West Side, West Side

We did a great thing this weekend. After some delicate planning, Kerry and I, along with the Corbetts, drove to Grand Rapids to see the consummate Rob and Steph. Normally, the word “consummate” is followed by a noun of some sort, like “the consummate teammate,” or “the consummate friend.” Those two are just consummate. Put whatever noun after it and it will generally stick, so long as it’s not negative, mean bullshit. If it’s negative, mean bullshit, I’ll come slap you with a dirty, rusted oil pan. Really. Fucking. Hard.
Rob, Steph, Brian C. and I have this interestingly sacred connection via our journalism past. And I won’t get into it here, but it’s withstood the test of not only our 20s and 30s, but great lapses of communication, some of which exceeding five or more years, only to display a resilience of truly synthetic proportions. Translation? We were young journalists together at a time when friendships are forged with ink that might’ve well have been molten lead. And as the homeboys like to say, “ain’t shit gonna change.” Newspaper people are funny. And not in a ha-ha sort of way
We meet at the Corbetts, where Brian secured this car from work for our 2 1/2 hour drive across the state.

. En route we stopped near Grand Rapids to see the house where Brian lived until, like, the fourth-grade, before his family moved to southeast Michigan.

We hit town, checked in the hotel, relaxed a bit and then headed to Rob and Steph’s. Thy have a beautiful home And while it might have a lot to do with the 100-year-old structure (really, it was built in 1905), the stunning hardwood appointment, built-ins, high ceilings and kick-ass fireplace, but the place just drips with a loving sincerity I get only in specific addresses —like the Voisines or Fred and Diane’s house. You enter these places and you’re mildly overcome with what “real” feels like. Anyway, Rob and Steph have a nice crib.

Before dinner, we went to a bar Rob likes to frequent,

a nice, little neighborhood bar that’s big on live music and a rich selection of tunes to which to listen. It’s set up like the old Music Menu on Monroe in Detroit where you pick a list of songs from this huge catalog. They had good beer there, too. A couple of pints of Two-Hearted and a couple of Stella Artois and we were ready for dinner.

We went back downtown, which is a nice setup.

Shit, it’s the second-largest city in Michigan and we noticed a downtown area that had more life and vibrancy to it than downtown Detroit, that’s for goddamn sure.

However, and I must apologize to Grand Rapids, I had to piss really hard before we got back to the restaurant, so I ducked back here to relieve myself.

Sorry. You’re a fine city, nobody should treat you that way. Otherwise, the downtown is rich with huge, old buildings that appeared to have a lot of brick and a lot of character. Despite it being cold outside, it had a very warm feeling in this part of town.

We got to the restaurant, San Chez, for what turned out to be some phenomenal and surprisingly affordable tapas chow.

We ate like pros, some of our small plates included blue cheese fritters with red pepper alioli; grilled chicken breast and chorizo sausage
skewer with garlic, cumin alioli; crab and cod cakes served on a
bed of organic greens with a honey lemon ginger vinaigrette and chipotle alioli; marinated and grilled artichoke hearts with roasted red peppers and alioli; char grilledlamb rib, medium, marinated in raspberry guava chili sauce atop chorizo mashed potatoes; and stuffed poblano peppers with spicy black beans, provolone and colby cheeses on a bed of corn salsa. I think there were a couple of more plates, but I can’t remember what in the hell they were.

they also had some cool Day of The Dead stuff near where we sat

That green drink is called a mojito and it was some serious shit. Had a couple of those during dinner and I was done drinking for the night. Wow.

We slept like champs before getting up and heading back to Rob and Steph’s for brunch. What gracious hosts. Hands-down probably one of the best meals I’ve had in some time — waffles, bagels, nuts (cashews and pistachios), fresh pineapple, homemade carrot bread

Maybe it was just the company and the setup, I don’t know. I could do this every Sunday with these cats.

I feel a lot better since reconnecting with my friends on the western side of the state. We’ve pledged to make this a biannual event, and we look forward to their visit around spring 2006. If it’s anything like last weekend, the wait while be short of agonizing

And take that bitch-made, fucking gay-ass redheaded Mexican quarterback with you!

Mariucci's future uncertain after bad loss to Falcons
ESPN.com news services

After Thursday's 27-7 home loss to Atlanta on national television, the Detroit Lions' playoff hopes are finished. Now it appears their coach may be done too.

The Lions are in discussions that could lead to the firing of head coach Steve Mariucci possibly as early as Friday, according to reports in the Detroit Free Press and on WJBK-TV in Detroit. After two and a half disappointing years with Mariucci at the helm, the loss to the Falcons on Thanksgiving may have been the final straw.

"I don't know what's going to happen or anything like that, but nobody's stupid in here," offensive lineman Damien Woody told the Free Press. "People know that, hey, things didn't go right. It was a pretty bad loss on national television. We'll see what happens."

The Lions are 15-28 since 2003 under Mariucci, including a 4-7 record this year, a year that began with high hopes in the organization. Thursday's loss dropped Detroit 3½ games behind NFC North-leading Chicago, and 1½ behind second-place Minnesota.

"I take the responsibility, because I'm the head coach, and I should," Mariucci told the Free Press. "And that's what makes it a little bit frustrating, because where do you start? You identify where we need to be better, and there's a multitude of things."

Who's righteous now?

from Salon.com

The devil's music

Does it matter that David Ludwig -- the 18-year-old alleged killer of his 14-year-old girlfriend's parents -- was a huge fan of hardcore Christian rock?

By Daniel Radosh

Nov. 24, 2005 | On the night of Oct. 6, David Ludwig, 18, and his 14-year-old girlfriend, Kara Beth Borden, went to church. There was no sermon, though -- at least not a traditional one. David and Kara were at the Lancaster Bible Church in Manheim, Penn., for a Christian rock concert. As the punishingly loud guitars of Audio Adrenaline and Pillar strained the limits of the church sound system, the kids screamed and pumped their fists and banged their heads. "Pillar and Audio A rock my face off!" David wrote on his blog the next day. Kara spent almost all the money in her pocket on a Pillar sweatshirt. She was wearing it the morning of Nov. 13 when, police say, David shot and killed her parents and fled with her at his side.

If your only association with contemporary Christian music (CCM) is Amy Grant or Stryper, you might be surprised at how popular, varied and artistically mature the genre has become in the last 15 years. By some estimates, Christian music sales topped $720 million last year, making it a bigger niche than jazz and classical combined. For every genre of mainstream music there is a Christian parallel: rock, punk, reggae, folk, dance pop, gangsta rap. Pillar, named for the biblical description of God's household as "the pillar and foundation of truth," plays rap-core, a furiously propulsive mash-up of hard rock and rap. Musically, they are as creditable as many of their top-40 counterparts. Their lyrics testify to their faith in Jesus, a faith that David and Kara publicly share.

It should go without saying that Pillar isn't even remotely responsible for David Ludwig's actions, any more than Marilyn Manson was responsible for Columbine. As CCM reaches an ever larger audience, the likelihood that some people in that audience will be deeply troubled increases proportionally. The CCM industry is already painfully aware that its fans are often no more virtuous than any other teenagers. A 2004 survey by the Barna Group found that "teen buyers of Christian music were just as likely as other teens to engage in music piracy." Nearly 80 percent of young people who purchase Christian music also download it illegally. Christian music is not just for goody-goodies anymore.

But Christian rock doesn't just happen to find troubled kids in its audience, it reaches out to them. At a Christian music festival in Neodesha, Kan., two months ago, I watched as the singer of Seventh Day Slumber called on the people there to look into the darkest depths of their souls, that they may seek forgiveness. "If you've ever thought about suicide, put your hand in the air," he said, and they did, tears streaming down their faces. "If you've gone so far as to write a suicide note, put your hand in the air. If you've thought about killing yourself just this week, put your hand in the air." The dark undercurrents of secular thrash and emo music are not absent from the Christian versions, just channeled differently.

Pillar ended its Oct. 6 set with a song called "Fireproof." It must have struck a chord in David. He posted the lyrics on his blog:

I know where I stand and what'll happen if you try it
I am FIREPROOF
I know my heart and I just can't deny it
I am FIREPROOF
I tried to tell you but you wouldn't be quiet
I am FIREPROOF
I'll never bow down and you won't buy it
I am FIREPROOF

Like many edgier evangelical bands, Pillar specializes in battle anthems, composed on the premise that Christians are under constant spiritual attack. The emotional effects are remarkably similar to those of any secular odes to alienation and rebellion, and the vast majority of Christian teens who are drawn to such music, like the vast majority of their non-Christian peers, find comfort in the roiling cacophony that mirrors their inner lives; it helps them get through some difficult years in one piece. Any Christian artist can share legitimate and profound stories of young people who found genuine grace through their music. But there will always be a small fringe of disturbed people who are looking for an excuse to go over the edge, and who will find it in angry and tormented lyrics -- even if those lyrics are supposed to be about eternal salvation.

It is still possible to find fundamentalist Christians who hold that all rock 'n' roll is the devil's music, and that CCM is only a more deceptive variety. The mainstream Christian culture industry, however, is too sophisticated and too profitable to turn its back on any form of musical expression. But with the proliferation of Christian music -- and books, movies, stand-up comedy, and pro wrestling -- the line between faith and sin has become blurred, and pop proselytizers will have to ask themselves if they are really changing hearts or just winning fans. Evangelicals justify their embrace of 21st century pop culture forms by saying that the Bible calls them to be "in the world, but not of it." This week, sadly, they are both.

T-giving

Hope everyone had a nourishing and reflective Thanksgiving. Big ups to Rian for taking care of the bird duties.

Definitely missed the presence of Casey and Mary. We chowed hard on the turkey, garlic mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and stuffing. Kerry made milkshakes for dessert with Stroh’s vanilla bean ice cream. Yum.

I get into this time of the year and try to see it for what it is. I’m a lucky man with a lot for which to be thankful. I’m alive, for one, and that’s always a good start, but I have it pretty good otherwise — I have an unbelievable legion of friends, or, as the kids on the street say, “My crew is thick.” Ah yes, crew thickness, wouldn’t trade it for the world. Other ghetto-based expressions to signify you’re in good company that might not fly so well in the hood?

My posse’s got viscosity

There is considerable girth to the presence of my acquaintances

God-dang my gang is the whole sh-bang

My boys resonate a kind of organic togetherness seen only in Samburu warrior tribes and some Division-II mens basketball programs

My clique is leviathan in scope

My peeps go deep(s)

I got a lot of friends and we fucking dig each other …

Stew and symphonies

Sunday was a fun and interesting contrast. I fashioned a pot of homemade stew and then Kerry and I went to the symphony downtown. The stew was damn good, too. It started out like this

but ended up looking like this

Now that is some comfort food — stew, biscuits and lemonade. Fuck yes.

We headed downtown after dinner. Kerry bought tickets to the Detroit Symphony Orchestra’s Civic Ensemble, which is an orchestra composed mainly of exceptionally talented students working directly with members of the DSO. I’d never before been to Orchestra Hall. And while we were confined to the part that did not include the new, multimillion-dollar expansion called The Max, it was still quite a sight.

The show itself was pretty cool. I’m not a big symphonicophile (but I AM keen on making up words; like that one) by any means, but I’ve enjoyed such music when it’s playing. Under the guidance of conductor Charles Burke (no relation to Kerry), the first ensemble plowed through Dvorak’s “Carnival Overture,” before kicking down Mozart’s “Sinfonia Concetante in E-flat Major,” accompanied by two phenomenal musicians from the DSO, Hai-Xin Wu on the violin, and James VanValkenburg on the viola. And no, I don’t know the difference between the two instruments. It was a divine performance.

Not a bad way to spend a Sunday.

House Lake

It’s been a bit of a while since I checked in here. Things have been busy and nutty. Kerry is buying a house and that’s about to wrap up, plus freelance has been picking up. I just joined the team at MiLife MiTimes and what a great bunch of people they are. Wow. I’ve never been treated so nice by another group of freelancers on the same project in my life. Very cool.

Two weekends ago, I went up north for probably the last camping-type excursion of the year. Tom and I met Jerry and Pete up in a small town called Meredith, Michigan, which is just outside of Gladwin. The campground was on House Lake and was actually really nice, as far as rustic campgrounds go. It rained a bit on Saturday, but the rest of the weekend was nice and dry, but really windy and weird. Plus, it’s kind of scary up there. A lot of bizarre-o redneck hunter types. Motherfuckers up there are clearly broke, as evidenced by the shacks on the side of the road on the way up, and the locals weren’t exactly the friendliest types in the world. We hung out Saturday night and got up Sunday to head out in the woods. I captured Tom and Jerry in the sunlight, sort of

and Tom returned the favor. Here is a shot of me, half-awake, dicking off in the woods.

The sky looked pretty cool, though.

Tom pointed out these stones at the base of a tree. Interesting how they are gathered like that. I wonder if some little kid did that this summer. Maybe she was bored as hell, camping with her family from Kalamazoo or something.

Weird crime shit

I got this from one of my reporters. It is a stickup note from an actual bank robbery that occurred recently.

The whole thing is very Found Magazine-ish, but I still thought it was interesting. In other crime reporting news, Detroiter Terrence Moore, was convicted of killing a Ferndale studio owner over what he felt was excessive rate charging. The wannabe rapper, who had the number "13" tattoed on his head, was found guilty on first-degree murder charges. She told me that her cop contact told her the following: That when they arrested this fuckbag, before he confessed, he was apparently having such strong crack withdrawals, that he told the cop if he took him to a crack house and let him score, just one rock and load up, that not only would he confess, but he would show the cops where he ditched the murder weapon. He signed the confession anyway and the cop bought him a Big Mac meal.

(Nut)Sac Town

From today’s Free Press and last night’s sports talk shows.

Kings say they're sorry for slamming Detroit's image

November 10, 2005

BY KRISTA LATHAM
FREE PRESS SPORTS WRITER

Although the Sacramento Kings apologized Wednesday for displaying negative images of Detroit during pregame introductions, the NBA began an investigation into the incident that could result in fines.
Before the Pistons beat the Kings, 102-88, Tuesday night at Arco Arena in Sacramento, fans were shown a montage of negative images of Detroit on the scoreboard above center court. They included abandoned buildings, boarded-up houses, burned cars and piles of construction rubble.
This story goes on to say how sorry the higher-ups in the Kings organization are. They even ran full-page ads in the Detroit dailies expressing their remorse. And even later in the article, it mentions how hard the team’s director of event presentation, Leland Patton is, “distraught today, like we all are, but he's in bad shape. He feels horrible emotionally."

Leland Patton can fuck himself with a fire hydrant. He knew what he was doing. Somewhere in a control room, on an editing machine at Arco Arena, someone was splicing that thing together going “Oh man, this is beautiful.” And he signed off on it. And if he didn’t sign off on it, he’s a dumb fuck for not keeping an eye on his minions.

Motherfuck the Sacramento Kings and anyone else who wants to talk shit. You’re not from here, don’t nobody know you or love you here, and you’re pulling a move perfect for a bitch-made little fuck, dogging our city from the comfort of some 2,000-plus miles away.

And above else, this was inspired by and displayed during a professional basketball contest. The Kings, last time I checked, were a group of classic underachievers. One thing they forgot to put up on that screen were Detroit’s 3 national championships. Fucking fags.

What the???

So I walk into the men's room today at work and I nearly jump out of my Stan Smiths at the sight of this:

It freaked me out for a second because it looks, well, like some sort of really nasty implement. I immediately wondered what it was and why in the HELL it is on the bathroom counter. And where, exactly, is that pointy thing supposed to go? Years ago, we had a wheelchair-bound fella in the office (he was loaded and drove his Camaro into a tree, killing his best friend and fucking himself up for life; issue empathy at your discretion) and being in the bathroom with him at the same time was bizarre. You would hear him in the stall trying to take apart his colostomy bag, grunting and griping, shifting around, banging it off the side of the wall, it sounded like he was wrestling a grizzly bear in there. So I saw this and kind of froze until I realized it was only the refill bag and nozzle for the soap dispenser.

Detroit's finest

I spent last Saturday morning downtown, taking some pictures for a write-up I did on this new café inside the Guardian Building. While I was there, I took a few extra shots of this art deco beauty, perhaps the crown jewel of Detroit’s skyscrapers. This building is amazing, especially on the inside. Absolutely breathtaking.

I busted wide down Griswold and tried to get all cool with the Penobscot Building.

Before I caught this guy catching up on his beauty sleep. Note the hands.

Before going back home, I headed through New Center, where it looked a lot like fall.

Sunday well spent

We had the second annual Chili Cookoff last Sunday at Dino’s in Ferndale. Kerry did this last year with a group of friends and family, and it ended up being such a good time that she planned another one. This year was a little bigger, with more entrants and people showing up in general. It was a fine time — some excellent chili concoctions and great company all the way around. We had 10 pots going

as people made their own chili at home and brought it in crockpots for the competition. The rest of the day was sampling chili, voting for the favorites, watching the Lions get destroyed and having some beers among friends. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday.

Especially with the Burkes

and BCL

not to mention The Fam

Nicki ended up taking third place for her creation titled “Flaming Bung Hole,” while our neighbor Andy Jr. came in second with this “Four Pound, Five Alarm” special. His second place finish was actually the result of a runoff vote. He tied with Steve Pardo’s entry “Veronica,” which ultimately won out. Nicki took home a clay kind of salsa holder thing while second place was a plate and salsa server thing. Steve earned not only the chili cookoff trophy which, like the Stanley Cup, will have his name placed on it for generations to admire, but first place also included a $30 gift certificate to Holiday Market.

Love the Scarab Club

One of the better influences Kerry has had on me is introducing me to the
Scarab Club. The building is really phenomenal and we’ve been fortunate to attend some great events there. A couple of the SLAW parties immediately come to mind but it was also a delightful coincidence that Sandra and Mike were married there in summer 2005. I’m killing myself for not bringing the camera. That was a beautiful ceremony, truly unforgettable. So it was pretty cool last Thursday when we went back there for the opening night party of the Detroit Docs Film Festival 2005. While I volunteered as a bartender and mingled briefly with my new freelance peeps from MiLife MiTimes — and what a great bunch they are already — grabbed a couple of shots. This is the courtyard where the wedding was held, albeit in the daylight.

As well as some interesting art

and other neat elements