Progress?
page of the building. They say that thing is going down any day now. I owe a certain amount of thanks and gratitude to The Rooster, who in his creeping, crawling and climbing about our fine city, presented me with these goodies from his travels as a birthday present, some paper relics from the building. Once they level that thing and put a fucking Starbucks and a parking lot in there, I’ll still have a piece, albeit small, of the city’s rich musical history. Thanks, money.
Detroit continues its spit-shine for Super Bowl XL. Streets are being cleaned, unsightly building facades have been renovated, new bars, restaurants and other retail operations have opened up shop downtown where nothing, and I mean, nothing, previously existed, and viable housing has been created where once rats and weirdos only roamed. Great start. Listen, as I initiate the golf clap here.
My mother had a term for this type of insta-clean, she called it “perfuming the pig.” My allegiances are torn on the new development like this in the city. I’m all for it, especially bars and restaurants, as I have a vested interest in those entities, for every new one that opens, I write about it and, ergo, make a little freelance cash. So open up all the shi-shi martini bars and “ultra-lounges” you want. But again, and my motives are purely selfish, much of the new developments will see nary a dime of my loot nor a slice of my interest. A $12 plate of waffles from restaurateur Frank Taylor and former Detroit Lion Robert Porcher? Don’t think so. Killer loft space at $3 a square foot? Looks great, but it’s out of my price range and I have no interest in being a part of Wayne County services. A new, bumpin’ nightclub with fancy blue lights, $10 drinks, a $20 cover, too much security everywhere and insecure people overdoing it on overpriced clothes and blind machinations? Fuck that and fuck you for even building it. I’ll take a Heineken and a shot of Crown at the bar at the end of my street, thank you.
Misguided duality aside, the mayor — and his cozy developer pals in their orgiastic no-bid love fest —
can tidy up the city all they want, especially for the big game. International media, corporate hoo-hoos, movers, shakers, celebs, the eye of the nation on the city, all of the hype will mean nothing in the face of two very important elements — if everyone behaves themselves and nobody acts like an idiot (especially with a gun), and the city maintains the momentum long after the game.
All it takes is one fool to sully the whole deal, one malcontent with a disregard for anything but himself (and maybe his “boys”) to undo whatever it is this city is trying to get done. Look no further than two specific instances in recent years. On June 23, 2004 while maybe, I don’t know, 1 million people were packed into downtown Detroit for the annual fireworks display, some knucklehead opens fire into a pack of revelers, shooting nine and killing one person, 48-year-old Donald Murphy. Last year, during the early days of the North American International Auto Show, a pack of homeboys got into it inside Cobo and then moved the fight outside. Couple that, with Pistons fans showering the Indiana Pacers with debris as they left the court following the now famous brawl at the Palace and you have a fraction of the litany of shit people around the country don’t like about us.
Which, ultimately leads me to this — why should anyone care? Does it really matter what the eyes of the world sees when it looks at Detroit, or if the editor of the London Times thinks the city is a raging shithole? Katie Couric? Tony Kornheiser? Busta Rhymes? Does it concern us with what they think? Should it? The throng of Super Bowl people coming to town? When Feb. 5 comes and goes, so will they, so it matters not how clean the gutters are, or that they have ample opportunity to get high-priced call girls sent to their hotel rooms, or that they are even ARE enough hotel rooms. Because when they leave, and the alleged spotlight dims and fades, we are still going to be left with our crumbling infrastructure, our tattered bus lines, our bulimic skyline, mismanaged mayor’s office, three-ring-circus of a city council, painfully unacceptable illiteracy rate, fear-inducing crime rate and so, so much more. Address those concerns and start sanitizing this city from the inside out. And in the meantime, Maxim Magazine is having its Super Bowl party at The Max, downtown, so fuck it. Pass the Chandon and watch me get my swerve on, bitches.