Monday, July 5, 2010
I was sitting in the Ugly Mug, champion espresso house in Ypsilanti, MI, making wonderful progress on chapter 2 (!!!) last Friday (and yes, that means chapter 1 is pretty much done), and I overheard two delicate little guys talking on the couch about traveling across Michigan. I'll call them Frances and Hortense (I know, Hortense is a lady name, but it sounds funny to me, so just keep reading). So Frances says to Hortense, 'I'm planning a coast to coast tour of Michigan in one day, from east to west.' Hortense says, 'Are you going to take Michigan?' Michigan Avenue is US 12. It begins in Detroit and cuts west and south across the state and into Indiana around Lake Michigan. Then Hortense mumbles something and then I hear, 'or you'll get shot. Wayne is fine, Dearborn is fine, but not Detroit.' (Wayne is a neighboring town, and Dearborn is a suburb of Detroit). Frances says, 'Oh, maybe I'll go north.'
Bitch, don't go fucking north. Are you kidding me? When I describe these boys as delicate, I am referring to their sensibilities, not stature. Taking Michigan through southwest Detroit, Corktown, and Mexicantown to downtown Detroit, you'll get shot??? Fuck. I hate that shit, hate it. Hate. It. Michigan Avenue in Detroit is a wide street flanked by plenty of open businesses on either side all the way down...to downtown. Downtown Detroit - which was sort of dangerous and run down about 10 years ago, ... when you were TEN! But now, as many of you know, holds plenty of operating businesses, beautiful and active concert halls, lots of restaurants and bars, and Campus Martius park - a lovely park with an ice skating rink in winter and alluring fountain in summer.
I wanted to speak up and apologize for my rudeness, but imply that they were a bunch of lame, scared, delicate flowers. But I didn't. Sorry bout that.
I refuse to let fear and ignorance determine where I go and what I do. Why don't you do the same, honey?