Give Detroit this, people: It has manly testicles, oozing spleen and can’t get out of the bathroom before it needs another shave. Only here can a mayor, indicted on no fewer than 10 felonies, lurching through a nearly year-long scandal, seemingly needing a pry bar to remove himself from office — only this man, on the day he strikes a deal that calls for resignation and a seven-figure restitution and surrender of his law license and jail time and a five-year probation/moratorium on running for public office, can say, upon his exit:
I mean, it’s hilarious. Isn’t it? How can it not be? It’s true. If this were a slasher movie, this would only be the first time the killer is thought to be dead. He’s got six or seven reanimations left in him, and when he comes out of jail, with his redemption narrative, he’ll start rebuilding his base. By the time the clock runs out on the five years, well, “tanned, rested and ready” doesn’t really describe it.
I love this town. It’s never boring. You know what else? People don’t posture (so much). You get the boilerplate shout-outs to God’s will and all, but for the most part people don’t pretend to be Moses here. Politics is bare-knuckled, the race card is played so often its corners are cracked and curled, but I like to think at the end of the day everyone can sit down and have a drink. Maybe that’s naive, or just wrong — there was a shoving match in a Detroit breakfast place during the primary season, between members of opposing candidates’ camps — and maybe it’s projection. Detroit politics, with its pander bears and open-handed thievery, seems positively angelic in comparison to recent days. Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing “Milk” this fall, the other political movie featuring Josh Brolin.
Folks, I be exhausted. I’m steeling myself for a bike ride and the wind is blowing about 25 knots — my least-favorite fair-weather conditions, but it must be done. So let’s skip to the bloggage and start the weekend early, eh?
Why do people even attempt fiction, when real life is so much more interesting? The fascinating tale of the Aquatots.
Be still, my heart: I love the way my new boyfriend Javier says “John Travolta.” (Video link.)
The tourism-ization of the shoulder season: Halloween becomes a reason to vacation.
I can never write a zombie movie like this one, in which the z-virus is spread through…conversation. Now that’s imaginative.
Off to reignite my own.
* That’s elitist for, “How uppity.”