Everything is fine until I get to Illinois. Every time I'm on the I-90 E and I see that welcome sign, I almost cringe. The thing really should say: "Welcome to the Land of Lincoln! (tm) Please deposit your pants, shorts, or dress down around your ankles for our state-of-the-art TOLLWAY system."

I despise tolls. I hate the Illinois tollway with a cold passion reserved for adulterous asshole spouses. This isn't just because I have to fish out change, watch for cars, and slow down. This isn't just because my front driver-side window does NOT work, thus requiring me to open my door and dealing with the auto lock mechanism every time. This is mostly because there is no viable alternative to drive across Illinois.

Therefore: fuck you, bastion of strong blue state democracy.

I got through all of Illinois with only moderate aggravation. They've been doing heavy construction and moving shit around, so only one toll booth had those electro-buckets. The very first one took an hour to get through. Then, while I was exiting the state, things drew to a crawl. Apparently a supervisor had decided it was high time to lay down tar along two lanes of highway--next to a toll booth.

Thankfully my mom and Gran called on speaker phone. She got me up to date about moving back in with Gran. She originally was going to move and stay in the extreme boonies of southern california, but couldn't. It was in an unincorporated area where graffiti, drug dealers, cockroaches, redneck mailbox abusers, and every other urban and rural cliche had all come together for a massive gangbang to drive out my mother after 3 days. That and having to go through a 10 minute ritual of calling up the farm owner, opening up locks, removing chains, driving through, closing locks, and putting back chains. Wilmar sounds not so good. So we all had a laugh. I also told them about my possibly needing cash to cover rent. You know, because my university sorta casually gets around to paying me what I'm owed when it feels like it.

I also talked to my friend who has the life-threatening long-term condition. I unsuccessfully tried to say, "hey, when and if you're terminal, stay with or by me." Either that or they just decided to ignore me.

I only stopped during the trip for gas and at a subway. Oddly enough one of the better sandwiches of their ilk that I've had. I have a love for veggies and meat together. Maybe someday I'll graduate to throwing a slab of buffalo into a salad with carmalized walnuts and join a tai-chi club.

But back to the trip.

I love Indiana. It's pretty, they have next to no signs, you can go 70 by law (read: 90 really), and all that. Red state country is just more fun to drive through.

If I could find the people who designed Chicago's "highway system," I'd pimp them out to Pig Sex Finlandish scat mavens and regularly beat them with a steel golf club. It's like fitting the penis of a horse inside a human condom. Yeah construction is happening NOW, but LA had the good knowledge of making 4, 6, and 8 lane highways back in the 70's.

Well here's some fucking coffee for y'all anyway, good morning and welcome to civilization.

(Did I say I hate Illinois? I do. Love the people, hate the state)

* * *

Getting into Detroit was simple. I saw a giant 50 x 60 foot pit filled with bramble. Set. On. FIRE by a bunch of transfixed white people. Nicholas was on the horn directing me. I told him where I was. He confirmed with his characteristic extended chuckle that it was probably the KKK.

I also wondered aloud about some fireworks in the distance. Again, he suggested it was probably the KKK.

They is the firestarter.

* * *

Detroit has been Detroit so far. The rotting older sister has seemingly gotten a face lift downtown.

For instance--the abandoned house is gone. I drove past the lot, got a weird look to myself, turned around past the usual drug dealers and fetish bars, then drove up and through its street. Nothing. I was distraught and sad. I wanted to at least visit the place. I mean the previous tenants (and not the actual house itself, that'd be silly) didn't agree with my sensibilities. But. Well. They were gone, and I figured I could hang out part of a night and listen to the rafters creek and the dead tell stories by campfires I couldn't see.

Nicholas looked like Nick and was all smiles. During my second trip out to the car, with door open, he casually strolled up and mumblingly demanded all of my money. Again before bursting into continuous laughter.

We talked, we listened to Elvis Costello, then Belle and Sebastian, and then Andrew Bird. He at least digs Palindromes. I think he was asleep thereafter.

* * *

Today has so far been relaxing and completely non-productive. Just how I like a first real day here.

I watched part of Batman, as well as Batman and Robin (which isn't laughably bad because all said parts were intentional and therefore lame but pretty). Nicholas has gotten me reacquainted with Dennis Cooper's blog and his novel God Jr. He's helping Cooper by coordinating a trailer for Cooper's new anthology. I may or may not help in this regard. I have, however, learned what Pig Sex is and various other raunchy gay and not so gay bits from said blog. I love this shit. It's clever but doesn't cause my 'bullshit' allergies to act up.

I had an energy drink for breakfast, a sensible ultra diet shake for after breakfast so my stomach would stay copacetic, and then finally something over and around downtown at Johnny Cockblockers or whatever that 50's style restaurant thing is.

I walked about 15 minutes from Cat's Corner to get there. Along the way I composed about 6 shots I want to get at when it isn't cloudy outside. I hope to drag Nicholas along so I can venture into this abandoned building I fancy. I may risk shit for photography, but I'm not stupid enough to go in myself unless I have at least my knives.

Past the still run-down sections is an ultra-white townhouse complex. It's like suburbia decided to shuffle into downtown to see what all those black people and poor whites were up to. The contrast is hilarious (and picture worthy if I remember it). The catch phrase has something to do with urban living. Considering an abandoned lot is across the way and at least 5 drug dealers 4 blocks off (whom I'm on a nodding basis with), this place must have sold out to:

*Semi-rich 20 and 30-somethings who don't want to commute to downtown.

*"Artists" bankrolled by mommy and daddy.

Business people wouldn't be caught dead in a 200k condo complex. They are pretty damn nice for 200k.

The skyscraper portion of Detroit is far more artsy/cleaned up/expensive looking but oddly still cheap. On the border is this apparently famous sports bar called Hockeyland. That would not do. So I christened the area Honkeyland.

And honkey it is.

The 'X' radio station was having a rock thing, so all sorts of young kids and 20 somethings trying to look cool/emphasize chest volume were out and about.

Besides that aspect it was middle-aged to old white people and young blacks servicing them in various capacities. Norman Rockwell with a 40 and a Sox hat turned sideways, I'm sure.

I composed several more shots over there before the Cockblockers dining experience mentioned.

* * *

So I'm waiting to see if it'll stay cloudy like it is (it is), who is calling Nicholas continually (likely Steven), and debating if I should go out later on and do night-time photography at the areas I scoped (I should).

* * *

This concludes our test of the first day in Detroit. This is only a test.

* * *

Actually I do want an ice cream sandwich, some kahluah and vodka, and some asparagus.

Hoe-le Foods they do not have.

* * *

I haven't forgotten about all the other shit. Alright, three stars out.

previous - next