Posts filed under 'About town'
How can I tell, especially with temperatures still dipping into chilly-low places at night? Here’s how:
It’s the first Dirty Sheed of year, a summer tradition, a Zingerman’s concoction of espresso and Mexican vanilla syrup (sugar free, in my case) and half-and-half over ice. Like a cup of rich, melted coffee ice cream. Taken during our walk to Kerrytown last Saturday morning to the farmer’s market. Sipped from a prime people-watching bench from which we also spotted:
A couple with their hands full of doggies. And, out of the corner of our eyes, prompting an up-close ooh-ing and ahh-ing:
A riot of gorgeous bright orange poppies. Not a great photo, but you get the idea. Such a crazy, reckless kind of flower, no? All or nothing, putting themselves way out there. No wonder they don’t last long. It must be exhausting. Then, on the walk back home, with a sack full of fresh asparagus and overpriced home-grown lettuce, a few other oddities soaking up the sun:
Three random chairs catching some rays. (If this is a race, the one at the front has a considerable lead, it seems.) Also, this little fella:
I think we could all learn something here. This seems like an optimal position to avoid awkward tan lines. (I worried a little that this was actually the fallout from an unsuccessful attempt to fly, but I wanted to afford him some dignity and at least pretend that he totally meant to land there.)
May 28th, 2008
It’s been a long time since I watched a music video. Which is funny, because I’m of the generation that came of age just as the moon man bounced in the dawn of MTV. I remember being in middle school and going over to a friend’s house — we didn’t have cable — to breathlessly await a new Duran Duran video. (The Reflex! With the wave of water coming out at the end like it was COMING RIGHT AT YOU!) Or staying up late to watch Friday Night Videos so that I’d be in the loop around the proverbial middle school water cooler the next day.
All of this is a very long-winded way of saying that I just watched the new music video for the song “Good Day” by Ann Arbor band Tally Hall. I’m so out of the loop on local music — hell, on new music in general — but these guys seem to have garnered quite a following and have been popping up everywhere from the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson to MTVu. (See, I don’t even know what MTVu is.) I read in this month’s Observer (a local rag) that they’re re-releasing their first album “Marvin’s Marvelous Mechanical Museum” on a major label. Good for them.
But back to the video. I don’t know what the other kids are doing with their videos these days (and thus, it may turn out this video isn’t remarkable at all) but the “Good Day” video is a tad infectious, a little dizzying and fun to watch, especially for Ann Arborites, since many shots were done around town. (They’re playing in front of Rackham Hall! Now they’re in the Big House!) Anyway, I’m not entirely sure about the song — might be a little Queen-esquely operatic for my tastes — but the sheer effort that must have gone into making this video makes it worth a nod. And who doesn’t love a local-boys-make-good story?
March 31st, 2008
Some things I saw on a late afternoon walk yesterday afternoon around our neighborhood in Ann Arbor. (Okay, so that one above may not technically have been taken on our walk, but if Allie could have come with us, he’d have given up his sunny spot on clean sheets in a heartbeat.)
Turtles seemed to be something of a theme…
…sunning themselves on rocks.
Perhaps this last one’s pushing the theme a tad, but it seemed sad to leave it out.
Above is a very cool building near our house, a series of small-scale lofts nestled just off the street. The building used to be some kind of water station pump thingie. I’m big on details.
One of my favorite streets, Mulholland Avenue, with its pretty painted houses.
A bright and cheery mailbox.
A curious yard ornament against a yellow house.
A sunny spot to sit under a tree.
Two silver boxes on a blue sideboard on a porch. Did I mention I love this town, especially on foot? I’ll never run out of cool little things to notice.
March 17th, 2008
I’ve been to two concerts at the Michigan Theater in the past week or so. Last weekend, Chris and I joined our friend Fara and her boyfriend Mark to see James Blunt and, while it was a good enough show — it was basically like watching him perform the albums — I was nearly driven batty by everyone using their cell phones all throughout the concert. Some people seemed to be calling friends and holding up their phone so they could here. More were either taking pictures or recording video, which always surprises me because the quality of that stuff is always lousy and I wonder who they’re showing it to, going, “Look! You see that tiny little blurr of light on the stage there? OH MY GOD THAT’S JAMES BLUNT!” There was even a guy two folks down who kept recording portions of the songs. Copyright and piracy issues aside (especially since I’m not a saint in that department), it was just annoying and distracting — at times the glow from the phones around me seemed brighter than the stage.
It all seemed so contrary to actually being present in the moment, to actually experiencing being at the concert. It had me musing about how this younger generation — kids today! — can’t seem to just engage with their surroundings without filtering the experience through some kind of gadgetry. It had me, most of all, feeling old.
Then, on Wednesday night, Chris and I went to see Steve Earle . I am not, admittedly, a big Steve Earle fan, but Chris loves him and the tickets were part of his birthday present. This time, we were on the main floor of the theater, rather than the balcony, and the vibe was entirely different. What struck me first and foremost was that, in sharp contrast to the previous concert, the Steve Earle crowd made me look like a spring chicken. I have to admit it was kind of a nice feeling. Somewhere along the lines, I must have gotten used to feeling old, especially in this college town where youth and its indiscretions are impossible to avoid. Save for a sullen teen behind us whose constant complaining suggested her mother had dragged her to the show across the year, I was the youngest person around me by far. Even Chris got into the humor of it, dubbing it “Steve Earle: The Cocoon Tour.”
Oh, yes, they were old around us! The couple to our right didn’t look like they could stay awake for the whole evening. When a large group entered after the opening act, Chris remarked that the bus from the group home must have been late in arriving. Oh, how we laughed. And then I settled into my seat. I pulled my Icy Hot pain reliever stick from my purse and applied to my neck, a necessary evil for me to sit still for any period of time. And then I pulled my knitting from my purse and Chris and I just looked at each other and laughed. There I was, poking fun at old folk and I’m the only one in the crowd stinking of wintergreen and knitting a friggin’ sweater. Irony, you are a cruel, cruel beast.
On a side note, I should mention that I didn’t not enjoy the Steve Earle show as much as I thought I would. He’s still a tad nasally and twangy for me, although his last Grammy was for folk music and I can get behind some o’ that. And I respect his politics (ol’ lefty-style) and his recovery from drugs and alcohol (which he’s pretty vocal about and committed to.) What I will say is that there were parts of it I truly enjoyed, especially his newer stuff. It was a really pared back show — mostly him on stage with his guitar or mandolin or what have you. But for some of the songs, he was accompanied by a DJ and what I thought was going to be cheesy — who plays the banjo to an electronic beat — was at times really interesting. One might even say enjoyable. Enough so that I even put away my knitting and forgot, at least for a moment or two, to re-apply my pain stick. Kids today!
March 7th, 2008
Fall is, without question, my favorite season and, call me biased, but it’s also when Ann Arbor is at its beautiful days. It’s my favorite time of year for grabbing the camera, running out and taking zillions of photos of things people have seen many times before but which continue to give me a bit of a seasonal thrill. I’m the guy walking around with her head face pointed up at the trees, truly marveling at the colors of the leaves, wondering how on earth nature pulled it off yet again.
Yesterday was the quintessential fall day — clear blue sky, crispy leaves on the ground — except, perhaps, for the temps in the high 70s which made it a little warmer than is perhaps globally apt at this time of year. Thus, I set out for a long walk, armed with my camera and the self-imposed assignment of snapping things that are orange. (A mission made considerably easier by our proximity to Halloween, I admit.)
Pumpkin season is upon us and my neighborhood is playing its part swimmingly. Here, without further ado, just a smattering of those snapshots:
There. If that doesn’t leave you feeling like fall, you simply can’t be helped.
October 22nd, 2007
Yes, the glorious weekend continued on to Saturday, when Chris and I hit the Farmer’s Market and then Zingerman’s for lunch. The evidence, in photos, if you will:
Mmmm…strawbies…
Wooden fish. No reason.
And pretty flowers…
It is Ann Arbor, so a little peace with your produce…
Head gear for your “Little House on the Prairie” re-enactments…
Al Gore, America needs you!
But me? Mostly I just needed lunch at Zingerman’s:
Loads of loaves to ogle while in line…
Plus beautiful hand-made local cheese…
Perfect day for dining al fresco
After lunch, a little impromptu entertainment outside the Kerrytown Concert House as a father and son fiddlin’ duo practice for a recital…
And all of that by 1 pm!
June 10th, 2007
I spent much of this weekend wandering around Ann Arbor with my new camera, taking pictures of not much important and enjoying the weather and the company of my husband. The former was idyllic and the latter was a nice treat, as he has been working 15 hour days, seven days a week for some time now to keep the wheels of Sharesleuth rollin’. (The result of this last burst of work is an interesting piece on a company that implants human cadaver bones into spines — which, you might be fascinated/horrified to learn does not require FDA approval. Read it here.)
Friday evening Chris and I wandered into town after dinner to check out the scene and grab a coffee. On the way, we encountered some A2 wildlife:
Even the graffiti artists are polite here:
Ann Arbor’s packed with some really gorgeous architecture, especially around Main Street. This view is of one of my favorite buildings, the First National Bank Building, an Art Deco gem that dates back to 1927 and, at the time of its erection, was the tallest structure in the city.
Nowadays, historical architecture competes with the crop of lofts that are popping up around the area, most of them in new construction high-rises. (Well, not too high…A2 doesn’t like to have their skyline messed with, and I say, good on ‘em.) I can’t conceive of where they’ll find people to fill all the lofts they’re building, especially at price tags ranging from $250k to $600 per unit.
Onto downtown…typical of a gorgeous summer eve, Whiteyville was in full swing, packing in the outdoor cafes.
Not a bad place to live, at all.
June 9th, 2007
I know, I know. Since I moved from St. Louis to Ann Arbor, I’ve become the latter’s unpaid ambassador, singing this small town’s praises like nobody’s business. I’ve been here long enough, however, to see that all is not golden in this little haven. For a supposedly liberal town, there’s almost no gay community here and way too many environmentally-destructive SUVs parked outside the food co-op. Most of the punk rock kids are likely riding skateboards paid for by trust funds or, at the very least, generous upper-middle-class allowances. And while the university injects a certain amount of cultural diversity, this is a white, white place. In addition, there’s not really much of a real working class here — and no, sorority girls waiting tables does not count.
And this, my friends is precisely why, this is what’s wrong with Ann Arbor: http://annarbor.craigslist.org/rfs/335950974.html .
That’s basically my dream house — a cute little Arts & Crafts bungalow, with hardwood floors and a working fireplace. Granted, I’d ideally love to have three bedrooms and not two, so Chris and I could continue to have separate offices, but let’s say I wasn’t fussy about that. This charmer has an updated bath, a back patio and even a garage, which is a definite plus when the weather turns icy-snowy. And it’s within walking distance of downtown, which means we could remain a one-car family and ensure at least a little exercise once in a while. It’s a total of 910 square feet, for which the crack-smoking owners are asking…
$309,000.
That’s right. Three hundred and nine THOUSAND dollars.
Now, this is just crazy talk, even for this inflated housing market. Pfizer lay-offs have resulted in a bunch of foreclosures in the city’s outskirts, where housing prices are more “reasonable.” And, yes, adorable homes within walking distance of downtown are premium real estate here. But seriously? The St. Louisan in me just cannot imagine that kind of housing cost. This isn’t New York, people. It’s Whiteyville, Michigan. Am I missing something? Are the basements here paved with gold? The foundations built with bricks of cocaine?
If we ever decide to stop renting here, we will have to live in a cardboard box. Although clearly we’ll have to look for one on the outskirts.
(Note: $309,000 is the reduced price for this home. It was on Craig’s List last month for $330,000.)
May 22nd, 2007
It was, by all accounts, a glorious weekend. Perhaps a tad chilly for some, but with the sun shining brightly and temps flirting with the mid-60s, it was pretty perfect for little old me. Makes me want to fill the window boxes of our house with bright-faced annuals to admire from the street and the comfort of our back deck, but Michigan natives warn me the finicky nature of the weather here makes it unwise to do so before Labor Day.
We were due a glorious weekend, I think, as last week, when it rained, it poured…if only figuratively on our end. Though it is my understanding that it both rained and poured back in St. Louis, where the basement of our little blue house took on indoor pool status. As if a leaky basement weren’t enough, our renters informed us that the water heater was leaking and the refrigerator was on its last legs.
Being a landlord is difficult enough, but doing it from a distance, finding reliable service people and coordinating repairs and replacements is a particular kind of stress. Truth be told, were the market not what it is, we’d consider selling the house just to get out from under it. But now’s not the time. We promised our little blue house o’ love a kitchen upgrade and some bathroom repairs before we sell and if things would just quit breaking down, we may be able to afford it in between tenants.
Enough about that, though! Saturday, itching to get out of the house, I found a listing for the Bigger ‘n Texas Sale, billed as a “giant community garage sale” to benefit the Ann Arbor News. Sounded like fun browsing, so I pried Chris away from the computer and lured him out to the Washtenaw Farm Council Grounds to check things out. After paying $5 for the privilege of parking (reminding ourselves that we were supporting local media), we headed towards the sale.
To be honest, our first instinct was disappointment. I pictured something far grander in scale, but in reality the sale took place in two large barn-like buildings with tables set up in the middle of and around the perimeter of each room. Now, I’ve been to a few garage sales in my time. Even wrote about them for St. Louis Magazine once. But this, my friends, despite its promise (or, perhaps, because of) would qualify as the crappiest ever.
It was a strange mish-mosh of true garage sale crap — tables piled with junk that was pushing it to have been purchased once, let alone trying for another go ’round — and jewelry, crafts, perfume knock-offs and infomercial fare (complete with vegetable-peeling demo). Some of the crafts were obviously hand-made, possibly by blind people. Others were obviously purchased — gross after gross of wooden roses tinted unnatural shades, for example — and here for the resale.
It’s likely that some of the stuff for sale, dusty and dented in its packaging, were straight off the back of the truck. And talk about variety! At one booth, you could buy a genuine bottle of Armani cologne — a single box, slightly scuffed at a third of the usual price — or walk tables away and save even more with a similar looking box of R. Mani perfume.
Chilly, or just like your throw rugs to make a statement? Consider the booth selling giant, garishly-colored synthetic fiber throws with subtle graphic imagery, like a half-naked woman or the Confederate flag (with or without “Git ‘er done” acrodss it). Need a peg board with ducks on it? Ladybugs? Geese? Trucks? Cars? Boats? Cats? Dogs? Jesus? Anything? You’re in luck!
It took us a whopping ten minutes to stroll by every booth, careful not to make eye contact with the desperate folk behind each table. (I learned the hard way by looking twice at the vegetable peeler display, mostly because I thought they were selling browning chips of sliced potato. I managed to free myself by declaring, “If my husband finds out I can peel vegetables, what’s next? He’ll expect me to cook them?”)
Even accounting for hyperbole, whoever named this sale has never actually been to Texas. Or looked it up on the map. The Bigger ‘n Rhode Island Sale probably wouldn’t draw a crowd, but it’d have been more accurate. In fact, the only thing bigger ‘n Texas here was the size of the average rear end. As a not-small woman myself, I confess to being stunned at the number of morbidly obese people lined up to buy small plastic buckets full of fries from the concession stands. I didn’t even know there were this many fat people in Michigan.
We felt we had to buy something to justify the $5 entry fee, so we bought some alarmingly cheap replacement blades for Chris’ razor — which he needed anyway — and came out about $2 ahead and rich in the knowledge that we would never make the mistake of repeating this event in the future.
The rest of the weekend went swimmingly. Saturday night we stayed in and finally watched The Good Shepherd, which has been sitting on our DVD player for about three weeks. (If you ever order a DVD from Netflix and it says “long wait” next to the status, the reason is people like me.) While it’s still mildly adorable to watch Matt Damon attempt to play anyone over the age of 25, I think a better title would have been The Extremely Confusing and, Really, Only Moderately Interesting Shepherd.
Yesterday, as I mentioned, was glorious so after running a few errands, we hit Gallup Park in the afternoon, where Chris took a run and I did my version of walking (interspersed with brief, brief bursts of what barely qualifies as running) along the lake. Such a beautiful sight, people snoozing in the grass, whole families on bicycles, kids and parents cutting through the water in kayaks or paddle boats.
Then, being the true nature lovers we are, we headed to Ikea in the hopes of finding some chair cushions to make the adirondacks on our deck a tad more comfy. No dice in that arena, but no worries! We still spend $50 on crap I didn’t know I needed until I got there. Gotta love the genius mentality of the place, “I MUST spend this money because it’s so CHEAP.” Or maybe that’s less the mentality of the place than the mentality of me. Either way.
May 7th, 2007
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