You want me to do what?

I just saw, literally, the news flash that Rosa Parks died tonight.

The 92-year-old, I’m-staying-right-here-in-my-seat civil rights pioneer (as they call her) passed away in Detroit.

She made Detroit home for I don’t know how many years, like thousands of other southern transplants. I actually sat on that same bus in its exhibit at the Henry Ford Museum (yeah, I think the museum’s new name— The Henry Ford — is really fucking stupid and I’ll never call it that) about three years ago. In a city once one of the crown jewels of the country, it was oddly important to have someone like Parks claim Detroit. In the eyes of the rest of the nation, Detroit lacks in the reputation of many (well, pretty much all) trendy, popular, tourist-friendly major metropolitan American cities. And, unlike Atlanta, Houston, St. Louis, New York or Philadelphia, we not only have a Rosa Parks Boulevard, but we had the gutsy broad herself.