Whee! I just found out that a week from Monday we're going to be getting a cable modem. I can go back to wasting time on the internet!
So, boys and girls, I'll soon be running AIM and icq pretty much all the time. And I'll be doing so in an environment where I won't be disconnected every five minutes, so find me there and pester me if you like.
Now, as for last night...
I started off the night with high hopes.
We went to an art opening. It was in downtown Detroit, not far from Wayne State, at Tangent Gallery.
The opening was very good. It was crowded, and the artist had this whole kronenberg bug/post apocalypse thing going on. The space was really nice, too. It was a huge gallery with an upstairs balcony where you could stand around, sip wine, and watch the people. It was a neat little eclectic mix there--Wayne State hipsters, older arts and culture Frasier (the show, not the town) types and these aging bohemians. We hung out for awhile.
After awhile we left and went for coffee. We went to Cup-A-Cinos in Grosse Pointe Park, where we hung out on the couch. I complained about the art work in there, being too generic. "It's just kind of annoying after going to this opening with really amazing work." I said. Rob told me later, with some amusement that the artist had been sitting in the cafe. Apparently he had been hobnobbing with other cafe bums, bragging about how much his work had been selling for. Oops. I felt bad, but not too bad since I had no way of really knowing whose work it was on the wall. Besides, when you put your stuff on display in a coffeehouse, you kind of invite that.
We decided to stop home before going to this party. On the way there, Rob realized that he needed gas, so we stopped at a gas station in this really lousy neighborhood. Rob left me in the car while he went in to pay. As soon as he got inside, this hobo walked over to the car. "I'm pumping your gas for you." He said. "No, please don't, we're fine." I said. "Your man told me that I could." He said. I was aware of the scam: he'll insist on pumping our gas and then he'll say we owe him five bucks for doing so. "No, he didn't." I told him. He ignored me. I told him to please stop. He wouldn't. I yelled to get away from our car. He wouldn't. I yelled to please get the fuck away from our car. He ignored me. I yelled and gestured to get the fuck away from our car right now. He did. I sighed relief, looked down for a minute. When I looked up, he was there, washing our windshield. "Get the fuck away from there!" I screamed. So he went back and started pumping gas. I told him to get the hell away from there. Rob came back, told him "thanks but no thanks" and the guy stopped. Just like that. Once again proving that 125 pounds and 5'3" gets people treating you completely differently than 6'3" and 250 pounds. The guy continued to make conversation with him. Afterwards, he asked rob for money. Rob told him no. He gave some sob story, Rob said sorry, but no. We got into the car and drove off.
Ugh.
We then went to this party. It was in a loft in Detroit's warehouse district. Most of these are basically glorified squats.
Having lived in plenty of shitty places, not out of choice, the charm of the bohemian warehouse thing was kind of lost on me--especially when there's so many decent, affordable places in the Detroit metro area.
The party was a combination between goth art school kids, well paid scenesters and gutter punks looking for free stuff.
The well paid scenesters were basically nice, serious professional types, but not really anyone that I had that much to talk about. Nothing against them, but they tended to be the highly technical types. Since I'm not particularly technical, I just didn't have a lot to say.
The goth art school kids seemed harmless. I didn't really have opportunity to talk to them so I couldn't say one way or the other.
And then there were the gutter punks.
I was sitting next to this girl, talking. Rob was sitting on the other side of me. Rob went to refill his drink. These two gutterpunk chicks sat down next to us. There was a whole other side of the couch for them to sit on.
"Someone's sitting here." I said.
Well, instead of just saying "sorry," or "I'll move when he gets back" they just started laughing hysterically and making fun of what I just said.
What the fuck?
"Oh yeah that's real fucking funny, someone's sitting here, oh my fucking god!" I said, loudly.
They kind of giggled a little bit more and then muttered amongst themselves, but basically they shut up pretty fast.
I talked to the girl sitting next to me for a little while longer, although I was a bit irritated by the previous exchange. We got onto a topic that I was beginning to suspect we disagreed on, and the conversation became a bit more tense and forced. So, I excused myself, joined Rob, and a little while later asked that we leave.
I came home, feeling dissolute, and more than a little homesick for Chicago. I still felt the pangs of all our plans falling through. I mean, I know I had reservations about going back but there's still a lot more there for me than there is here. I'm starting to realize why people in Detroit are so enamored with Chicago and, well, anyplace that isn't Detroit.
I still feel that way, and there's still the sense of unreality that I actually do live here. What's worse is this clenching sensation in my stomach when it sinks in and when I think that, at best, I have to spend three years here, and at worst I have to spend four to five years.
Yeah, there wasn't much choice in the matter, but there's still those times when I look out on how drab it all is, how foreign the mentality around here is, and can't help but feel this "stranger in a strange land" combined with this odd terror at the knowledge that there is no return plane ticket, this isn't just an absurdly long visit, I really am living in what's been rated the worst city in the country...