Tell me about Detroit

When I first came to this state one of the first things I did was go to Detroit for a Flogging Molly Concert with Loo.

I used Google maps to find the place, a big theater, can't miss it.

I missed it. Over and over did I miss that stupid theater.

The directions were good until I got to Detroit because Detroit is always under construction based on my one visit and years of Hollywood movies about it, meaning there were detours for detours to detour you to detours.

But it was Motor city! And I am a gear head motor guy, so this should be like the holy grail, or rather that road that Jesus walked carrying his cross. You know, hollowed ground. This is where it all goes on, and down and off and up. All of it. Detroit Baby!

I did not like Detroit.

The roads criss-crossed the city in a one-way labyrinth of battered pavement and steaming man-hole covers. The roads you needed to be on went the other way and it didn't seem to connect to any road you could get to--a perpetual parallel paradox preventing perpendicular progress propagating persistent panic, poisoning planned preconceptions, presuming to prevent prosperity, preferring peculiar places where pioneering panhandlers pass personal precincts peddling profitable panacea prospering persistently while pantomiming personal progress predictably prone to prosecution, prison, and punishment, while presently I proceed to perspire persuaded to persevere despite parallel progress through puzzling pavement. Whew. The road signs were strategically placed behind traffic signals and stop signs so tourists like me could annoy the native people of Motor City as we creep up closer and closer to see if we should turn on this upcoming road or not. They must be familiar with this occurrence because it didn't seem to phase them.

While I was there I didn't see any cool cars. Just Cadillacs on 26's, and yellow Crown Victorias.

Parking was a nightmare, or maybe more of a nightstallion, I'm not sure. It was cash only. I didn't have any cash and the ATM machines were inconveniently located somewhere else.

Finally I asked a Taxi driver and he pointed me toward one 3 miles away. There was a three dollar charge for it, and there was no where to park to use the stupid thing. I parked right in front of a NO PARKING UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE sign and got some money out.

Loo had already arrived and was hiding in a bar/club thing because she felt unsafe on the street and it was cold outside. Which meant when I called her to ask where the heck she was all I heard was the music blasting through my earpiece. Using her mother and her Mother's un-boyfriend we were able to find the place, the theater, and where Loo was and where to park.

I parked, walked across the street in 40 degree weather--something a California boy will never get use to--and entered the bar/club thing around the corner of the venue. On my way there I saw a gang-banger looking black guy who greeted me so cordially it caught me by surprise and forever changed my preconceptions of Detroit. It also made me abundantly aware of my prejudice, which I didn't like about myself.

Inside the bar the pungent cigarette smoke bit my nose--another thing a Cali boy will never get use to because our state is legally smoke free, no cigs anywhere public or private except for your own car and house, I think. I coughed a few times, my eyes stung, but through the mediocre band crashing cymbals offbeat to barely audible lyrics screamed into a microphone by a small man with a top hat, I was able to find Loo. She was hungry.

We went to the restaurant part of the place and asked for a menu. The Chicago Dog caught my eye so I ordered that. It was covered in onions, which I don't normally eat, but I ate them all that night. I don't remember what she ordered, some kind of egg thing. But while we were waiting for our food I watched people come and go and greet one another--this countered the picture I had of Detroit in my head of rude aggressive people you see in movies all the time. They were nicer than the people back home, who weren't rude per se, but too self-involved or aloof to waste time greeting strangers. Then a man with a pit bull walked into the restaurant.

I was instantly prepared to tell the man that you can't have an animal in a restaurant on account of certain health code violations--after working in several food markets, and owning lots of pets I knew quite a bit about this--but I didn't say anything. Detroit was a city in a state I knew nothing about. I was also angry at how conditioned I had become to do that, to tell this guy, "Hey guy, you can't have a dog in here," even though I love dogs and would like to see a dog in a restaurant. I think people have more germs than dogs do anyway.

The chef guy offered to feed the dog some food but the owner said no, then greeted the next few people that came in cordially, genuinely, as they picked up their take out orders. The dog owner paid for his take out order and left to keep walking down the street in a t-shirt. Evidently he didn't care it was sub forty degrees out there. It made me shiver thinking about it.