I’m a news junkie. The number of times I check cnn.com a day is downright obsessive. And I’m not particular. I’m intrigued by a political commentary just as much as a Paris Hilton expose. Local, Domestic, International – if its going on, I need to know about it.
New York City is home to all of the major news outlets in the country and news just seems to happen there first. There’s no escaping it. There are newspapers to purchase on every corner. Flashing billboards stream the news live in Times Square. Even if you wanted to avoid the news, you couldn’t, as street peddlers dispense free papers at the mouth of every subway station.
In New York, there’s actually time to absorb the news. Time can be found on a subway platform, in a cab stuck in traffic, on the Long Island Railroad or on a cross-town bus. For a city that moves as quickly as New York, there’s an awful lot of waiting going on, and that’s when the news comes in handy.
Here in Michigan, the news is filtered. We hear about the big stories: The President delivers the State of the Union tonight! Lindsay Lohan back in rehab! Redwings lose again! Great attention is paid to any structural or economic change by the Big Three (GM, Ford and Chrysler) and the networks nearly peed with glee when they reported on the man who fell asleep in a garbage can and awoke to find himself trapped in a city garbage truck. (I’m not making that up. He called on his cell phone from inside the truck, but he didn’t know which truck he was in, so all of the garbage trucks in the city had to pull over and go through their loads. But I digress…)
Smaller international and domestic stories seem to slip by without mention. The Detroit Free Press is a fine paper, but who has time to read it? Not me. I’m too busy scraping the ice and snow off my car every morning. I can’t wait till I get home, because at that point the news is cold.
Many people argue that they don’t like the news. Too much bad stuff going on in the world! Too depressing! They may be right, but in this day and age, its important to stay abreast of what’s happening.
Several months ago a small plane crashed into a residential building on the Upper East Side. I didn’t know about it for hours. Someone I worked with mentioned in passing: “Hey did you hear about the plane that crashed into the building in NY?” To say that I had fear stricken flashbacks would be an understatement. I ran to the TV and quickly learned the details. That’s when I realized I’m in a whole different world out here - one where the news doesn’t penetrate my daily routine. So I continue to check cnn.com obsessively. For me, not knowing what’s going on is scarier than anything I could ever read.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
The Iceman Cometh
It only has a shelf life of 6 hours max, but snow in NY is beautiful. It blankets all the dirt and debris. It reflects sunlight causing buildings to sparkle brighter. It even hushes the omnipresent street noise. The beauty, however, is fleeting. First the corners start to melt, sending rivulets of slush and dirt streaming towards the drains. Garbage collects on top, marring the pristine white surface. The last insult: the yellow tinged snow that can only mean one thing – the dogs are out. By midday, people bustle by barely noticing the snow, save for the white ring of salt that tinges pant legs and boots alike.
While snow in NY barely registers as an occurrence, here in Michigan, snow is a way of life. People drive in it, shovel it, lose their power because of it, love it and absolutely hate it. Snow and ice define the Michigan winter.
With the exception of a cold snap back in November, this Michigan winter has been mild. Because of El Nino, temperatures have hovered in the 40’s or higher and we have yet to see substantial snowfall - until yesterday.
A huge storm cut an icy swath across the Plains and the Midwest this week. Monday dawned on a world completely encased in ice. Tree limbs, unable to support the weight of the icicles that clung to their branches, collapsed to the ground, hitting cars and power lines. As the day progressed, the temperature dropped and the snow began. Left in its wake were ice-encrusted houses, cars and people, all of whom were stuck in traffic. As Michiganders always say “no one knows how to drive in snow.”
This morning the sun came out, but with temperatures only in the high teens, the ice holds strong. It glistens from every surface. And it’s beautiful.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Draft Dodgin'
I recently went to dinner with several friends, including one who now lives in Germany and was in Detroit on business. As usual, when an American spends time overseas, talk turns to how our country is perceived on foreign soil. In a nutshell: not so good. Our topics of conversation meandered from the economic rise of the European Union to George W. Bush and the Iraq War. And that’s when we started talking about the draft.
With the democratic victory in the midterm elections, Representative Charles Rangel of NY will now head the House Committee of Ways and Means. This is the committee that determines whether to reinstate the draft. Rangel, a democrat from Washington Heights, represents a district that is demographically Latin American and working class. It is his constituents that fight our battles. By reinstating the draft, he hopes serving our country becomes less about the economics of opportunity and instead the responsibility of all Americans.
On one side of the debate, it seems plainly apparent that our military is stretched beyond its capacities. Most military strategists argue that Bush’s “surge” to quell the violence in Iraq is far too little too late. To achieve the surge, in addition to new soldiers, troops that are overtaxed will be asked to extend their tours of duty. This may address the issues in Iraq, but what about in Afghanistan? And the Sudan? And the burgeoning crisis in Somalia? While some Americans may balk at the idea of U.S. entanglement in foreign civil unrest, the Bush administration argues these areas, once unstable, become havens for terrorists and therefore, cannot be ignored.
Unfortunately, we don’t have the manpower to go in and stabilize these regions. So instead, we outsource. We allow the Israelis to handle Hezbollah, even though all intelligence suggests Iran was behind last summer’s war. We let the Ethiopians usurp the Islamists regime in Somalia, in spite of the risk to the stability of the Horn of Africa. We let hundreds of thousands of people die in Darfur and leave the Sudan in the hands of a government that has active ties with Al-Qaeda.
Could more troops help? Absolutely. But what if they’re the wrong types of troops? Currently the people who serve in our military are volunteers. They fight because it’s a calling, its generational or its money for college. In their eyes, the military creates opportunity.
If instated, the draft would put more men in harm’s way. Men who have no interest in serving or have not been mentally and physically prepared to serve. And what of the loss? Had Albert Einstein been drafted and then killed in WWI, would we understand quantum theory today?
Some argue that our poor shoulder the responsibility of protecting this nation. Reinstating the draft would even out the socio-economic divide that mars the armed forces. The draft would make it the responsibility of all Americans, both rich and poor, to protect this nation.
The draft could also promote congressional responsibility. While many congressmen would undoubtedly pull strings to keep their offspring from the draft, they can’t do the same for all of their constituents. If all of the lives of America’s sons were poised on the tip of the blade, perhaps pre-emptive war would be considered with greater caution.
At dinner, we wrestled with this subject for the better part of an hour. It led to a spirited debate that prompted this blog entry. No conclusions were drawn. Hopefully Charlie Rangel’s committee will consider all options before moving forward on this issue. Cause what we’re doing now just ain’t working.
Tomorrow talk of kitchen cabinets and Michigan ice storms resume: I promise.
With the democratic victory in the midterm elections, Representative Charles Rangel of NY will now head the House Committee of Ways and Means. This is the committee that determines whether to reinstate the draft. Rangel, a democrat from Washington Heights, represents a district that is demographically Latin American and working class. It is his constituents that fight our battles. By reinstating the draft, he hopes serving our country becomes less about the economics of opportunity and instead the responsibility of all Americans.
On one side of the debate, it seems plainly apparent that our military is stretched beyond its capacities. Most military strategists argue that Bush’s “surge” to quell the violence in Iraq is far too little too late. To achieve the surge, in addition to new soldiers, troops that are overtaxed will be asked to extend their tours of duty. This may address the issues in Iraq, but what about in Afghanistan? And the Sudan? And the burgeoning crisis in Somalia? While some Americans may balk at the idea of U.S. entanglement in foreign civil unrest, the Bush administration argues these areas, once unstable, become havens for terrorists and therefore, cannot be ignored.
Unfortunately, we don’t have the manpower to go in and stabilize these regions. So instead, we outsource. We allow the Israelis to handle Hezbollah, even though all intelligence suggests Iran was behind last summer’s war. We let the Ethiopians usurp the Islamists regime in Somalia, in spite of the risk to the stability of the Horn of Africa. We let hundreds of thousands of people die in Darfur and leave the Sudan in the hands of a government that has active ties with Al-Qaeda.
Could more troops help? Absolutely. But what if they’re the wrong types of troops? Currently the people who serve in our military are volunteers. They fight because it’s a calling, its generational or its money for college. In their eyes, the military creates opportunity.
If instated, the draft would put more men in harm’s way. Men who have no interest in serving or have not been mentally and physically prepared to serve. And what of the loss? Had Albert Einstein been drafted and then killed in WWI, would we understand quantum theory today?
Some argue that our poor shoulder the responsibility of protecting this nation. Reinstating the draft would even out the socio-economic divide that mars the armed forces. The draft would make it the responsibility of all Americans, both rich and poor, to protect this nation.
The draft could also promote congressional responsibility. While many congressmen would undoubtedly pull strings to keep their offspring from the draft, they can’t do the same for all of their constituents. If all of the lives of America’s sons were poised on the tip of the blade, perhaps pre-emptive war would be considered with greater caution.
At dinner, we wrestled with this subject for the better part of an hour. It led to a spirited debate that prompted this blog entry. No conclusions were drawn. Hopefully Charlie Rangel’s committee will consider all options before moving forward on this issue. Cause what we’re doing now just ain’t working.
Tomorrow talk of kitchen cabinets and Michigan ice storms resume: I promise.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Nightlife for the Masses
New York City: The city that never sleeps. The city that’s home to 10,000 restaurants, bars and clubs. The entertainment capital of the world. How could a city like Detroit compare to that? Well folks, it does and then some.
As it turns out, there is fun to be had in Detroit (and not just 8 Mile Strip Club fun, although there’s plenty of that to go around.) The elements are all here: low-key bars, swanky lounges, cheesy clubs, but it’s the vibe that makes the city standout. There’s no pretense on Saturday night. It’s all about having fun.
In the time I’ve lived in Detroit, I’ve never come across a velvet rope or a snide doorman. With the rare exception of the bar that caters to the underage drunken hook up (Woody’s anyone?), everyone is welcome at all places. Take Boogie Fever, for example. Sure the club, which plays an assortment of 70’s and 80’s music, is a bastion of pure cheese, but through the smoke clogged dance floor you find hipsters grooving side by side with bachelorettes, soccer moms and frat boys. Is it ironic? You bet. But it’s also a ton of fun.
And that’s what’s missing in NY: fun for the sake of fun. The venues are gorgeous and the drinks are delicious, but its certainly not fun standing in line for an hour just to have the high school dropout doorman deride you for wearing last season’s coat. Or, to confidently march past the line, arrive at the door and discover a $30 door charge and a minimum two-bottle limit to secure a table. It would seem that just “getting in” is what makes a Saturday night fun in NY.
Of course, I’ve limited my discussion to only the crème de la crème of NYC bars and clubs. On any block in any neighborhood you can find a hidden gem with nary a doorman in site. The type of bar that boasts a burlesque show in the backroom and a pool table in the front. A bar, that for all intents and purposes, is just about having fun. And that’s when you realize Detroit and NYC don’t seem so different after all.
As it turns out, there is fun to be had in Detroit (and not just 8 Mile Strip Club fun, although there’s plenty of that to go around.) The elements are all here: low-key bars, swanky lounges, cheesy clubs, but it’s the vibe that makes the city standout. There’s no pretense on Saturday night. It’s all about having fun.
In the time I’ve lived in Detroit, I’ve never come across a velvet rope or a snide doorman. With the rare exception of the bar that caters to the underage drunken hook up (Woody’s anyone?), everyone is welcome at all places. Take Boogie Fever, for example. Sure the club, which plays an assortment of 70’s and 80’s music, is a bastion of pure cheese, but through the smoke clogged dance floor you find hipsters grooving side by side with bachelorettes, soccer moms and frat boys. Is it ironic? You bet. But it’s also a ton of fun.
And that’s what’s missing in NY: fun for the sake of fun. The venues are gorgeous and the drinks are delicious, but its certainly not fun standing in line for an hour just to have the high school dropout doorman deride you for wearing last season’s coat. Or, to confidently march past the line, arrive at the door and discover a $30 door charge and a minimum two-bottle limit to secure a table. It would seem that just “getting in” is what makes a Saturday night fun in NY.
Of course, I’ve limited my discussion to only the crème de la crème of NYC bars and clubs. On any block in any neighborhood you can find a hidden gem with nary a doorman in site. The type of bar that boasts a burlesque show in the backroom and a pool table in the front. A bar, that for all intents and purposes, is just about having fun. And that’s when you realize Detroit and NYC don’t seem so different after all.
Friday, January 5, 2007
Driving: A Rebuttal
Perhaps I was too hasty. Millions of Americans drive everyday and most of them get to their destinations alive and on time. Maybe I need to look at driving in a new light.
Back in NY I lived on the fourth floor of a walk up apartment. Every time I left my house I had to walk down four flights of stairs and return up those same stairs at the end of the day. This was especially distressing when I would arrive in the lobby only to discover an instant monsoon situation outside. Then I would have to trek all the way back upstairs to retrieve my wayward umbrella.
My building also lacked a laundry room. Once a week I lugged a 12 pound laundry bag down those four flights, dragged it down three blocks and deposited it at the nice laundry lady who charged me wholesale prices for washing and folding. The next day, I would repeat but this time I'd be climbing UP the stairs with clean laundry.
The same went for groceries. I would have to plan accordingly. The supermarket was four blocks away. Four long blocks. If I was buying a gallon of Tropicana Orange Juice, there's no way I could carry a 6 pack of Stella at the same time. One liquid per trip.
What if I wanted to go to the gym? Sure, one might argue that with all the stair stepping, laundry dragging and juice lugging, the gym was rendered irrelevant. But let's just SAY I wanted to go (and to be truthful, most times all I did was SAY I wanted to go.) I would also have to carry around my gym bag all day.
That's where Michigan has NY beat - stone cold. In the span of one day, I can go food shopping (buying both Orange Juice, Stella AND a 14lb turkey), pick up dry cleaning, buy a couple of 2x4's for the hell of it, and go to the gym. All of this is possible because of my car. My sweet, little, gas guzzling, death defying car.
Back in NY I lived on the fourth floor of a walk up apartment. Every time I left my house I had to walk down four flights of stairs and return up those same stairs at the end of the day. This was especially distressing when I would arrive in the lobby only to discover an instant monsoon situation outside. Then I would have to trek all the way back upstairs to retrieve my wayward umbrella.
My building also lacked a laundry room. Once a week I lugged a 12 pound laundry bag down those four flights, dragged it down three blocks and deposited it at the nice laundry lady who charged me wholesale prices for washing and folding. The next day, I would repeat but this time I'd be climbing UP the stairs with clean laundry.
The same went for groceries. I would have to plan accordingly. The supermarket was four blocks away. Four long blocks. If I was buying a gallon of Tropicana Orange Juice, there's no way I could carry a 6 pack of Stella at the same time. One liquid per trip.
What if I wanted to go to the gym? Sure, one might argue that with all the stair stepping, laundry dragging and juice lugging, the gym was rendered irrelevant. But let's just SAY I wanted to go (and to be truthful, most times all I did was SAY I wanted to go.) I would also have to carry around my gym bag all day.
That's where Michigan has NY beat - stone cold. In the span of one day, I can go food shopping (buying both Orange Juice, Stella AND a 14lb turkey), pick up dry cleaning, buy a couple of 2x4's for the hell of it, and go to the gym. All of this is possible because of my car. My sweet, little, gas guzzling, death defying car.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Queen of the Left Lane
That's what my Dad used to call me. I spent most of senior year of high school zipping around Brooklyn's Belt Parkway at breakneck speed. Or at least as fast as the heavy traffic would allow. So you can imagine my surprise when I discovered upon moving to Detroit that I couldn't drive for sh*t. Sure, I had not driven regularly in four years, but driving is driving, right?
Driving, as it turns out, IS different in Detroit. The utter lack of public transportation forces you to drive everywhere. For a girl raised on the subways and buses of NY, that's been a difficult transition to make.
Highways out here aren't two or three lanes. They have four lanes excluding exit ramps and merging lanes. And the speed limit tops out at 70 miles per hour! While that speed might be a ceiling elsewhere, here in Detroit, home of the automobile, that limit is merely a guideline.
All of this would be manageable if drivers were responsible. Unfortunately, people treat 696 at rush hour like its their own personal NASCAR track. Cars weave and dart through traffic, recklessly ignoring poor, inexperienced drivers like myself. Its no wonder I see a horrific car accident on a daily basis.
And so, not only have I moved from NY to Michigan, but I have also moved from the left lane to the right. It is there that I stay, white knuckled and fearful, as an angry Ford F-150 truck rides up my ass.
Driving, as it turns out, IS different in Detroit. The utter lack of public transportation forces you to drive everywhere. For a girl raised on the subways and buses of NY, that's been a difficult transition to make.
Highways out here aren't two or three lanes. They have four lanes excluding exit ramps and merging lanes. And the speed limit tops out at 70 miles per hour! While that speed might be a ceiling elsewhere, here in Detroit, home of the automobile, that limit is merely a guideline.
All of this would be manageable if drivers were responsible. Unfortunately, people treat 696 at rush hour like its their own personal NASCAR track. Cars weave and dart through traffic, recklessly ignoring poor, inexperienced drivers like myself. Its no wonder I see a horrific car accident on a daily basis.
And so, not only have I moved from NY to Michigan, but I have also moved from the left lane to the right. It is there that I stay, white knuckled and fearful, as an angry Ford F-150 truck rides up my ass.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Can't You Just Get Someone to Do That for You?
That was the uniform response I heard from my New York friends when I told them I was returning early to Michigan to renovate my kitchen.
You see, I'm a born and bred New Yorker and we're a species unto ourselves. We don't drive, we don't cook and we certainly don't renovate our own kitchens.
But I live in the Midwest now, and in Michigan there's "no one to call." This is the "Do It Yourself State."
Armed with nothing but an Ikea catalogue and a boyfriend who insisted "he could do this," we set out to renovate our kitchen. Our renovation plan was "pretty but cheap." We were interested in a superficial renovation - something that wouldn't cost thousands of dollars, take too long or be physically taxing. My boyfriend may live in the Midwest now, but he's a native New Yorker at heart.
That plan was shot to hell when we removed the microwave. This wasn't your average, modern day microwave. This was a behemoth from a forgotten age. This microwave was actually hardwired. (For those New Yorkers out there, hard wiring means no handy dandy plug and no outlet. Just wires connected to each other.) With one tug sparks flew, sheet rock collapsed and a built in cabinet was rendered useless. Our renovation had begun.
Two weeks later, we've installed new cabinets, a new (modern era) microwave (with a plug!), a butcher block counter top and a ceramic tile floor. And none of it was that hard. Sure, the work required a ton of different tools, daily trips to Home Depot, a brief mishap with oil based primer (thank you Mineral Spirits!) and a whole lot of time, but it was all manageable. That got me thinking, why did all of my New York friends (and my former New York mentality) think this was an impossible task?
I think some of it has to do with exposure. Had I grown up in an environment where do-it-yourself home improvement was prevalent, I would have instinctively known I could do this. Instead, I attributed a certain mysticism with home improvement. Pay a contractor, leave him alone for a week, a month, a year and look what he can build!
Not only did my boyfriend and I save a ton of money by doing the work ourselves, but we also spent time bonding over the experience. While I certainly enjoy snuggling on the couch watching TV more than I enjoy, let's say, grouting tile, this project will resonate with me for years to come. And the next time my boyfriend says "let's fix up the _____" I'll know we can do it. Of course, that won't stop me from asking "Can't we just get someone to do that for us?" After all, I'm a New Yorker at heart.
You see, I'm a born and bred New Yorker and we're a species unto ourselves. We don't drive, we don't cook and we certainly don't renovate our own kitchens.
But I live in the Midwest now, and in Michigan there's "no one to call." This is the "Do It Yourself State."
Armed with nothing but an Ikea catalogue and a boyfriend who insisted "he could do this," we set out to renovate our kitchen. Our renovation plan was "pretty but cheap." We were interested in a superficial renovation - something that wouldn't cost thousands of dollars, take too long or be physically taxing. My boyfriend may live in the Midwest now, but he's a native New Yorker at heart.
That plan was shot to hell when we removed the microwave. This wasn't your average, modern day microwave. This was a behemoth from a forgotten age. This microwave was actually hardwired. (For those New Yorkers out there, hard wiring means no handy dandy plug and no outlet. Just wires connected to each other.) With one tug sparks flew, sheet rock collapsed and a built in cabinet was rendered useless. Our renovation had begun.
Two weeks later, we've installed new cabinets, a new (modern era) microwave (with a plug!), a butcher block counter top and a ceramic tile floor. And none of it was that hard. Sure, the work required a ton of different tools, daily trips to Home Depot, a brief mishap with oil based primer (thank you Mineral Spirits!) and a whole lot of time, but it was all manageable. That got me thinking, why did all of my New York friends (and my former New York mentality) think this was an impossible task?
I think some of it has to do with exposure. Had I grown up in an environment where do-it-yourself home improvement was prevalent, I would have instinctively known I could do this. Instead, I attributed a certain mysticism with home improvement. Pay a contractor, leave him alone for a week, a month, a year and look what he can build!
Not only did my boyfriend and I save a ton of money by doing the work ourselves, but we also spent time bonding over the experience. While I certainly enjoy snuggling on the couch watching TV more than I enjoy, let's say, grouting tile, this project will resonate with me for years to come. And the next time my boyfriend says "let's fix up the _____" I'll know we can do it. Of course, that won't stop me from asking "Can't we just get someone to do that for us?" After all, I'm a New Yorker at heart.
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