OK, so today it became woefully apparent in very short order that I shot my proverbial gardening wad last weekend. I was only able to muster about an hour's worth of work out of my lazy Irish ass--I dug up 3 poorly rooted, thus dying shrubs of unknown origin, got the bejesus scared out of my by a freakin' squirrel who took up residence in my shed, and I wandered around a whole lot. It was an exhausting 72 minutes, but after last week, I figured I deserved a break, and quickly threw in the trowel (I'm so sorry, I just couldn't resist that one).
So health news has been big on the radar this week, huh? Local 4's coverage about the quasi-pandemic of swine flu got me spooked so bad this afternoon that I almost canceled my shipment of Mexican pork chops, and thought about ordering some Chica-sized respirator masks off of Amazon. Of course we have not, nor do we know anyone who has traveled to Mexico, but still, there's gotta be an alarmist Michigan connection that is putting me at risk somehow, someway, and if anyone can find it, it is Carmen Harlan and Devin Scillian.
While I was trapped in my second of two bridge-painting traffic jams yesterday, I also found out that April is Oral Health month, an unfortunately named event sponsored by the Canadian Dental Association. Along with the Ontario Ministry of Health, they have sponsored a number of PSA's aimed at educating our neighbors to the north (and those of us lucky enough to pick up their broadcast signal here in the States) on the importance of good oral hygiene. Did you know that tooth decay is an infectious disease? The 8 year old voiceover kid told me that, in addition to the fact that tooth decay is a leading cause of school absenteeism. Hmm, I did not know that. Finally and most likely to give you the willies, the old-official-sounding dude informed all of the listeners that if you lick your baby's pacifier, you could in fact be spreading tooth decay. Ewwwww. Seriously.
Now I am a fairly healthy chick, who thanks to great genes and a fabulous orthodontist (mad love to Dr. Wright in Somerville) doesn't often give much thought to her overall health or her teeth for that matter. I also don't worry about random illnesses, conditions, or uber-strains of some virus that I am unlikely to come in contact with. I am far more inclined to panic when a Chica-buddy comes down with the stomach bug for I know the vomit-clock begins ticking in my own house, and don't even get me started about what happens when the "Lice Note" comes home from school. Nope, I am a staunchly isolationist chick who chooses to bury her head in the sand, convinced that faraway stuff just won't happen to me, despite that the Henny-Penny's of the news world may tell me otherwise.
So yeah, the CDC can report, and label and worry all they want. I spent the afternoon calmly cruising Travelocity for a little Mexican getaway for me and the Chicas. I figure with the fallout from this whole swine flu thing, plus if I book it for August, at the height of hurricane season, I just may be able to afford it. Yep, that's me, always thinking. Though for the time being, I believe I will start calling them "Frauleins." Just to be safe. I think Carmen and Devin would approve.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Feel the Love
OK, so today was supposed to be a day of love--say it with me--looooove. I got to sleep in a little bit (alright, I admit, it was a lotta bit) the weather was gorgeous, and I started off the day meditating and professing my undying adoration for Kid Rock in front of the small, tasteful shrine I've erected for him in my boudoir. I was then headed to a wedding shower, which I usually boycott because I hate them, but it was for a chick at work whom I dig, so I agreed to attend even though it was all the way over on the East side and I ultimately got lost, which happens a lot when I go over there, but in the end, it was all good--all love, and rainbows and balloons. Then I got home, and read this crappy, crappy story about how Detroit is America's Most Dangerous City.
Now, all of us who live in the D admit that we've got our issues here, but it was my impression that violent crime in the city proper was actually down, which in truth, it is, but I'll get back to that little nugget later. Let's first talk about the report by Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg. Now I usually don't let things like this pile of poop story get to me, but this one really pissed me off. First of all, the story is about violent crime, and what does Mr. O-G start off with? Kwame Kilpatrick. Nice. Kwame was a stupid and narcissistic liar (from day one of his administration quite frankly) who ultimately cost the city millions and oh, by the way, ruined the lives of a few people, on the way to sullying the reputation of the city he was elected to serve, but I'm pretty sure that nothing he was convicted of appears on the FBI's Uniform Crime Report. So the entire lead-in? Nothing but a cheap shot.
Let's move on shall we? The story also relies on statements like this from some risk-assessment wonk-chick, "Detroit has, historically, been one of the more violent cities in the U.S. They have a number of local crime syndicates there--a number of small gangs who tend to compete over territory." Wow, that is some compelling data. Now I would assume that is the case in most cities across the country, but hey, why take that into consideration when you're trying to slam the D?? Then Mr. O-G talks about Mexican drug cartels having a number of transit points here in the area, which I cannot dispute because I personally haven't trafficked horse for them for a number of years, so whether my former pick-up points are still in operation, I cannot say for sure. I also loves when Mr. O-G throws in the reference to Stockton, CA but does so in a way that makes it look like he's still talking about the D--inflammatory and technically inaccurate, but again, it makes this story sing, so it's OK, right?
Now before I place someone on my shit-list, I try to do my research because once you are on said list, it is very difficult to remove yourself, and I don't want to deprive anyone from my gloriousness unnecessarily. So I did my due diligence and Googled Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg, and found that he has done a lot of work for Forbes.com for the past year or so (he just graduated from Yale in 2007 so he's still a newbie). Stories like, "Most Valuable U.S. Coins," and "Most Expensive Baseball Cards," and "America's Most Expensive License Plates." So clearly, he is the source you go to if you want compelling journalism organized into list format. Interestingly, he gave the nod to Comerica Park at #15 on his list of "America's Best Baseball Stadiums," so apparently he thinks it's safe to go see the Tigers in the D, just don't walk around too much afterwards. My favorite find, though is his piece on America's Emptiest Cities because it contains this statement, "An industrial boomtown during the first half of the 20th century, Detroit's population swelled from 285,000 in 1900 to 990,000 in 1920, reaching a peak of 1.8 million in 1950. But starting in the 1960s, Detroit began a precipitous decline. Detroit's population is now 900,000--half what it was in the middle of the century--and many of its neighborhoods languish in varying states of decay. Most scholars blame rapid suburbanization, outsourcing of manufacturing jobs, and federal programs they say exacerbated the situation by creating a culture of joblessness and dependency." Oh, my--sound familiar? It must be so great to be able to gear your work towards flat-out cutting and pasting from one piece to the next.
So, just to set the record straight, here is the FBI's Uniform Crime Report, which, contrary to what Mr. O-G stated in his story was actually released in January 2009, but let's not delve too deeply into accurate factoids. Now, I don't know how the fuzzy crime rate referenced by Mr. O-G was derived, but looking strictly at the numbers, crime in Detroit has, in fact gone down in every category, save one, Burglary, which given the economic state around these parts, I'm actually surprised isn't higher. Also interesting is the FBI's disclaimer on the very front of this report, which specifically states that the compiled data is voluntarily disclosed by the cities, and therefore should not be used to compare cities. I just gotta quote it, "Comparisons lead to simplistic and/or incomplete analyses that often create misleading perceptions adversely affecting communities and their residents." Hmmm...
I'm left wondering why I'm so bothered by Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg's story. It's not because he is a dude with 3 names or that he was also the child star of Lorenzo's Oil, which was a flick I did not enjoy. It's not because the D is a pristine, crime-free paradise full of unicorns and golden fairy-dust--hella no. But then again, no place is. I grew up in Jersey and I live in Detroit, so I am well-versed in deflecting jibes and taunts thrown around by those not in the know about the places I live. Stories like these just perpetuate stereotypes, and they don't reflect the growth and progress that we're making. Slowly but surely, it's happening, and the real, true numbers prove it, should anyone deign to actually look at those.
OK, Mama Bear is stepping down from her soap box now--that was a whole lotta social activism for one afternoon. I'm going to shake off this angry mojo and go sit on my patio, for the weather is still lovely. I will drink a beer while my big fat steak cooks on my grill, and watch the Banana as he tries to wrestle that overgrown tree branch onto the ground. Yeah, it's Saturday in the D, all is now right with my world, and I am once again feeling the love.
Now, all of us who live in the D admit that we've got our issues here, but it was my impression that violent crime in the city proper was actually down, which in truth, it is, but I'll get back to that little nugget later. Let's first talk about the report by Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg. Now I usually don't let things like this pile of poop story get to me, but this one really pissed me off. First of all, the story is about violent crime, and what does Mr. O-G start off with? Kwame Kilpatrick. Nice. Kwame was a stupid and narcissistic liar (from day one of his administration quite frankly) who ultimately cost the city millions and oh, by the way, ruined the lives of a few people, on the way to sullying the reputation of the city he was elected to serve, but I'm pretty sure that nothing he was convicted of appears on the FBI's Uniform Crime Report. So the entire lead-in? Nothing but a cheap shot.
Let's move on shall we? The story also relies on statements like this from some risk-assessment wonk-chick, "Detroit has, historically, been one of the more violent cities in the U.S. They have a number of local crime syndicates there--a number of small gangs who tend to compete over territory." Wow, that is some compelling data. Now I would assume that is the case in most cities across the country, but hey, why take that into consideration when you're trying to slam the D?? Then Mr. O-G talks about Mexican drug cartels having a number of transit points here in the area, which I cannot dispute because I personally haven't trafficked horse for them for a number of years, so whether my former pick-up points are still in operation, I cannot say for sure. I also loves when Mr. O-G throws in the reference to Stockton, CA but does so in a way that makes it look like he's still talking about the D--inflammatory and technically inaccurate, but again, it makes this story sing, so it's OK, right?
Now before I place someone on my shit-list, I try to do my research because once you are on said list, it is very difficult to remove yourself, and I don't want to deprive anyone from my gloriousness unnecessarily. So I did my due diligence and Googled Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg, and found that he has done a lot of work for Forbes.com for the past year or so (he just graduated from Yale in 2007 so he's still a newbie). Stories like, "Most Valuable U.S. Coins," and "Most Expensive Baseball Cards," and "America's Most Expensive License Plates." So clearly, he is the source you go to if you want compelling journalism organized into list format. Interestingly, he gave the nod to Comerica Park at #15 on his list of "America's Best Baseball Stadiums," so apparently he thinks it's safe to go see the Tigers in the D, just don't walk around too much afterwards. My favorite find, though is his piece on America's Emptiest Cities because it contains this statement, "An industrial boomtown during the first half of the 20th century, Detroit's population swelled from 285,000 in 1900 to 990,000 in 1920, reaching a peak of 1.8 million in 1950. But starting in the 1960s, Detroit began a precipitous decline. Detroit's population is now 900,000--half what it was in the middle of the century--and many of its neighborhoods languish in varying states of decay. Most scholars blame rapid suburbanization, outsourcing of manufacturing jobs, and federal programs they say exacerbated the situation by creating a culture of joblessness and dependency." Oh, my--sound familiar? It must be so great to be able to gear your work towards flat-out cutting and pasting from one piece to the next.
So, just to set the record straight, here is the FBI's Uniform Crime Report, which, contrary to what Mr. O-G stated in his story was actually released in January 2009, but let's not delve too deeply into accurate factoids. Now, I don't know how the fuzzy crime rate referenced by Mr. O-G was derived, but looking strictly at the numbers, crime in Detroit has, in fact gone down in every category, save one, Burglary, which given the economic state around these parts, I'm actually surprised isn't higher. Also interesting is the FBI's disclaimer on the very front of this report, which specifically states that the compiled data is voluntarily disclosed by the cities, and therefore should not be used to compare cities. I just gotta quote it, "Comparisons lead to simplistic and/or incomplete analyses that often create misleading perceptions adversely affecting communities and their residents." Hmmm...
I'm left wondering why I'm so bothered by Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg's story. It's not because he is a dude with 3 names or that he was also the child star of Lorenzo's Oil, which was a flick I did not enjoy. It's not because the D is a pristine, crime-free paradise full of unicorns and golden fairy-dust--hella no. But then again, no place is. I grew up in Jersey and I live in Detroit, so I am well-versed in deflecting jibes and taunts thrown around by those not in the know about the places I live. Stories like these just perpetuate stereotypes, and they don't reflect the growth and progress that we're making. Slowly but surely, it's happening, and the real, true numbers prove it, should anyone deign to actually look at those.
OK, Mama Bear is stepping down from her soap box now--that was a whole lotta social activism for one afternoon. I'm going to shake off this angry mojo and go sit on my patio, for the weather is still lovely. I will drink a beer while my big fat steak cooks on my grill, and watch the Banana as he tries to wrestle that overgrown tree branch onto the ground. Yeah, it's Saturday in the D, all is now right with my world, and I am once again feeling the love.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A Good Thing
OK, so Wednesday April 22, 2009 will not go down in the annals of history as the day that Kelly-Girl lit the world on fire with her productivity and business savvy. First, I forgot my laptop at home, a fact that I became aware of as I turned onto Garfield, a mere block from my office. Faced with a 2 hour error-correction-turnaround-drive, I opted instead to spend the day at a different workstation, thus relegating myself to answering emails without access to my treasure trove of 7,000 plus previous messages--basically my entire knowledge base--and unable to open any attachments because there was no software loaded on the dummy terminal at which I sat. Yeah, a whole lotta cussing and swearing came from this here purty mouth, but in the end it was OK, because no one else got any work done either, for today was...wait for it...Community Day!
Yes, of all the days of the year, Community Day is one of my least favorite, ranking right up there with Christmas Bingo Day and Halloween Dress-up Day. "What is this occcasion?" you ask with bated breath and near-desperate anticipation. Well, my Lovelies, Community Day is our opportunity to gather together as a company to donate our time and efforts to give some good back to the world around us. Well, that's the warm-fuzzy-munchy-crunchy-granola spin put on it from our senior leadership, but in reality, it is a corporate-sponsored arts and crafts day. Yes, we give the staff a free t-shirt and a box lunch and let them open the floodgates of their creativity and benevolence. Well, they eventually get around to all that once they stop bitching about the fact that their shirt is too big, and how come she got an extra pickle, and why don't you have bottled water?
Last year, we made tote bags for pediatric cancer patients. We had a plain cloth bag, and we had to trace, then color in a picture of a cartoon character onto the bag using fabric markers and old-school carbon paper (yeah, the kind they used to make dittoes with, and then when Miss Coukas would hand out the spelling tests we'd sniff the still-damp-purple-inked delights). Then we filled them with dollar-store-goodies, and boxed them up to be sent to a local hospital. Easy enough, very fun, no muss, no fuss. Except for the one misguided tote, whose artist apparently didn't properly transfer the picture, so Tinkerbell ended up having only one arm and looked incredibly angry, with a very bizarro five o'clock shadow. I still feel very badly for the poor child that received that particular bag.
This year, our project was larger in scope. We were given 90 minutes to produce no-sew throw blankets for patients in VA hospitals. Now this is a noble cause, and one particularly close to my heart since I'm still hanging out with the Marine, but what the Powers-That-Be fail to recognize is that the task of instructing the 50+ people in my department on how to make said blanket fell to me, God help us all. So here I am, on the floor, on all fours, (did I mention ass in air?) trying to show these people how to cut out the corners, then cut all the little fringey things, and then tie them all, not rabbit-style, but with pull-knots. Seriously. I am not good at sewing or baking because they require measuring and precision and patience--all things in woefully short supply with the Kelly-Girl.
Yeah, this chick is neither artsy nor craftsy. My blanket came out round, and looked more like a ridiculous beret for Gulliver than anything Martha Stewart would advocate let alone touch with a 10 foot pole. Yes, my lack of aptitude with anything HGTV was on full display, a fact that my employees just loooooved, and I'm sure will now mock on a fairly regular basis. In the end though, we came together as a team and did a good thing to recognize people who have done an even greater thing--too great for words, really. So I guess that was the whole purpose, huh? Hmmm...point taken. Now get back to work.
Yes, of all the days of the year, Community Day is one of my least favorite, ranking right up there with Christmas Bingo Day and Halloween Dress-up Day. "What is this occcasion?" you ask with bated breath and near-desperate anticipation. Well, my Lovelies, Community Day is our opportunity to gather together as a company to donate our time and efforts to give some good back to the world around us. Well, that's the warm-fuzzy-munchy-crunchy-granola spin put on it from our senior leadership, but in reality, it is a corporate-sponsored arts and crafts day. Yes, we give the staff a free t-shirt and a box lunch and let them open the floodgates of their creativity and benevolence. Well, they eventually get around to all that once they stop bitching about the fact that their shirt is too big, and how come she got an extra pickle, and why don't you have bottled water?
Last year, we made tote bags for pediatric cancer patients. We had a plain cloth bag, and we had to trace, then color in a picture of a cartoon character onto the bag using fabric markers and old-school carbon paper (yeah, the kind they used to make dittoes with, and then when Miss Coukas would hand out the spelling tests we'd sniff the still-damp-purple-inked delights). Then we filled them with dollar-store-goodies, and boxed them up to be sent to a local hospital. Easy enough, very fun, no muss, no fuss. Except for the one misguided tote, whose artist apparently didn't properly transfer the picture, so Tinkerbell ended up having only one arm and looked incredibly angry, with a very bizarro five o'clock shadow. I still feel very badly for the poor child that received that particular bag.
This year, our project was larger in scope. We were given 90 minutes to produce no-sew throw blankets for patients in VA hospitals. Now this is a noble cause, and one particularly close to my heart since I'm still hanging out with the Marine, but what the Powers-That-Be fail to recognize is that the task of instructing the 50+ people in my department on how to make said blanket fell to me, God help us all. So here I am, on the floor, on all fours, (did I mention ass in air?) trying to show these people how to cut out the corners, then cut all the little fringey things, and then tie them all, not rabbit-style, but with pull-knots. Seriously. I am not good at sewing or baking because they require measuring and precision and patience--all things in woefully short supply with the Kelly-Girl.
Yeah, this chick is neither artsy nor craftsy. My blanket came out round, and looked more like a ridiculous beret for Gulliver than anything Martha Stewart would advocate let alone touch with a 10 foot pole. Yes, my lack of aptitude with anything HGTV was on full display, a fact that my employees just loooooved, and I'm sure will now mock on a fairly regular basis. In the end though, we came together as a team and did a good thing to recognize people who have done an even greater thing--too great for words, really. So I guess that was the whole purpose, huh? Hmmm...point taken. Now get back to work.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
How Does Your Garden Grow?
OK, so yesterday was the greatest day of the year so far, from a meteorological standpoint. It was sunny, about 75, and not a cloud in the sky. Of course, this being the D, it only lasted til about 5:30, at which time the clouds rolled in and the temps dropped about 27 degrees in about 20 minutes. Mother Nature is a big freakin' tease, but still we had a full 8 hours of uninterrupted outsideness. Even the Banana made a brief appearance, breaking out the tri-fold lounge chair and sunning his big fat ass on his deck, thankfully in tiny running shorts, not the yellow Speedo. Yeah, it was a fabulous day.
It was also a very productive day here at Casa Chica. We rolled into Home-Owner-Hell to purchase various sundries and notions to accomplish our landscaping goals for the day. The ATF and State Department put the kibosh on my Napalm order, so we had to resort back to conventional means--black plastic, weed killer, and lots of cussing and hacking at the underbrush. By the time all was said and done, we had filled 13 of those ubiquitous brown paper bags--I told you my backyard was huge, and now I have visual proof that it had grown totally out of control.
All-together, the Chicas and I spent about 4 hours working on our botanical mess. Well, let me rephrase that, they pitched in for about 38 minutes of that time, while Kelly-Girl toiled her sweet ass off. I realized that while I generally do not enjoy yard work, I do not mind it as much as I used to. When I was a kid growing up in Jersey we lived on about an acre of land, so Saturday-Chore-Day brought fear into our hearts and nightmares to our sleep. I spent every weekend for over 10 years coughing and sneezing and wheezing, all the while being barked at to stop whining and standing around, and get a goddamn tissue--good times, good times. Of course, finding out in my adult life that I have severe allergies (I'm allergic to absolutely everything besides dust and dogs) made those memories all the more enjoyable--a little Benadryl would have made my life so much easier, and put me into a yummy-sleepy place that might have made all the barking less permanently damaging.
I think that the daunting part is that even though I worked that hard, for that long yesterday, and achieved measurable results (can you tell I've been doing year-end employee reviews??) I am far from finished. I made a small dent, cleaning up years of neglect, and overall I am proud of my efforts. I was even able to politely ignore the Hobbitt as he commented, "Nice to finally see ya out here," and resisted the urge to stomp all over his wide swath of newly-sown grass seed that apparently now serves as the DMZ between our property. I know I have much more work ahead of me, but I'm working on my yard, at my pace, on my terms, and it feels pretty damn good.
So yeah, this morning while I look out my kitchen window with my sore and sunburned back, and hear the screeching of the Chicas as they beat each other into submission, I feel differently about the landscape I see before me. I no longer feel completely overwhelmed, just slightly, and I think perhaps I might have a plan. I have all the time in the world, and daresay a little motivation to keep moving forward. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel very positive today, like I've finally turned some corner, maybe even grown up a little bit. And if the Hobbitt and the Banana and the rest of the folks surrounding Casa Chica have a problem with what I've done, they can suck it and suck it hard. Yeah, I have wicked grown, fo' sho'.
It was also a very productive day here at Casa Chica. We rolled into Home-Owner-Hell to purchase various sundries and notions to accomplish our landscaping goals for the day. The ATF and State Department put the kibosh on my Napalm order, so we had to resort back to conventional means--black plastic, weed killer, and lots of cussing and hacking at the underbrush. By the time all was said and done, we had filled 13 of those ubiquitous brown paper bags--I told you my backyard was huge, and now I have visual proof that it had grown totally out of control.
All-together, the Chicas and I spent about 4 hours working on our botanical mess. Well, let me rephrase that, they pitched in for about 38 minutes of that time, while Kelly-Girl toiled her sweet ass off. I realized that while I generally do not enjoy yard work, I do not mind it as much as I used to. When I was a kid growing up in Jersey we lived on about an acre of land, so Saturday-Chore-Day brought fear into our hearts and nightmares to our sleep. I spent every weekend for over 10 years coughing and sneezing and wheezing, all the while being barked at to stop whining and standing around, and get a goddamn tissue--good times, good times. Of course, finding out in my adult life that I have severe allergies (I'm allergic to absolutely everything besides dust and dogs) made those memories all the more enjoyable--a little Benadryl would have made my life so much easier, and put me into a yummy-sleepy place that might have made all the barking less permanently damaging.
I think that the daunting part is that even though I worked that hard, for that long yesterday, and achieved measurable results (can you tell I've been doing year-end employee reviews??) I am far from finished. I made a small dent, cleaning up years of neglect, and overall I am proud of my efforts. I was even able to politely ignore the Hobbitt as he commented, "Nice to finally see ya out here," and resisted the urge to stomp all over his wide swath of newly-sown grass seed that apparently now serves as the DMZ between our property. I know I have much more work ahead of me, but I'm working on my yard, at my pace, on my terms, and it feels pretty damn good.
So yeah, this morning while I look out my kitchen window with my sore and sunburned back, and hear the screeching of the Chicas as they beat each other into submission, I feel differently about the landscape I see before me. I no longer feel completely overwhelmed, just slightly, and I think perhaps I might have a plan. I have all the time in the world, and daresay a little motivation to keep moving forward. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel very positive today, like I've finally turned some corner, maybe even grown up a little bit. And if the Hobbitt and the Banana and the rest of the folks surrounding Casa Chica have a problem with what I've done, they can suck it and suck it hard. Yeah, I have wicked grown, fo' sho'.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
The D Got Sprung
OK, so it finally feels like Springtime here in the 313, which means the flowers are just starting to peek their colored noggins above the frost line, the birds are chirping when they are not getting poured on, and my allergies are setting up to bust loose somethin' fierce. All those annoying red seed things from my giant overgrown maple tree are so taunting me with their stupid little hyper-pollinated bodies laying all over the driveway, just waiting to get tracked into my house. Yeah, I know how they operate. The rain has momentarily stopped, the temps are gently warming, and big ol' pasty-white arms are about to be unveiled in short-sleeved, dare I say sleeveless, shirts, all over our fair city. Ah, yes, all of it part of the visual wonderland that is April in the D.
So the lack of precipitation this evening allowed me to take a brisk walk around my neighborhood. It is really the only exercise I can do since I don't run and I refuse to spend money on a gym membership. I am physically capable of running, I just choose not to unless I'm being chased by something very large and scary. Since the Yeti has been extinct in these parts since at least the mid-70's, I just see no point. Walking is A-OK by me, and let's face it, I can walk faster than many of those IPod-wearing waddlers anyway. Plus it gives me a chance to really take in all the familiar sights of home--dogs romping in the yard, campers illegally parked in the street, and Dodge Durangos emblazoned with epithets railing against the Chrysler Corporation--you know, all the usual stuff.
Lucky for me, it was garbage night in the hood. Now, I never put my garbage out until the morning of because one time it was ravaged by a horrific monster called a "raccoon" and I was scraping Spaghetti-Os and diaper bits off my sidewalk for days. Yes, I said diaper bits--use your imagination. Many of my neighbors, however choose to tempt fate and put their cans and unwanted junk out the night before. Such a pretty sight. Apparently the yard waste collection has started up again, because many of them have multiple brown Home Depot bags lined up along the curb--like 10 or more. Initially, I couldn't figure out if these were leftover from the fall, or if this was new culling of the landscape, because hasn't it still been ungodly cold the last couple of weeks? I can't even fathom having an overwhelming urge to prune and divide in the weather we've had. But, hey, not everyone can luck out and have a landscaping masterpiece such as mine, some have to work at it.
Many of the neighbors have put up festive little springtime decorations around their houses, too. There are flowery flags fluttering in the breeze, happy little faux-stone bunnies and lambs quietly grazing in the grass, and a poor leftover light-up reindeer slumped forlornly against the front window of another. OK, the reindeer is at my house, but I fully intend to put him away this weekend--but it requires a lot of unplugging--it's very complicated. Even the Hobbit has gotten into the spirit of the season, and stabbed a lovely daisy-shaped pinwheel into the stones by his walkway. I was initially impressed at his attempt to humanize his lair, but then began to suspect that it was some sort of symbol for his Hobbit-brethren, showing them where to come feast on Chicas at his table of despair. So, no points for the pinwheel. I may even steal it. Just because.
We're all stepping out into the April sunshine, shaking off the winter doldrums. We're looking forward to opening the windows and maybe even firing up the grill, all in an effort to convince ourselves that summer is just around the corner. We will ignore the fact that it will rain for weeks more before it really stops for good, and that there is a even-odds chance it will snow in May. For now we are all about reveling in the warm weather forecast for the next few days. Yeah, Spring has sprung here in the D, and it is about freakin' time.
So the lack of precipitation this evening allowed me to take a brisk walk around my neighborhood. It is really the only exercise I can do since I don't run and I refuse to spend money on a gym membership. I am physically capable of running, I just choose not to unless I'm being chased by something very large and scary. Since the Yeti has been extinct in these parts since at least the mid-70's, I just see no point. Walking is A-OK by me, and let's face it, I can walk faster than many of those IPod-wearing waddlers anyway. Plus it gives me a chance to really take in all the familiar sights of home--dogs romping in the yard, campers illegally parked in the street, and Dodge Durangos emblazoned with epithets railing against the Chrysler Corporation--you know, all the usual stuff.
Lucky for me, it was garbage night in the hood. Now, I never put my garbage out until the morning of because one time it was ravaged by a horrific monster called a "raccoon" and I was scraping Spaghetti-Os and diaper bits off my sidewalk for days. Yes, I said diaper bits--use your imagination. Many of my neighbors, however choose to tempt fate and put their cans and unwanted junk out the night before. Such a pretty sight. Apparently the yard waste collection has started up again, because many of them have multiple brown Home Depot bags lined up along the curb--like 10 or more. Initially, I couldn't figure out if these were leftover from the fall, or if this was new culling of the landscape, because hasn't it still been ungodly cold the last couple of weeks? I can't even fathom having an overwhelming urge to prune and divide in the weather we've had. But, hey, not everyone can luck out and have a landscaping masterpiece such as mine, some have to work at it.
Many of the neighbors have put up festive little springtime decorations around their houses, too. There are flowery flags fluttering in the breeze, happy little faux-stone bunnies and lambs quietly grazing in the grass, and a poor leftover light-up reindeer slumped forlornly against the front window of another. OK, the reindeer is at my house, but I fully intend to put him away this weekend--but it requires a lot of unplugging--it's very complicated. Even the Hobbit has gotten into the spirit of the season, and stabbed a lovely daisy-shaped pinwheel into the stones by his walkway. I was initially impressed at his attempt to humanize his lair, but then began to suspect that it was some sort of symbol for his Hobbit-brethren, showing them where to come feast on Chicas at his table of despair. So, no points for the pinwheel. I may even steal it. Just because.
We're all stepping out into the April sunshine, shaking off the winter doldrums. We're looking forward to opening the windows and maybe even firing up the grill, all in an effort to convince ourselves that summer is just around the corner. We will ignore the fact that it will rain for weeks more before it really stops for good, and that there is a even-odds chance it will snow in May. For now we are all about reveling in the warm weather forecast for the next few days. Yeah, Spring has sprung here in the D, and it is about freakin' time.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Mass Exodus
OK, so it's Easter weekend and I am Chica-less, so I am in a less-than participatory mood. I'm not coloring eggs by myself, for with my luck I'd hide them all in a Pinot-induced haze, and then when that last bugger just can't be located, wind up with a horribly stinky aftermath in a few weeks. I went out today to get basket-goodies, and found out that the day before Easter is officially too late to purchase holiday-themed-sugar-nuggets. I was able to find one small bag of jelly beans, really bad foil-covered chocolate eggs, but scored big-time at Kroger with the purchase of king-size Reese's peanut butter eggs, which are hands-down the best candy of all time. Did you know they make edible Easter grass now? I didn't buy it, but it was pink and imported from Germany, just thought you'd like to know.
It's probably all for the best, because I've never been a big Easter person. Conditioned since childhood, I can't get past the notion that Easter is a strictly religious holiday. Therefore, I don't decorate inside or out, and the Bunny only brings small unwrapped gifts and candy. Easter for me was always a veritable marathon of masses--I was the kid who actually had to sit through the entire 3+ hour Good Friday mass, all the while wishing I could be magically transported into my friend April's fabulously Lutheran family, who always had lots of chicks and bunnies and pastel colored ceramic eggs decoratively placed throughout their house and who never had to go to church 4 days in a row.
In case you haven't gleaned from my carefully placed hints, I grew up Catholic. Very, very Catholic. I mean, we didn't have statues and pictures of the Bleeding Heart of Jesus everywhere or our very own confessional, but we went to mass every week and every Holy Day of Obligation, without fail. No excuses. Period. Interestingly, my parents did not send me to Catholic school, but I went to CCD at St. Ann's every week until I made my Confirmation, and only got to stop attending when I went to Catholic high school (hmmm, I guess I really didn't win a battle there after all). I remember when I went to Marquette, my big "Aha, I'm really on my own" moment came not when I appreciated I had no curfew, or that my wicked bad fake ID would work at the Gym on Tuesday nights (OK, maybe a little of those), no it was when I realized I did not have to get up and go to mass on Sunday. Honestly, I haven't really been back since then. Oh, don't get me wrong, I did the whole big proper Catholic wedding thing, joined a parish wherever we were living (Catholics in the D have really great AAA insurance rates), and the two oldest Chicas have dutifully made their First Communion. In terms of a monthly or even bi-annual attendance rate though, it's just not happening. I am officially a lapsed Catholic.
Now I fully admit that most of this is directly caused by my aforementioned lazy-assitude, for it only makes sense that my spiritual house would be as ill-kempt as my real-life one. But somewhere along the line, I became very disillusioned with the Catholic Church, and I haven't been able to get myself back on track. I have a really hard time sitting in church with my adored daughters, looking at the priest working and preaching, and saying "See that guy down there? You can NEVER do that." I won't deign to step further into the politico-religious maelstrom that always accompanies these conversations, we'll just say I have my reasons and leave it at that.
I've tried to look into other churches, I really have, but they just aren't the same. They don't have Mary or the saints, they say their prayers differently, and they sit the entire time--none of the Catholic up and down, sit, kneel, stand. I may dabble, but I always go back to what I know. I remember feeling completely lost and devastated after 9/11--I went into St. Michael's down the street every day for almost a week. I never went to mass, I just sat. I sat and smelled the familiar smell of leftover incense and candle wax, felt the hard uncomfortable wood of the pew dig into my back, even banged my knee on the missal holder. I held my wiggling baby, fed her Cheerios out of a baggie, and cried. It was a long time ago, but I still remember that I ultimately felt comfort, even home. Yeah, it helped.
I hear that many adult Catholics wrestle with these same issues, and that ultimately they find their way back to the Church. I hope I do because I miss it in a way, and I'm pretty sure my soul is in dire need of some savin'. Until then, I'll just snuggle up on the couch tomorrow morning, with my coffee and peanut butter egg, and watch a little bit of Benny 16 before I switch on the Master's. I'm sure it's totally OK , because there's an Angel in the lead, St. Tiger of the Woods et al will be praying, and hey, there's even an Amen corner. Mass or no mass, I have so got this covered.
It's probably all for the best, because I've never been a big Easter person. Conditioned since childhood, I can't get past the notion that Easter is a strictly religious holiday. Therefore, I don't decorate inside or out, and the Bunny only brings small unwrapped gifts and candy. Easter for me was always a veritable marathon of masses--I was the kid who actually had to sit through the entire 3+ hour Good Friday mass, all the while wishing I could be magically transported into my friend April's fabulously Lutheran family, who always had lots of chicks and bunnies and pastel colored ceramic eggs decoratively placed throughout their house and who never had to go to church 4 days in a row.
In case you haven't gleaned from my carefully placed hints, I grew up Catholic. Very, very Catholic. I mean, we didn't have statues and pictures of the Bleeding Heart of Jesus everywhere or our very own confessional, but we went to mass every week and every Holy Day of Obligation, without fail. No excuses. Period. Interestingly, my parents did not send me to Catholic school, but I went to CCD at St. Ann's every week until I made my Confirmation, and only got to stop attending when I went to Catholic high school (hmmm, I guess I really didn't win a battle there after all). I remember when I went to Marquette, my big "Aha, I'm really on my own" moment came not when I appreciated I had no curfew, or that my wicked bad fake ID would work at the Gym on Tuesday nights (OK, maybe a little of those), no it was when I realized I did not have to get up and go to mass on Sunday. Honestly, I haven't really been back since then. Oh, don't get me wrong, I did the whole big proper Catholic wedding thing, joined a parish wherever we were living (Catholics in the D have really great AAA insurance rates), and the two oldest Chicas have dutifully made their First Communion. In terms of a monthly or even bi-annual attendance rate though, it's just not happening. I am officially a lapsed Catholic.
Now I fully admit that most of this is directly caused by my aforementioned lazy-assitude, for it only makes sense that my spiritual house would be as ill-kempt as my real-life one. But somewhere along the line, I became very disillusioned with the Catholic Church, and I haven't been able to get myself back on track. I have a really hard time sitting in church with my adored daughters, looking at the priest working and preaching, and saying "See that guy down there? You can NEVER do that." I won't deign to step further into the politico-religious maelstrom that always accompanies these conversations, we'll just say I have my reasons and leave it at that.
I've tried to look into other churches, I really have, but they just aren't the same. They don't have Mary or the saints, they say their prayers differently, and they sit the entire time--none of the Catholic up and down, sit, kneel, stand. I may dabble, but I always go back to what I know. I remember feeling completely lost and devastated after 9/11--I went into St. Michael's down the street every day for almost a week. I never went to mass, I just sat. I sat and smelled the familiar smell of leftover incense and candle wax, felt the hard uncomfortable wood of the pew dig into my back, even banged my knee on the missal holder. I held my wiggling baby, fed her Cheerios out of a baggie, and cried. It was a long time ago, but I still remember that I ultimately felt comfort, even home. Yeah, it helped.
I hear that many adult Catholics wrestle with these same issues, and that ultimately they find their way back to the Church. I hope I do because I miss it in a way, and I'm pretty sure my soul is in dire need of some savin'. Until then, I'll just snuggle up on the couch tomorrow morning, with my coffee and peanut butter egg, and watch a little bit of Benny 16 before I switch on the Master's. I'm sure it's totally OK , because there's an Angel in the lead, St. Tiger of the Woods et al will be praying, and hey, there's even an Amen corner. Mass or no mass, I have so got this covered.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Week in Review
OK, so I know I've said this a whole lotta times before, but this has been an inordinately long week. I do not really believe that there was some cosmic shift whereby additional hours were tacked onto the pre-ordained 7 days, but it still felt wicked loooong. More than likely this can be attributed to the fact that I was actually in the office for 5 consecutive days. No vacation, no work at home due to chica-illness, no off-site meetings--nothing. Just grind it out, 40-plus hours, 5 whole days, ass-in-chair yuck. Since today was Good Friday and twasn't nothin' goin' on, it gave me an opportunity to compile a listing of 5 noteworthy things that have happened during the past week. I know how much you love to live vicariously through my me and opinions, so consider it my Easter gift to y'all. Here goes.
1. I am joining the World Poker Tour. I have decided to make this career change after it was pointed out to me that I have the best Poker Face on the planet (I know, I know, it's one of the best faces overall, but enough already). Confronted with freaky/shocking news, my face reveals nothing. Case in point, one of my employees came to me this week to tell me that she just found out she was pregnant, and she's due in June. Yes, this June, a mere 6 weeks from now and possible delivery in a 7-11 bathroom June. Then yesterday we had two gentlemen visiting from another office, and Crazy Little Mrs. Doubtfire cornered one of them, and said breathily, "Ooooh, you're sooo handsome," and felt the poor dude up. Swear-to-God, inappropriate, sexual harassment, touching of his physical person. In both cases, my countenance remained stoic--I calmly provided FMLA information, and physically detached the groper from her gropee. I was able to make it safely into a closed, locked room before dissolving into a fit of tearful giggles. Oh, let's be honest, I snorted, but they never suspected a thing.
2. No L. Brooks? No lie, I would love to meet the 41 year old living in the cellar of his parents house playing Halo all day long goofball who was surprised to hear that L. Brooks Patterson will not be running for governor next year. Really? Such a shock. Now I suppose that we're supposed to actually believe that he made this decision of his own free will, and that the Michigan Republican Party had nothing at all to do with it. As if they had not noticed the population's newly-established, well-documented aversion to electing old fat white guys, and then quietly asked him to step down. In the immortal words of the K-I-D, I was born at night, but not last night, baby.
3. Cobo No-No. I seriously cannot believe that the Detroit City Council has not been vaporized by somebody with a really great ray-gun/light saber weapon thing over this Cobo mess. Now they're spending more time and money to undo the mayor's veto of their unconscionable and borderline insane decision to block the transfer of operations to the regional authority. Genius. Can't wait for next January to see how many automakers don't show up at the NAIAS.
4. Central Depot Yes-Yes. I do not know why, but I feel very strongly that the Central Depot should be saved. Maybe not all of it, but still. That building is a symbol of what the D used to be, what it could have been, and sadly, what it is now. Bottom line, it is an architectural marvel, and the City Council (again with that brain trust) throwing a political-Veruca-Salt temper tantrum to get it demolished NOW accomplishes nothing. Maybe I'll buy it. I think I may be a coupla bucks short, but I got a whole lotta returnables in my garage, so we'll just see.
5. I love Opening Day. Doesn't matter where I live, I just love to hear the words, "It's Opening Day for (fill in the team of your choice)." Opening Day is the toll-booth on the Parkway to summer. The first step towards warm sunshine and bizarro tan lines from sitting in the bleachers all day. I spent many an Opening Day in Milwaukee in some random field behind the old County Stadium, grilling brats on a sketchy hibachi, swilling tons of The Beast, and going into the game only after the original ticket-holders came back to the car to pee and get more free beer. Good times, good times. Classy, too. But that's just me.
So yeah, that's the week that was. I was going to take the time to match each event to my corresponding days-of-the-week underpants, but hey, I'm no loser. It's Friday night, and I got 5 days of Tivo to watch.
1. I am joining the World Poker Tour. I have decided to make this career change after it was pointed out to me that I have the best Poker Face on the planet (I know, I know, it's one of the best faces overall, but enough already). Confronted with freaky/shocking news, my face reveals nothing. Case in point, one of my employees came to me this week to tell me that she just found out she was pregnant, and she's due in June. Yes, this June, a mere 6 weeks from now and possible delivery in a 7-11 bathroom June. Then yesterday we had two gentlemen visiting from another office, and Crazy Little Mrs. Doubtfire cornered one of them, and said breathily, "Ooooh, you're sooo handsome," and felt the poor dude up. Swear-to-God, inappropriate, sexual harassment, touching of his physical person. In both cases, my countenance remained stoic--I calmly provided FMLA information, and physically detached the groper from her gropee. I was able to make it safely into a closed, locked room before dissolving into a fit of tearful giggles. Oh, let's be honest, I snorted, but they never suspected a thing.
2. No L. Brooks? No lie, I would love to meet the 41 year old living in the cellar of his parents house playing Halo all day long goofball who was surprised to hear that L. Brooks Patterson will not be running for governor next year. Really? Such a shock. Now I suppose that we're supposed to actually believe that he made this decision of his own free will, and that the Michigan Republican Party had nothing at all to do with it. As if they had not noticed the population's newly-established, well-documented aversion to electing old fat white guys, and then quietly asked him to step down. In the immortal words of the K-I-D, I was born at night, but not last night, baby.
3. Cobo No-No. I seriously cannot believe that the Detroit City Council has not been vaporized by somebody with a really great ray-gun/light saber weapon thing over this Cobo mess. Now they're spending more time and money to undo the mayor's veto of their unconscionable and borderline insane decision to block the transfer of operations to the regional authority. Genius. Can't wait for next January to see how many automakers don't show up at the NAIAS.
4. Central Depot Yes-Yes. I do not know why, but I feel very strongly that the Central Depot should be saved. Maybe not all of it, but still. That building is a symbol of what the D used to be, what it could have been, and sadly, what it is now. Bottom line, it is an architectural marvel, and the City Council (again with that brain trust) throwing a political-Veruca-Salt temper tantrum to get it demolished NOW accomplishes nothing. Maybe I'll buy it. I think I may be a coupla bucks short, but I got a whole lotta returnables in my garage, so we'll just see.
5. I love Opening Day. Doesn't matter where I live, I just love to hear the words, "It's Opening Day for (fill in the team of your choice)." Opening Day is the toll-booth on the Parkway to summer. The first step towards warm sunshine and bizarro tan lines from sitting in the bleachers all day. I spent many an Opening Day in Milwaukee in some random field behind the old County Stadium, grilling brats on a sketchy hibachi, swilling tons of The Beast, and going into the game only after the original ticket-holders came back to the car to pee and get more free beer. Good times, good times. Classy, too. But that's just me.
So yeah, that's the week that was. I was going to take the time to match each event to my corresponding days-of-the-week underpants, but hey, I'm no loser. It's Friday night, and I got 5 days of Tivo to watch.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Fabulous One
OK, so today is a really great day. The sun is shining, those Sparties kicked some serious Husky-butt last night, and I did not have to get up at some ungodly hour to run the shuttle to the soccer dome. Best of all, today is the Middle Chica's 9th birthday.
I know that it is uncouth and marginally negligent for parents to choose a favorite child, so I will merely state that MC holds a very special place in my heart. Her nickname is Fabulous, and it couldn't possibly be more apropos. She loves fairies and ponies and hamsters and princesses. She is a girly-girl, all sparkles and feathers, rainbows and doo-dads--the more the better. In short, she is the complete opposite of me.
My mad love for the Deuce did not start out that way. I found out I was pregnant with her on her older sister's first birthday, so to say she was a surprise is an understatement. I wasn't ready, and to be perfectly honest, I was not happy. I remember I actually took the pregnancy test stick thingy and whipped it at the head of the FM and then promptly burst into tears. In the end, however, my pregnancy went swimmingly well, and since I'd just gotten through the infant stage with Chica 1, I felt I was pretty ready for whatever came next. How wrong I was.
Middle Chica has to have been one of the most difficult newborns that ever graced this planet. First, she was huge--9 pounds 22 inches long--so all of the cutie little newborn things did not fit. Second, and related to the first, she ate ALL the time--every hour on the hour without fail, without respite. Third, the child never slept. I think she dropped off for about 45 minutes sometime during the fourth month, but other than that she was constantly awake. If you tried to put her down, she'd scream holy hell. I was so fried I had no idea which end was up. Ironically enough, despite the fact that she did not enter REM sleep until she was a toddler, MC was one of the happiest kids you'd ever care to meet. She smiled, and laughed, and jibber-jabbered, and was just an agreeable delightful child. She still is.
The Fabulous One is a dancer, and a dreamer, and a giggler. She is the kid who writes you notes that say "I love pizza, do you? Check yes or no." She is the kid on stage that goes left when everyone else goes right, and has no idea, she just beams that smile for miles. She loves to help me cook and play dress-up. She had to stop playing soccer because she kept chasing her own shadow, and it made her coach (me) crazy. She is a spontaneous hugger. When she was 3, the only thing she wanted for Christmas was "a brown baby," so Santa brought her 22 inch African-American baby doll that she named Binda, and to this day, she still goes absolutely everywhere with her. She digs in the dirt for worms and bugs, names them, and makes them fabulously decorated shoebox houses. When she was in Kindergarten, she slipped on some ice, fell and hit her head, and in the CAT Scan machine, she looked at the light, smiled and said, "Cheese!" Yep. That's my kid.
I think one of the reasons I love her so much is because she has exposed me to things I never would have experienced otherwise. Thanks to the MC, I now know how to sew ribbons on ballet shoes, and pin up a proper bun that will not fall out--I even landed a gig as a stage mom at the Nutcracker this year. I no longer have personal issues with the Brownies or the color pink. I've been able to let go of my expectation of report card perfection, and focus on the fact that she's not the best student, but she's steadily improving, and that is OK. She has shown me that being competitive isn't for everyone, that it is perfectly alright to just be. She makes me recognize the value and beauty of a simple gesture performed out of sincere love by an innocent soul.
So here she is, world, my Middle Chica. She is 9 years old today. I have no idea where she came from, but I'm awfully glad she's here.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
User's Guide to the D
OK, so, in case you haven't heard, the Final Four is this weekend, and oh, by the way, it's taking place here in Detroit. I have pretty much made peace with the fact that once again I will not be attending due to lack of fundage, and absence of anyone providing free ticketage, despite the fact that it is taking place in my proverbial backyard. I still would like to implement some sort of testing policy whereby ticketholders would be forced to answer a series of questions regarding the sport of basketball and/or the teams involved in the Final Four in order to gain entry into the stadium. Failing said examination would mean immediate forfeiture of the ticket, and they would subsequently be given to a worthy non-ticketholder (ie, someone like me). Creating this system would, I think eliminate the presence of trophy wives just looking to add an activity to their Facebook calendar and 6 year old boys who are only there because their dad's buddy got busted for a DUI the previous weekend. Someday, someday...
But I digress. In the spirit of neighborliness, I thought I would put together a little "Guide to the D" for all of those traveling into our fair city this weekend. I think it will help acclimate some of you to the Metro Detroit area and its surrounding environs, thus making for a more pleasant experience for all. So here we go.
1. Rent a car with GPS. There is shocking lack of public transportation here in the D, so if you're coming into town, make a visit to the fellas at the Hertz counter first. And if a friend suggests that you forgo this step and just take the SMART bus, I would seriously advise you to re-evaluate your friendship as this would mean he/she is advising you to stand on the side of the road unprotected from the elements waiting for a bus that may not arrive. The People Mover is hilarious and makes me laugh because it so does not count. As for the GPS, people in the D know exactly where they are going, so they do not bother to post helpful signage--we figure if you don't know where you're going, you got no business being there.
2. Bring Dramamine. This is really a follow up to #1 for our roads are terrible. Really motion-sickness-inducing terrible. We've gotten quite used to being bumped and knocked about, but you newbies will probably get a little queasy after just one trip down the Lodge.
3. Speed Limit is 70. As it should be. And let's be honest here, the sign says 70 but it really means 77, or 82 if you're tooling around on 696. This is key folks, because there is nothing that screams "I am a visitor from out of town, so please target me for physical violence" like a Chevy Cobalt buzzing along in the left lane at 65 mph. The speed limit is one of the things I truly dig about living here--I'm a Type-A Irish Chick who learned to drive in Jersey so I sincerely appreciate this aspect about this area.
4. Use Caution at Intersections. First, you can't turn left, you have to do a Michigan left which means you gotta go right to go left. Now, it's really not that complicated, but the signs (again with the freakin' signs) make it look like some convoluted NASCAR looking half-racetrack thing with a series of arrows attached. Second, red lights in the D are really more of an advisory opinion--very rarely obeyed. You definitely don't want to be the first sucker off the line unless you're looking to spend Saturday night down at Detroit Receiving recovering from being T-Boned by an Impala.
5. MYOB. We are a basically friendly society here in the D, but we do not like The Man getting in our business (or bidnez as my P-town Homies would say). Therefore, it is perfectly acceptable to smoke to your heart's content inside bars and restaurants. Also, feel free to leave your Bluetooth at home because you can hold your phone and talk and text and whatever else while you drive. Of course this also means you non-smokers will absolutely reek after hanging at the Post tonight, and you will frequently be sideswiped by teenager girls trying to call Britney to see if the party is still at her house because her parents are out of town.
6. Everything Ends in S. This is a very common and somewhat peculiar speech affect that is unique to folks from the D. They put an S on the end of nouns, thus pluralizing everything. This means that my dad works at Fords and I shop for groceries at Krogers. Writing this, I just realized that they could be putting an Apostrophe-S on the end of it, thus making them all possessives, hmm...Well, whichever it is, it's still odd, so listen for it.
7. We are Incredibly Loyal. No matter what happens, we stick by our peeps here in the D. That is why you'll see Winged Wheels and the Olde English D on 75% of the American-made cars in this area, why the Lions still sell tickets at all, and why Monica Conyers has not been institutionalized. This also means that there is a very good possibility that the only colors seen at Ford Field tonight will be Green and White, so those little UConn boys better hold on tight and buckle up. Sparty On!
8. Detroiters are Bad-Ass. I am constantly amazed at the intestinal fortitude of the residents of my adopted hometown. For the past few years, we have been enmeshed in the economic "down-turn" that has only recently affected the rest of the country. Let's face it, the D was in a recession long before the dreaded R word was ever even whispered in Washington, and no one cared. We have houses that we can't sell because the market has deteriorated to the point where most of us are completely upside down. We all personally know someone who is out of work due to being laid off, or their company just suddenly went under with no warning. We sit by and watch the politicians hand out free money to the banking industry with no questions asked while they make the Big 3 submit to the equivalent of a financial pelvic exam, and wonder how the hell we're going to survive. Yet despite all that, we get excited about hosting the Final Four, making sure our streets are pretty and as clean as they'll get, and welcoming the out-of-towners with open arms. Chins up and shoulders back.
Yeah, that's what you need to know to prepare for your weekend here in the D. Welcome.
But I digress. In the spirit of neighborliness, I thought I would put together a little "Guide to the D" for all of those traveling into our fair city this weekend. I think it will help acclimate some of you to the Metro Detroit area and its surrounding environs, thus making for a more pleasant experience for all. So here we go.
1. Rent a car with GPS. There is shocking lack of public transportation here in the D, so if you're coming into town, make a visit to the fellas at the Hertz counter first. And if a friend suggests that you forgo this step and just take the SMART bus, I would seriously advise you to re-evaluate your friendship as this would mean he/she is advising you to stand on the side of the road unprotected from the elements waiting for a bus that may not arrive. The People Mover is hilarious and makes me laugh because it so does not count. As for the GPS, people in the D know exactly where they are going, so they do not bother to post helpful signage--we figure if you don't know where you're going, you got no business being there.
2. Bring Dramamine. This is really a follow up to #1 for our roads are terrible. Really motion-sickness-inducing terrible. We've gotten quite used to being bumped and knocked about, but you newbies will probably get a little queasy after just one trip down the Lodge.
3. Speed Limit is 70. As it should be. And let's be honest here, the sign says 70 but it really means 77, or 82 if you're tooling around on 696. This is key folks, because there is nothing that screams "I am a visitor from out of town, so please target me for physical violence" like a Chevy Cobalt buzzing along in the left lane at 65 mph. The speed limit is one of the things I truly dig about living here--I'm a Type-A Irish Chick who learned to drive in Jersey so I sincerely appreciate this aspect about this area.
4. Use Caution at Intersections. First, you can't turn left, you have to do a Michigan left which means you gotta go right to go left. Now, it's really not that complicated, but the signs (again with the freakin' signs) make it look like some convoluted NASCAR looking half-racetrack thing with a series of arrows attached. Second, red lights in the D are really more of an advisory opinion--very rarely obeyed. You definitely don't want to be the first sucker off the line unless you're looking to spend Saturday night down at Detroit Receiving recovering from being T-Boned by an Impala.
5. MYOB. We are a basically friendly society here in the D, but we do not like The Man getting in our business (or bidnez as my P-town Homies would say). Therefore, it is perfectly acceptable to smoke to your heart's content inside bars and restaurants. Also, feel free to leave your Bluetooth at home because you can hold your phone and talk and text and whatever else while you drive. Of course this also means you non-smokers will absolutely reek after hanging at the Post tonight, and you will frequently be sideswiped by teenager girls trying to call Britney to see if the party is still at her house because her parents are out of town.
6. Everything Ends in S. This is a very common and somewhat peculiar speech affect that is unique to folks from the D. They put an S on the end of nouns, thus pluralizing everything. This means that my dad works at Fords and I shop for groceries at Krogers. Writing this, I just realized that they could be putting an Apostrophe-S on the end of it, thus making them all possessives, hmm...Well, whichever it is, it's still odd, so listen for it.
7. We are Incredibly Loyal. No matter what happens, we stick by our peeps here in the D. That is why you'll see Winged Wheels and the Olde English D on 75% of the American-made cars in this area, why the Lions still sell tickets at all, and why Monica Conyers has not been institutionalized. This also means that there is a very good possibility that the only colors seen at Ford Field tonight will be Green and White, so those little UConn boys better hold on tight and buckle up. Sparty On!
8. Detroiters are Bad-Ass. I am constantly amazed at the intestinal fortitude of the residents of my adopted hometown. For the past few years, we have been enmeshed in the economic "down-turn" that has only recently affected the rest of the country. Let's face it, the D was in a recession long before the dreaded R word was ever even whispered in Washington, and no one cared. We have houses that we can't sell because the market has deteriorated to the point where most of us are completely upside down. We all personally know someone who is out of work due to being laid off, or their company just suddenly went under with no warning. We sit by and watch the politicians hand out free money to the banking industry with no questions asked while they make the Big 3 submit to the equivalent of a financial pelvic exam, and wonder how the hell we're going to survive. Yet despite all that, we get excited about hosting the Final Four, making sure our streets are pretty and as clean as they'll get, and welcoming the out-of-towners with open arms. Chins up and shoulders back.
Yeah, that's what you need to know to prepare for your weekend here in the D. Welcome.
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