Current temperature: 95 degrees. Relative humidity is a low — for this neighborhood, anyway — 28 percent. Which is not exactly a dry heat, but not the usual punishment, either. It’s a good test for whether you like warm weather.
I don’t like warm weather. Not this warm, anyway.
I really don’t understand why people move to Arizona. Isn’t there an easier, less expensive way to get skin cancer and die of heatstroke?
I know I give a lot of love to the NYT around here, but the place isn’t entirely all that. The Sunday Styles section is the paper’s true toy department; at least one story a week is laughingly stupid or brings the duh. This week there are two: One reveals the astounding news that young librarians tend to be hip, something I discovered in the sophisticated metropolis of Fort Wayne, Indiana…when? More than a decade ago, certainly, and maybe earlier. (And yes, Miss Beth, it was you who opened my eyes.) Oh well — we know NYT reporters get all their books free from Michiko Kakutani’s castoffs and don’t visit the humble regions of the local branch. Not that they haven’t done their research; they’ve watched lots of old movies:
Librarians? Aren’t they supposed to be bespectacled women with a love of classic books and a perpetual annoyance with talkative patrons — the ultimate humorless shushers?
Take it away, Connie.
But the real talker of the week was this, on Fred Thompson’s boobalicious trophy wife, and whether America is “ready” for a president with arm candy 24 years his junior. It’s Mrs. Thompson’s husband I’m not ready for, personally. I like to think the country has seen the hazard of electing an affable empty suit to the White House, but who knows?
Although if it leads to more New York Post leads like this, I might be swayed:
Gruff, graying Republican Fred Thompson has a proven track record of tapping into a younger generation – starting with his wife.
Tiger Stadium is doomed. Everyone knows this. It’s been doomed for a decade, but it’s double-secret probation doomed now. The Tigers have been playing in Comerica Park since 2000, the old temple is yet another crumbling ruin in a city full of them, and the time has come to git ‘er done. There have been plans over the years ranging from clearing it for a big box to the current one, the best (or most ambitious, at least) of the lot: Knock down all but a small portion of the entrance. Preserve the field for a Little League/amateur venue, the centerpiece of a park/history center. Most of the perimeter would be condo/mixed-use development. It’s not a done deal — there’s no developer willing to sign on the line — but a little momentum on the part of the city would help, and at this point “momentum” means “start swinging the wrecking ball.”
Well. This story has been Totally Detroit from the get-go, combining two of the city’s perennial roadblocks to success — race and nostalgia.
(The) city is moving to dismantle the stadium — with most of the structure to be razed next year. The council threw a monkey wrench into the plan this year when several members balked at the racial composition of the community committee created to advise the city on how to proceed, saying there were not enough minority members.
And Exhibit B:
“This doesn’t have to be torn down,” said Aaron Burton, 52, of South Lyon, who opposes demolition of the stadium. “There is plenty of other space in the area that can be developed. Keep the ballpark and use it.”
What an attitude. The follow-up question — Use it for what? — is rarely asked, or if asked, never answered with anything more than a shrug. I did a story on this last year, and was amazed by how many people seem to think the world clamors for old baseball stadiums, and is just waiting to get its mitts on one, so they can turn it into…”a minor-league park,” is the most common answer.
Yes, yes, a minor-league park. Because surely a city with four major-league professional sports competing for scarce dollars in a depressed economy, with two Big Ten colleges within a 90-minute drive, is clamoring for minor-league baseball. And lord knows how many teams would love to spend millions rehabbing a crumbing ruin with four or five times the seating they would require on the biggest day of the year. And surely the Tigers’ current owners won’t object to discount baseball being played a mile away from their home plate.
But…but…Babe Ruth played there! And Ty Cobb! And several World Series, and what about Ernie Harwell? Let’s keep it up another few years, at least, so we can think about it some more. Not do anything rash.
Boy, I’ll tell you, if there’s one thing living in the Rust Belt has taught me, it’s that nostalgia can be as corrosive as urban blight itself. The Yankees will be building a new park soon, if they aren’t already; excuse me, I don’t keep up with all these things. Ask New Yorkers what’s happening to the old place. In a place like New York, I doubt it will be there long.
Just checked the forecast. We were promised storms and a “slow cooling.” The sky is as clear as a baby’s complexion and the high will be…95!
Ugh. And so the week begins.