"May you live in interesting times."- Ancient Chinese Curse
From the Local Affairs Desk-
Hey all, Metro here. Well, one can't argue that these are indeed interesting times, even cursed times. If that is so, then why has it become so difficult to churn out anything of substance or interest? I have covered this dilemma in my last few posts and find no reason to revisit my opinions on the media, sports, politics, etc. I'll leave that to the big boys and even then everything is on repeat. I can't even watch TV anymore because of the commercials and promo's for the latest series executive produced by XXXXXXX. I'm just not that kind of guy; not that kind of guy! Since I feel that I'm winding down here on the blog (and elsewhere), and that soon I will be a man (or "person", if that makes you feel better about yourself) on an island (no, I don't know what I mean either), so Metro snuck out of the lockbox and all future/remaining posts will be from him (or Born Evil).
I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle. But to who? The cliche answer would be "myself". Ugh, but how lame, boring, and unoriginal would that be? Jesus, that's two questions in the first two paragraphs. Not like me. I usually have all the answers. Then again, up until last month, I was interesting, unpredictable, and original (I understand some would disagree), so maybe, this time, the cliche fits. I can't take all of the credit, so let's say a 50/50 split with the doctors playing pinball with my body, the invoices out of nowhere on buried issues, the friends I never see anymore, and a bunch of other Blue Ribbons. The funny thing is I can deal with losing (in my own, obsolete, way). Its the road to that defeat that is the pain, mile markers replaced by signs, all of them saying "No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future," no sign of my exit ramp. 08/03/20
Moving on that road, what are the latest going-on's around town? I try to be a fly on the wall now and then, but even social media has dried up, unless you find reading the same links/memes over and over. Either that, or everybody has just blocked each other. I did see that Woodman and Doofy Deficate did a pop-up show near Third Man Records for the Iggy Goose Lake thing. I saw a pic of their gear in shopping carts and almost jokingly commented for them to put them on the curb and I will have "the roadies" pick them up, ho ho ho. But I didn't. Most of the summer fests are cancelled (DIY, Labor Day, most of Arts, Beats, Eats). Everything is now livestreamed which just feels empty and not a lot of fun. Then there's this thing called "Benihana" or something, the "only nightly call-in show in Hamtramck". I was stunned at the amount of "likes" and comments but then realized that its just the same 7-10 people, all in on some inside joke I have zero interest in. I have yet to watch an episode because my dvd of "This Is 40" has been on repeat. In conclusion, the concepts of fun and adventure are in a vacuum in 2020; quite the cursed time to be in. Transition...
The MRI Diary-
I found out about the need for a MRI when the Doc's ran a bunch of tests on pretty much everything (I had already quit drinking at this point, which is mildly frustrating). They concluded: MRI-Liver-45 Minutes. I had never had one and had no idea if I was claustrophobic. Keep in mind I was raised on empty local crowds. They basically said I would be placed in a tube where Death would be pumped directly into me; I mean pictures would be taken. I was told it would be noisy. I joked in an earlier post that I should take my last hit of acid beforehand. I decided not to, which is good because the banging and beeping of the construction site noise triggered an acid flashback to when I first took it and drove my friends to the casino, won $15, and then locked myself in the bathroom for an hour. After getting back to a house (a small miracle), I stayed up all night listening to amplified jackhammers outside my window along with the sounds of my friends vomiting outside. The toughest part of the MRI was holding my breath and releasing, but after 25 times I started to get lightheaded and praised Jesus I didn't have lethal amounts of narcotics up my ass, or nose, or lungs. That did not stop me from pausing the test to slip the nurse a note/contract I drew up the night before on Ativan. It read: "If anything happens to me during the test and I don't make it I would like my final wish to be entombed and buried in the MRI machine in lieu of a malpractice lawsuit. Cazart! B.M.". The results came back in a day and were... well that's for another post. This Tuesday (today? yesterday?) a "Tumor Board" is meeting to discuss my options. Thankfully, they'll let me know by phone. Tumor Board...what the hell is that anyway? Sounds like something out of a Tom Wolfe novel. Man, I could really use a drink right now. Oh, and I stole my hospital scrubs.
The Blue Ribbon Shit Factory-
Believe it or not, I have never been to a Woodward Dream Cruise. Cars aren't my thing. I was more fascinated by the Cruisers and Gear Heads versus local businesses; every year, back and forth. This year the official Cruise was cancelled but didn't stop the car junkies from doing it anyway. Of course, being 2020, it had to be politicized. Now it was Trump versus Protesters. Black Lives Matter duking it out with Pro-Lifer's. I could probably zap out a 5,000 word article on the irony of the car contingent being mostly pro-Trump set against the backdrop of the auto bailout. So if anyone has 1K laying around for an advance, contact me.
I got there late and I guess most of the drama happened in the early afternoon. My writing schedule usually ends around 6am/sunrise, so I missed it. Thus, the whole experience was a letdown. There was okay people watching, some okay cars, and lots of lawn chairs. It basically looked like this...
No blood, no shouting, no grenados. Yeah, late to the party. I decided to ditch the Silver Hornet and spend some time on foot hoping for the big scoop. I covered Woodward from 14 Mile to 8 Mile and it was all the same aside from the occasional millennial protesters like these guys.
I didn't even bother to ask them to elaborate on their platform other than the all too easy materialism, exhaust fumes, and BLM. I'd probably make some crude joke about not being able to breathe with all this traffic to help them along. But I didn't. I saw a news van so I kept moving. I did notice that the Pro-Cruise (Trump) crews had control of the road.
I made it to the Fox News van which ended up being empty (there is irony somewhere here), so I made it my base of operations, the interim Local Affairs Desk, and tried to find something combustible (not on four wheels). My Sharpie was starting to die so the sign is tough to read up there. It said "Cobbs Modified GMC 3-71 Blower on Navarro Manifolds Matter!". My main observation of the whole thing is that the people that were still there were creatures of routine, disciples of the wheel, who just wanted to sit, talk, and get away, have fun, cool drink, back pats, coolers filled with sunglasses and no fear. I don't see myself as a psycho "Mask Mandator", but I see their benefits and participate, but in the end, do what you want. Given the scope of the Cruise, I did feel a little unsafe seeing the lack of masks, but that just altered my distancing. I'm a journalist, not a preacher. Do as you wish and if I end up sick its my fault for getting antsy about writing. From my makeshift Local Affairs Desk at the Fox News van I really saw nothing of note; very disappointing.
I decided to grab some 5pm breakfast but they were closed. I was unable to find out if it was due to the pandemic or Cruise traffic (there is some irony here). Thankfully there was an IHOP nearby so it was back to stompin' the terra. But before I did, I couldn't resist, for old times sake...
I shortly ran into the first group of Trump supporters. They were jovial (a little too much), but there was no incident. I noticed what could have been a few counter-protesters coming, so I used my secret weapon, the American Flag, which meant they had no option other than halting and kneeling, stopping them in their tracks as to not to offend the large church with the larger BLM banner (and the NBA). Close call.
I found it notable that most of the car gang were casual, just having a good time while the protesters were dour, angry, sad, a little bitter; miserable. Being miserable while reading every news link is not the way to get through life. A couple blocks over I ran into this lady who was protesting in a peaceful way. I broke out my "Unemployed Musician" sign to hop on the demographic, but it just made me sad. The woman was very nice and said, "Someone has to do it." Since I've never taken a stand, I wished her long days and pleasant nights and moved on.
I passed a Chicano millennial whose form of protest was flipping off cars. Boring; kept walking. God I could use a drink right now. I tried to have Fun With Signs, but like everything else, it just seemed forced and hollow. Maybe I need my own nightly call in show.
Heading back to the Local Affairs Desk I switched into the hazmat suit which actually triggered somebody to yell, "I can't breathe," which I found to be timely and tasteless, the theme of the year. It was time to leave. This isn't fun anymore.
The last thing I saw was a mailbox. For a second I thought I Todashed to Greenfield Village. All I wanted to do is hug and protect it. Or maybe I watch too much 4am news. Overall, I was underwhelmed and depressed with the day along with my coverage so I split. Thankfully, waiting at home was a flyer for my next weekend project... and a steak.
The Anti-ICE Bikini Car Wash Company-
The flyer I stumbled on was for an anti-ICE bikini car wash the next day. It was set up by a few people who I've had run-in's with in the past, mostly during the El Club debacle a few years ago. I think that's water under the bridge though because none of them tried to sue me, and even a few show signs of having logical brain cells. Disclaimer- In regards to Pro/Anti Immigration and ICE, I am indifferent, neither here nor there. Both sides have their psycho divisions. As a journalist, I try to populate my cruel satire with indecision. That way I do not have any bias. I am not advocating this group. I am not blasting this group. Here is the flyer so you can do your own research and donate if you please, or antagonize if you disagree. I'm no preacherman.
One thing we can all agree on is girls in bikinis equal a good time. I have been to a few bikini car washes so I knew I would have to tread lightly, and be aware of my surroundings. I could be entering a Den of Mousetraps here. But before the car wash I stopped at the Hamtramck/Third Man Stadium to honor the 100 year anniversary of the Negro League. There was nobody else there which was cool; no publicity stunts or hanger-on's, not even a pop-up show. I had never been there before and I found it to be very nice (how's that for a descriptive adjective Milo?).
One can feel the history amongst the dirty paper plates, cups, and half empty water bottles. Fucking savages. I had the brilliant idea earlier that day to pick up a carton of eggs to dirty up the Silver Hornet. Why go to a bikini car wash with potential Doff's and just have them spray the car with a hose? I had to muck the bastard up and let the sun work its magic. The first egg was "Mr. Mail-In Egg". Since that mailbox from the Dream Cruise segment is probably gone by now, hidden in one of these abandoned houses, I had to take drastic measures about sending my opinion on everyone in this year's election so Egg+I Voted sticker+Postage Stamp and we're good to go. Now do I vote for Trump/Pence (deviled/hard boiled) or for Biden/Harris (scrambled/ over easy)?
As always, I was indifferent so I just decided to smash a bunch of these fuckers onto the car. The poor schlomo working in his yard had no idea what to make of the cracking of the bat/eggs and the wild histrionics and whooping coming out of my mouth.
It was time for a costume change before the cops came which ruled out my officer's uniform so I chose my "You look like I could use a drink" shirt, but decided I didn't want to call too much attention to myself. The hazmat suit was at the cleaners.
I finally went with my Fat Albert jersey which would be fine at an immigration event, but not a Negro League field. Upon arriving at the wash I noticed about 90% of the signs, banners, and merch said, "Fuck ICE". Since I wanted to fit in I started my own but my spare Sharpie also ran out and I ended up walking around with a "Fuck" sign. I couldn't even include a question mark.
I did think about photoshopping "Fuck Cobbs Modified GMC 3-71 Blower on Navarro Manifolds" when I got back to the JCMsTown Compound. But I didn't. The first order of business was to get the slop washed off the car. The poor girl assigned to the hood jumped at the sight of the eggs. "Somebody egged your car. Who would do that?" she asked, and I replied, "It was me," and after that there was no more talk. I secretly wanted her to look in the backseat and see the egg carton sitting there and coming to the realization that I was telling the truth, playing with fire. The rest of the wash was uneventful aside from the passenger side mirror falling off, no fault of theirs. It had been hanging by a thread for weeks. Once the wash was over I stashed the Silver Hornet where it wouldn't be broken into because I wanted to check out the setup. Man, the walk from Bloomfield Hills was brutal ho ho ho. The setup was modest, but nice, with a merch table selling stickers, face masks, shirts, and posters, a grill with veggie hot dogs (ugh), and a DJ who was set up far away from everyone which I found odd since the chances for noise complaints were zilch. Here are a few shots of the fun. The second one even features a Doff in the background (back to the shoe cam).
After enough wandering around I visited the merch table. I passed on everything, but the George Floyd poster was a tough call. I do admire the elbow grease put into the items for sale. I just couldn't live with my neighbors, friends, or pastor seeing me with a shirt with "Fuck" on it. I could just imagine what my fellow parishioners would say. "Did you see what that guy who is always dressed like a police officer or scientist was wearing at mass last week?"
What I saw was a bunch of people that were casual, with friends, just having a good time. I didn't see any protesters, but if I missed any, I bet they would have been dour, angry, sad, a little bitter; miserable. Wait, that sounds if not familiar then at least profound. I could go on but I just got my first stink eye of the day (guy in black).
So I just turned the other way and wandered some more, eventually getting back to that road.
Afterword-
Whew, that was a lot of pages and a lot of photos. I found the finished post a bit dull by my standards but it picked up by the end. It felt good to get out, be with the people, and write again even if it costs me my life. If not, even better. I always have the Tumor Board on Line 1. I hope those who actually read the whole thing caught how different the two events were, but how alike they were in a sense. That duality is what drew me to the pen and notebook, not fancy cars or bikinis (well a little for the bikinis). The one thing that I'm proud of, aside from still having a good baseball swing, is that there were three situations where I could have rationalized having a drink or five, but I didn't. Once again, I'm no preacher. Drink all you want. Have fun. You may even run into me one day and buy me one too. I just wanted to see if I could do it. And yo Adrian, I did it. See you down the path.
From the Iceman Commeth,
Bryan Metro
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