can now understand what prompted brother-in-law Casey and his wife Mary to climb Kilimanjaro. It now makes sense to me why people get into astronomy or become pilots. There is a different type of connectedness I experienced with my city, with my world, and within myself as I stood 36 stories above it all, lathered in a stratospheric haze that to which body and mind -- at least mine -- are unaccustomed. Main thoroughfares look like spokes on a wheel, like Woodward Avenue below us.
I have stood on that street and looked up at a streetlight that was 18 feet above my head. Now, I'm lording over that light, looking down from approximately 400 feet above it. I have sat through nearly 80 games at Comerica Park to watch my beloved Detroit Tigers win or lose. And I have marveled at the city's skyline from my seat. I enjoyed a decidedly different view on this night. Our building guide brought along a radio, so we could listen to the game and watch from on high while we sipped tall cans of cold beer we had stashed in our backpacks.
Detroit lost, 11-1, to the hapless Royals, but it could have been 41-1, I simply didn't care.
Every turn on the roof was a new path, those rough-hewn two-tracks that plow through your brain, leading to thoughts and conclusions on such critical variables as work, home, love, life ... fatherhood. I experienced a renewal up there, something the church can't replicate or supercede, something significant, something, well, honorable.
We remained unbothered the entire evening. No hipsters crashing our party, no pesky security to bogue our highs. It was sublime and magnificent. Our access was unparalled -- our guide just let us right in. There is something to be said about hauling ass up 36 flights of stairs, in a building in which you're not supposed to be, in an empty skyscraper that once pulsed mightily, with bags of beer on your back, beating daylight by stopping at this floor and that floor to quickly -- snap -- take a couple of pictures and move on like some ghetto sherpa. I can't thank the boys enough for letting me piggyback on their time. It meant more to me than these words or images could ever convey.
Enjoyed a sublime Saturday recently when Brother Chicken and his family came for a visit. In the 20 years I have lived in and around Detroit, my immediate family members have had an intense aversion to taking the time to come to visit, despite my two decades' worth of reciprocation. It is a long, complicated story but I am the youngest of five and I sense some familial resentment with my decision to relocate and commit to creating a wonderful life for myself, away from the fishbowl that is my small and insular hometown.
My brother Frank, however, has always been a joyous anomaly to the parent and siblings who have elected to not have a role in my adult life. And really, who are we kidding here, my childhood life as well. Frank has always come through. A month after moving away from the coop for the first time, in a big city where I knew only 2 people, he sent to me a very thoughtful letter that also contained cash and controlled substances. He knew how to get to my heart. Years later, he would visit for my birthday, taking me out for drinks and the David Byrne show at a nearby local music venue. In roughly 2003, he let me piggyback on a visit to a Tigers game where he had access to a luxury suite. And years after that, he spent an afternoon rigging electrical work in the basement of mine and Mrs. Chicken's first apartment, so I could have an office in the basement to write. He is selfless and generous, and has always been a mentor and role model for me. And continues to fulfill those roles to this day.
So, it was with great glee when he and the family came to visit. My sister-in-law and niece kicked it with Lamont for a moment,
before taking our relatives, who live in a quiet farming community in mid-Michigan, to Detroit's Eastern Market, where the jug bands are plentiful and the sights and sounds are infectious.
We would hightail it to Rocky Peanut Company and then to the Detroit Science Center. This is a scale model of the the Mackinac Bridge, constructed from an Erector Set.
The main draw is the traveling Star Trek Exhibit.
It contains artifacts and replicas from the show (and its movies) and its history, complete with costumes, timelimes, props, the whole deal. I am far from a trekkie, but it was an exciting experience. We would later barbecue on our back deck before they would leave to drive back up north. I love my brother and his family, and I hope they come back soon.
We would have a Detroit Science Center Experience 2.0 the next week, by attending a black tie gala through some sponsorship of Mrs. Chicken's employer. It was swanky.
And also had some concept cars, including this Camaro.
Our table had a lovely view of the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History,
and I had an absolutely stunning view of my gorgeous and talented wife, who, by the way, is 4 months pregnant with our child. That's right, Baby Chicken is incubating as we speak.
Speaking of Star Trek, remember when Leonard Nimoy had that TV show called "In Search Of"? Well, we went in search of some serious dessert after this event. Many establishments were closed until we found the very tony restaurant Roast, inside the fabulously restored Book-Cadillac Building. Kerry ordered this Guinness mousse/ice cream creation with chocolate-covered pretzels all about it.
I had a different type of craving. In a clear departure from my consistent self-preservation on this site, I give to you, your author.
"I'll have a Crown on the rocks and keep them coming. I have a long drive."
Drove right up on this abandoned house fire on Detroit's southwest side Sunday. We sat there for a good 5 minutes before getting out and snapping shots on the camera phones (which explains the shitty reproduction). The firefighters arrived about 5 minutes after that. During that time, we just stood and watched, along with residents of this neighborhood, while this house burned and nobody said a word.
At this point, had either of us had our regular cameras, I could have had the shot of a lifetime -- me, sitting on the front porch of that house as the upstairs burned. Sitting there, like I'm waiting for the fucking mail to arrive. Granted, it would've had to have been done in about 9 seconds, but I'm confident it could have been pulled off. Oh well, if I want one bad enough, I'll go set one myself.
If you look closely, you can see the cascade of fire coming from the roof. My buddy's guess was that this was the tar from the roof materials.
These guys had this fire under control in about 45 seconds, or so it seemed.
This charred structure will now sit on that lot for the next 20 years. But lo, it was a perfect Sunday in the city and this random ghetto bonfire was an excellent punctuation on an already phenonenal day in Detroit.
