Inside the walls of the Playboy mansion property, preparations are in full swing for a St Patrick’s Day celebration under the twitchy eye of the property’s new owner, Charlie Sheen. Of course, on the property, the party is referred to as the ‘St. Charlie’s Day 2016’ celebration, as it combines America’s favorite drunken holiday with the second anniversary of Sheen taking possession of the property and the magazine in 2014, shortly after Hugh Hefner’s death.
In the two years hence, the former actor has elevated the nudie-rag’s profile by moving high-demand content to ‘print-issue only’ status, increasing subscriber figures by nearly 25%, and pushing newsstand sales up by nearly 30% in the same time frame.
Sheen’s involvement in empire was the Playboy patriarch’s final masterstroke. In late 2011, with the actor’s sitcom Two and a Half Men officially terminated by CBS, Hef saw an opportunity. Here was a man some forty years his junior, flush with cash and free time, who shared his passion for naked ladies and also possessed of the one thing Playboy desperately needed: Buzz.
In return for a relatively modest investment (which Sheen was able to finance against his future income from the syndication of Men), Charlie helped Hef buy out the private equity firm that helped take the magazine private in 2010. As part of the deal, Hef gave Charlie access to the mansion, with the standing agreement that he would buy out his familial heirs at the time of his death.
The Playboy franchise, long circling the drain of print media, has experienced a rebirth of sorts under his leadership, despite his utter lack of experience in publishing, editing, or even reading. His two specialities, drawing attention to himself and finding young women who gladly take their clothes off on camera, have proven to be the only skills needed to rescue the struggling publication.
Sheen’s fingerprints are all over the magazine: His editor’s column, the simply titled: ‘Winning with Charlie’, greets readers every month with his thoughts on topics ranging from the need for grass roots democracy in the Middle East to the need for every adult film to contain at least one girl-girl scene.
His unique editorial touch marks the photo spreads as well. He unofficially announced his presence in the first issue under his stewardship, posing Miss April 2014 suggestively straddling a bicycle without a seat. However, by December of the same year, he drew even more attention with the inclusion of a centerfold showing two University of Kentucky track stars at opposing ends of a pole vault pole.
He’s also been very aggressive about cutting staff and taking on more work himself, including taking ownership of all TV, movie and music reviews under his column ‘Sheen & Heard’. Though, Sheen’s sometimes (frequently) erratic behavior has evidenced itself here as well. For 8 consecutive months, the column maligned the Chuck Lorre created Mike & Molly (unbelievably in it’s sixth season now), saying, among other things, that lead Billy Gardell “…(is) like John Candy, minus the talent, comedic timing, and good looks”. He’s saved his worst for Lorre, though, stating in a separate issue that “(Lorre’s) scripts aren’t fit for use as a monkey’s diaper”. In 2015, he reviewed a reissue of Dark Side of the Moon on three separate occasions (it received 5, 2, and 3 1/2 stars, respectively).
As the keeper of the mansion, Emilio’s brother has done his best to keep up some of the long standing traditions. He still holds movie night once a month, including a double feature of Major League and Major League 2 this past September. The mansion’s legendary parties are still well attended by Hollywood party stars and their hangers on, and still expertly catered. Though, there have been issues, such as last year’s St. Patrick’s Day, when porn star Riley Steele convinced Sheen to dye the pool and grotto water green, claiming it would be ‘festive’. Needless to say, the pool stayed empty that night.
This year, Charlie assures the revelers that there will be no food coloring in the pool, though he believes his will be the best St. Partick’s Day party around. Taking a puff from a thick cigar, he stands overlooking the party area and mutters to no one in particular, “Still winning. Always winning.”
Allie done got herself an author account and she is just so excited to share this week’s gossip with y’all. So excited that she immediately put down her Evidence textbook and began writing this post for you. Since this post is coming late, I’m including the weekend’s gossip, and the top stories from today.
Shocker!: WB fires Charlie Sheen from CBS comedy Two and a Half Men. No word on whether production on the show will continue without Mr. Sheen. One and a Half Men doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, especially since that Angus T. Jones is ginormous now and is more of a Man than a Half-Man. Two Men and a Baby? Hasn’t that been done already? Anyway…(via TMZ).
Charlie’s Sheen’s response to being fired:
“This is very good news. They continue to be in breach, like so many whales. It is a big day of gladness at the Sober Valley Lodge because now I can take all of their bazillions, never have to look at whatshiscock again and I never have to put on those silly shirts for as long as this warlock exists in the terrestrial dimension.”
I get the sense we should be ignoring this guy for his own good.(Link via TMZ).
Lindsay Lohan is apparently upset that Miley took a few hits at her during her opening monologue on Saturday Night Live this past weekend. Lorne Michaels is like a “father figure” to her, blah blah blah. Sounds like someone needs to learn how to take a joke. (Link via Dlisted).
Here’s the clip that’s got LiLo all heated:
In other LiLo news, the jewelry shop sold the video footage of her allegedly stealing the necklace for around $25,000 to $35,000 depending on which site you read. AP bought the footage and it was quickly licensed out to ET. You can watch Lindz’s alleged thievery by clicking here. Sites are reporting that the prosecution is pissed as hell that the jewelry store sold the footage, since it makes the jewelry store owners look like money-grubbing famewhores trying to make a quick buck off poor Lilo.
Picture of the mini-fashionista Suri Cruise popped up with her with a binkie in her mouth. Suri’s nearly 5 years old, so this is a little weird for some people. I say let the kid enjoy her binkie, not like Tom and Katie can’t afford the orthodontics in 5 years. *Insert obligatory barley water joke here.* Link via E!
No big deal: Amanda Seyfried dated Alexander Skarsgård. In other news, Brad Pitt and I just grabbed coffee last week. No big deal. Via Dlisted via Elle
Ke-dollar sign-sha made a deal with Lifestyles to put her glittery face on condoms. Is her face on the wrapper or on the condom itself? Can we blow her face up like a balloon? And pop it? I task you all to report back to me! Link via TMZ.
Comedian Mike DeStefano passed away of a heart attack. DeStefano recently was among the top five finalists in NBC’s past season of Last Comic Standing. Bummer. Link via Punchline Magazine.
Rachel Green starred a commercial for Smartwater that involves all types of internet memes, including my favorite lip-syncing little guy, puppies, BABIES!, double rainbow guy, Brad Wollock getting kicked in the nuts, and Rachel getting seXXXy with some water. Video here!
If anyone else wants to get in on the gossip action, holler at your gurl (that’d be me). This is harder than it looks, I give fellow Crasstalk authors props! I pulled most of gossip from TMZ and Dlisted today, so if anyone has any good sites to recommend, please let me know in the comments. I know we had some interest for rotating gossip columns during the Writer’s Workshop, so let me know about this as well!
From WCRS Detroit and Public Snark International, this is Life, Death and Violence. Every week on our program we choose a theme and research a number of people and events that fit that theme. Today on Life, Death and Violence: Paradise. Imagine, for a moment, if you will, that paradise is exactly where you are right now, only much, much better. This is the land in which we will be traveling to today. Paradise though, is merely a dream, a hope, and, naturally we’ll be discussing the very nature of hopes and dreams today as well. I had a dream last night. I dreamt that I was about to be murdered in old Tiger Stadium, but, at the last minute, I was saved by this week’s Life, Death and Violence Crush Object™, Diana Rigg.
Diana entered from the visiting dugout, dressed, obviously, as Mrs. Emma Peel in a bright orange jumpsuit. She shot my attacker’s knife out of his hand and proceeded to dispatch him in a brief battle in hand to hand combat. Diana and I then rode out of Old Tiger Stadium on a beautiful white stallion which we rode across the pond and into Paris.
It seemed like an instant, that ride, and I found myself transported from urban decay to a quiet little cafe in Montmarte drinking coffee delivered by our waiter, a centaur. The centaur began to tell a long story, which I will summarize in brief. His utopian home had been ravaged by humanoid goats and all the centaurs were forced into exile by the king of the goats, a potbellied pig named Phillip. Our waiter, Brian, then took my name and number when I asked if there was anything I could do to help and Diana and I each received a letter shortly after enlisting us as Generals in the Centaur Army. We went to Centauristan, kicked some goat butt, made delicious bacon out of Phillip and returned the land to the centaurs. Brian, for enlisting us who saved the nation, was named King and we all had a champagne toast in their golden palace. I woke up just as my gift from the centaurs, Joseph Gordon Levitt, leaned in to kiss me. I hate dreams. They always shatter.
Our show today, in four acts.
Act One: Trouble in Paradise: She was on top of the world, but found herself ready to snap.
Act Two: The Fulfillment of Dreams: The story of a writer who hit the big time and stayed there.
Act Three: The Death of Dreams: A disastrous failure shocks the nation.
Act Four: The Birth of Dreams: How one nation’s discovery changed the world, but was it for the worse?
Act One: Trouble in Paradise
The Carpenters: Top of the World
I remember, being a little kid in Metro Detroit, when I heard my first Carpenters song. I was, maybe, four, and having trouble going to sleep. I’d gone to sleep for a little bit, but had had a nightmare and was too afraid to try again. I called out for my mother around 1AM. She got me a glass of water and sang me “Close to You,” which calmed me down enough to fall back into the land of good dreams, where the impossible becomes possible and everything is made of rainbows. The next morning, I asked my mother to sing the song for me again, but, instead, she pulled out a vinyl copy of the Close to You album and played it for me while she got ready for work. At the time, she was working the afternoon shift at the local hospital, so my sister and I got to see her in the morning as our days were starting, which I really liked. I wasn’t in preschool at the time. I’d dropped out because the other kids were being mean to me and I had massive separation anxiety. Karen Carpenter’s voice reminded me of my mother, even though my mother didn’t sing nearly as well, so I played that record over and over and over again. We got rid of it a few years later when my parents switched from vinyl and tape over to compact disc, but it was fairly well worn anyways. Who knows how much longer it would have lasted.
The devastation felt when I found out Karen Carpenter had died before I was born was heartwrenching. I wasn’t blind. I understood from the copyright on the album that the record was released in 1970, but the girl on it looked so young. She couldn’t possibly be dead. People only die when they’re old. Such is the naivete of youth, I suppose. And when I found out she died because, as I understood it, her heart stopped, I was even more confused and all my mother would say was that Karen stopped eating. My mother doesn’t eat a lot, so I didn’t really understand that. Why had she stopped eating? Was she on a diet? Why would she be on a diet? She looked pretty. I was too young to understand media blitzkrieg, so I just sat there for years questioning what happened to Karen Carpenter.
Karen left my thoughts and my music collection for about a decade, until I found myself in New York City. It was big, scary, unknown. I felt alone. I didn’t know anybody. I was living with strangers I’d met on Craigslist and had planned to get an apartment with since they were moving out of theirs. After that plan fell through (which I find to be the worst thing to happen to me: a true 3br with a fireplace and a big kitchen, lots of light and in a pre-war building for 1400/month fully furnished was lost because one of the girls I was going to live with decided Bed Stuy was too dangerous for her and she’d find another apartment for 450/month elsewhere. As if, woman. I was too weak and insecure to find two other people to take the apartment with me and I ended up in a bedbug ridden hellhole in Sunset Park before moving into the dorms at Pratt Institute), Karen came back into my life. I was depressed and lonely, feeling the peak of my suicidal wishes. Rainy Days and Mondays, I decided, was what I’d kill myself to. It wasn’t a very happy time, until, I started re-listening to the happier music, going out and feeling better about myself. I can’t say that Karen Carpenter saved my life, but she did play a part in making me feel sane again, even if that sanity is still frequently challenged. I’m grateful for that, and I’m grateful that even though I didn’t get the chance to ever see her live since she died before my birth, that at least there’s a recording of her voice in every record store across America. The voice of an angel ready to change another person’s life, ready to make the world seem full of hopes, dreams and possibilities yet again, even in our darkest hour.
The Carpenters: Close to You
Act Two: The Fulfillment of Dreams
Today is the deathday of famed comic book artist Hergé. I first wanted to start writing watching the adventures of his famed Parisian journalist, Tin Tin and his dog, snowy. Let’s watch some of it together.
That Tin-Tin! Always getting into some sort of misadventure. This must be what it’s like to work for the New York Times! Right?
Act Three: The Death of Dreams
I wasn’t born during the Challenger Incident. It predated me by three years, but I did feel a closeness to the incident once I’d found out that our middle school principal, the only principal I’ve ever liked, whose name was, and if I’m lying about this may the Flying Spaghetti Monster strike me dead, Dr. Freeze, was one of the runner-ups for the Teacher in Space program. Someone I knew could have been killed in a massive space-oriented explosion, which horrified me as a space-obsessed tween who’d gone to Space Camp a few years earlier. This event was revisited shortly after the attacks on 9/11, which, naturally, my awful middle school neglected to tell us about causing me to come home all happy-go-lucky because soccer practice was cancelled and I really didn’t want to go to soccer practice that day. My sister, in response, snarled at me viciously and directed my attention to the television. It felt weird to watch an explosion over and over and over again and I got the sense that this is what my parents were doing in ’86, not knowing that someone they would soon know was almost on that shuttle. This week wasn’t the 25th Anniversary of the explosion, that was a few months ago. Instead it contains an even sadder bit of emotional violence: The discovery of the crew cabin in the Atlantic Ocean.
These “what if” fascinations haunted me for quite some time, especially once the Columbia shuttle exploded on reentry. I kept thinking to myself. What would I do if someone I knew died in an explosion that was plastered all over national television? How would I react? I never came up with an answer, simply because I understood that I couldn’t empathize with anyone involved in such an incident if it didn’t happen to me. I could sympathize. I could say “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m here if you need me,” but I couldn’t say “I understand. It’s going to be okay,” because I didn’t understand, I didn’t know if it would be okay. Months later, I experienced my first death, that of my grandfather/puzzle partner. Even then, I still felt I couldn’t empathize with a death so sudden. My grandfather had been ill for months from lung cancer and we weren’t surprised when he finally passed. I think that, as crushed as she was, it was a bit of a relief for my grandmother. That year was very stressful in my family because of my grandfather’s rapidly deteriorating health, but if he had died in, say, a car crash, things would have been a lot different. The mourning would have lasted much longer, just as I’m certain that Christa McAuliffe’s family is still morning her loss, after that fireball in the sky, and having a record of her exact moment of death on hand has to be a surefire way to make it impossible to move on. For that reason, as easy as it may be to post, I’m opting to not post a video of the Challenger Disaster. I’m not going to promote the fetishization of death. All those disasters and space misadventures though did nothing to halt my love of space and desire to be an astronaut. That’s the responsibility of my complete hatred of Algebra 2 which led to my complete hate of Chemistry which led me into the arts.
S Club 7: Reach For the Stars
Act Four: The Birth of Dreams
In 1938, Saudi Arabia discovered oil in its borders, launching the 20th Century Mideastern Oil Boom and creating a dependence on the region that, nearly a decade ago, led to war, yet again, over the black, golden syrup. I’m not an expert on Mideastern Affairs and I’m not going to pretend to be. We all know that our over-reliance on oil is bad for the future of the planet. I’m going to leave Act Four up for discussion in the comments. Would the world be any different if that level of oil was, say, discovered in Western Europe, or would we just be at war with the French instead (oh what an easy war that would be!?) Can tension ever be resolved so as to lighten the stress on our ever dwindling oil reserves? What is there to be done? Let’s talk oil.
In any community, regardless of the size or location, there are multifarious challenges in relating which all of us – as individuals and collectively – face at one time or another. Regardless of the specific circumstances, the goal of any group is to find a way to coexist peacefully and interact with others in a way that is beneficial – or, at the very least, civil – to all involved. The very fabric of society as a whole depends on these fundamental principles.
In my experience, the communities that I have enjoyed living in the most, and have felt an integral part of the most – from tiny pueblos to huge cities – have always been diverse to some degree. Whether the diversification comes from racial, ethnic, cultural, religious, political and/or intellectual differences, I have found that locales that are more of a melting pot (on any of the aforementioned levels) encourage compatible coexistence, if not necessarily tolerance and explicit interactions.
It is human nature – and it always feels easier – to remain in one’s comfort zones. We are all far more instinctively and unconsciously inclined to seek to engage with and appreciate people who look, think, believe, pray (or not pray) and behave in similar ways to our own predilections. But by ensconcing ourselves in this insular familiarity and self-created sense of “security”, we may miss the opportunity to learn new things. New patterns of behavior and edifying ourselves beyond our normal scope are what consistently motivate us to become greater than the previous sum of our parts. It is in seeking to surpass our long-held understandings that we truly grow, both as individuals and as members of society as a whole.
If my Italian-American mother hadn’t been open-minded when she met my West-Indian father when they were both students at Brooklyn College, neither I nor my uniquely wonderful brothers would be here today. My mother’s open-mindedness transcended her strict cultural upbringing. At the time of my birth in 1968, my maternal grandfather was a bigot only slightly to the left of Archie Bunker. Almost immediately after my birth, he became my best friend and surrogate father, and in time, he completely overcame his inherited racist beliefs. None of this would have been possible if my mother hadn’t had the courage to follow her heart instead of societal and familial indoctrination.
Over the years, I have become quite aware that some people view my innate friendliness and compassion with guarded suspicion, as though I must be hiding something up my sleeve. (Many more people have regarded and appreciated me at face value.) I make an effort not to judge the skeptics who doubt my true nature, because I know what is my truth. In addition, it’s a hard world to navigate, and sometimes the psycho-emotional mine field of daily living wears people down to the point where it’s all they can do to get by.
The problem with getting caught in the rut of survival instincts is that it becomes all too easy to become cynical. If we view everything with suspicion, then eventually, our capacity for hope and optimism will erode. This is why I make an effort to be kind as much as is possible: because there is so much enmity in the world already. But seeing everything in terms of polarities – kindness and enmity, etc. – isn’t necessarily a solution, either. There are too many shades of grey in between the absolutes, and – to extend the metaphor – there are also myriad majestic palettes of remarkable combinations of colors (experiences).
My purpose in writing this article is to invite readers – many of whom I already consider to be my community, my “circle of friends” – to make a deliberately heightened effort to appreciate difference, diversity and a fuller spectrum of what it means to be human. I invite you to choose something that is unquestionably the greatest challenge for you – for me, it would be having compassion for the right-wingers who are trying to dismantle women’s reproductive freedoms – and try to see the situation through your (perceived) adversary’s eyes. I’m not recommending in any manner that you should seek to adopt their point of view or even condone it in any way. I’m merely suggesting that you endeavor to shine a light of compassion into the darkness of their hatred.
As human beings, we can either keep bickering over base, insignificant trifles, destroying the once-pristine environment and the exquisite animal kingdom in our materialistic, frenetic distracted hubris; or else we can make a dedicated effort to find common ground with each other, and share our highest productive intentions instead. Considering the exceptionally dire state this planet is in, we would all do well to remember the fundamental, incontrovertible truth: that we are all in this together: and either we will all survive and thrive as a whole, or ultimately, none of us will.
I’ll leave you with the immortal words of Rodney King:
“Can we get along? Can we… can we… can we all get along? Can we stop making it horrible for the old people and the kids?”
I read an article a while back in which pediatricians recommended depression screenings for new moms. After you have a baby, your OBGYN may ask you some questions about post-partum depression. However, in this article, Canadian doctors recommended that pediatricians screen for depression in new moms.
This is a good idea because as you moms know, you are at the pediatrician every 5 minutes, it seems, especially with your first baby. There are all these developmental milestones and issues to worry about and vaccines and lectures and that constant weighing. New babies must constantly be weighed to make sure they are gaining weight, but not too much weight. You probably also visit the pediatrician a lot because as a new mom, you are terrified every time the baby coughs, sneezes, spits up, sleeps through a feeding, poops something weird or does anything new. It’s so stressful because you’re new to the game and convinced that you are doing something wrong. My mom called the pediatrician the first time my brother sneezed. She was in a panic only a new first-time mom can appreciate.
If you don’t have children, you might wonder why a new mom might be depressed. You might be especially confused if the baby was planned. Isn’t this what the mother wanted? Why on earth would the mother of a healthy baby be depressed? Sure, the baby looks more like a hairless rat than a Gerber baby, but she must have known that babies don’t start out very good looking.
Well, for starters, newborns provide feedback vigorously. Sometimes, they scream all the damn time. It’s very easy to anger a newborn. Here are some of the things that anger newborns:
Feedings
Lack of feeding
Gas
Noise
Quiet
Swaddling
Rocking
Lack of rocking
Not being held by Mom
Being held by Mom
Clothing
Nudity
Dirty diaper
Clean diaper
You are breathing too loud
Fluctuations in the Dow
Changes in atmospheric pressure
Changes in formula
Changes in the mother’s diet if breastfeeding
Changes in the return policy at Target
There are some things about being a new mom that no one can really prepare you for. One is the sensation of a healing episiotomy scar. It’s a feeling like no other. Another is a healing c-section scar which has the added bonus of the judgment you may receive for not having a natural birth. Then there’s the fact that it’s next to impossible to get a shower because your baby, who you thought would be a super-cute baby but looks more like crib larvae, will not stop screaming or pooping.
Other reasons for depression include being trapped in the house, not being able to finish a sentence because you are so unbelievably exhausted, sheer tiredness the likes of which you have never known, and the feeling of betrayal you get when you realize you still need to wear maternity clothes. That put together with the hormone cocktail a new mother receives could spiral anyone into a depression. I know that I, personally, spent 45 minutes in the bathroom crying because someone sent my son a windup toy that play “Hush Little Baby” and it was just the saddest song I had ever heard. Hormones can play mind tricks on you.
I think all new moms should be alerted to how real the possibility of this depression can be because it can be difficult. Even moms who don’t struggle with depression aren’t likely caught up in the state of bliss the media leads you to expect. The first six weeks of motherhood can be brutal. You’re sort of removed from real life and it can make it difficult to see things clearly.
I also, selfishly, wanted to post this because I am dying to hear post-partum stories from other Crasstalkers. I know there are some good ones out there. I’ll even help by embarrassing myself some more:
I burst into tears at Thanksgiving dinner and asked my husband if he would ever want to have sex with me again (the baby was 2 weeks old). I’m pretty sure my mother overheard me.
I nearly tackled a woman who asked me when I was due. I was holding the baby. I knew I wasn’t losing the weight very quickly but she didn’t have to rub it in.
The D, The Dirty, The 313, Hockeytown, Detroit Rock City, Motown, Motor City. Call it anything you want; just don’t call it Hell. Hell’s 60 miles to the west. I have a love/hate with the city, almost as much as my love/hate for New York, but, even if you don’t want to live amongst the urban decay (but, really, why wouldn’t you? One of my friends lives next to a goat slaughterhouse and she sees goats killed e’ry day!), it’s a stellar place to visit, because then people will look at you and say,
“You went on vacation…in Detroit? Why?”
And you can tell them its because you’re a hardcore badass and you saw, like, five shootings and had your rental car stolen (good thing you got that insurance!) and everyone will believe you. That’s the beauty of Detroit. There’s so much awesome crap, but everyone stays away because of the crime, which, to be honest, is bad, but more in some parts than others and I wouldn’t send you to the bad side of Mexicantown. That’d just be reckless.
Now, I by no means claim to be an expert on Detroit. I grew up in the suburbs, but we’d go down into the city for games or theater and then we’d get a bite to eat somewhere nearby. My first long-term exposure to Detroit was my first two years of college when I went to school in midtown. Then I left for 18 months to be in New York. I’m going to do my best to give you a rundown of what to do in and out of the city because Detroit, as special as it is, is also a city that thrives off its suburbs. Detroit, never just means Detroit. It almost always means (in my head) the area west of Telegraph, East of the River, North of Detroit city limits and South of 26 Mile Road (yes, there’s not just 8 Mile). The best stuff, though, is in the city proper.
Before I begin, I’d like to say something controversial. New York pizza sucks. It’s awful. Just terrible. The true king of pizza is Detroit and I will be covering the top three, two of which are in suburbia.
Michigan Central Station
Eat:
Detroit Proper
Mudgie’s: 1300 Porter at Brooklyn 313.961.2000. OMFG MUDGIE’S. If there was one place I’d like to lift to New York City via helicopter, it would be Mudgie’s. I talked about Mudgie’s briefly in the last The Detroiter column, but, OMFG, it’s so good. I finally went down there last week for the first time since I’ve been back in Detroit and I had a total foodgasm. All of the sandwiches are made with fresh ingredients, most of them local and organic and the meats are all ethically sourced. Their mustard supply alone is worth the trip. Best sandwich?
Madill – house roasted turkey, Nueski applewood smoked bacon, avocado, tomato, romaine lettuce, Mudgie-made garlic mayo and melted pepper Jack cheese on an 8 “ sub bun served warm – voted into Detroit’s Top 21 Sandwiches List, Detroit Free Press, March 2008 – $9.50 lg / $7.50 sm
Also amazing is their famed dessert, the fudgie mudgie. It’s a ghiradelli brownie waffle, topped with Calder’s vanilla ice cream, hot fudge and walnuts. This is what it looks like. Disclaimer: I am not responsible if you buy a ticket to Detroit after seeing this photo.
Walnuts cost extra and this person evidently doesn't like walnuts which makes them awful because walnuts are amazing
Union Street: 4145 Woodward Avenue at Willis Street. 313.831.3965. Reservations recommended. Union Street has awesome burgers, awesome fries, awesome Spanish coffees and is right across the street from Garden Bowl
Cass Corridor
Cass Cafe: 4620 Cass Avenue at Forest. 313.831.1400. Cass Cafe isn’t just a restaurant, it’s a complete state of mind, a great place to go drinking between classes, and one of my favorite galleries in the city. Cass has amazing food. It’s thrilling. The best burger I’ve ever had in my life that I haven’t made myself is from Cass Cafe and that’s their pub style angus steak burger ($7). Well, actually, it’s tied with the Good Stuff Burger at Good Stuff Diner on 14th and 6th in NYC. Besides the point! PBR’s are $2, but it seems like every time I’m there it’s dollar PBR night, which, let’s face it, is swell. The art is hit or miss, but that’s what makes it so great. It’s all local artists just putting themselves out there. My favorite was a charcoal drawing of a brisket I saw a few months back.
Le Petit Zinc: 1055 Trumbull Street. 313.963.2805. There’s a bit of a rivalry amongst those who like their crepes from Le Petit Zinc and those who like them from Good Girls Go To Paris, but the fact of the matter is, they’re equally good. Le Petit Zinc wins out though for smelling like French cheese all day long. The stench is so strong, in fact, that you too are bound to smell like French cheeses for the rest of the day. I think that’s a plus. Others don’t, and those people get their crepes from Good Girls.
Lafayette Coney Island: 118 W Lafayette Blvd. 313.964.8198. Do not, I repeat do not be tricked by American Coney Island’s glitz and glamor. Its shady, gross-looking next door neighbor is the best Coney Island in the city. Dirt cheap food, bad service and weak coffee are the hallmarks of all Coneys, but there’s something special, something, well, right about Lafayette.
Yummy Heart Attacks Are Yummy: Coney Islands from Lafayette Coney Island
Traffic Jam and Snug: 511 West Canfield at Second. 313.831.9470. Splendorinda said it best:
I wish I could order the waiters off the menu
Traffic Jam is not a place you go to for food, it’s a place to go to for the eye candy. Yes, the food is good, but it’s a little on the pricey side. The best thing about it is the dairy and bakery in the Snug portion, but it seems like everyone who works at Traffic Jam is impossibly gorgeous (I haven’t been in a while, so this may have changed, but I doubt it). They mix their drinks on the strong side and, being a brewery, have a great selection of beers, the best being the amazingly named “Don’t Touch My Junk”
Pizza from Niki's
Niki’s: 734 Beaubien at Lafayette 313.961.4303. Yes, I just threw a fit the other day about how I quit Niki’s, but the point stands: This is the best pizza in Detroit proper and third best in Metro Detroit. Detroit pizza, if you will, is a miraculous blend of Chicago and New York that just works. Traditionally, it’s a square pizza, what New Yorkers call “Sicilian Style” with a good amount of cheese and sauce. It’s nice and crunchy, and when in pie form, it’s just a little thicker than New York slices. The only pizza in New York that I’ve found can compare is a Sicilian pizza from Rizzo’s in Astoria. Yes, I have to go to Queens for pizza. Queens, people.
Greektown
Astoria Bakery: 541 Monroe at Beaubien 313.963.9603. Best damn bakery in the whole wide world. Get your dessert there after pizza at Niki’s and before gambling your life savings away at Greektown Casino.
Slows BBQ: 2138 Michigan Avenue at Wabash. 313.962.9828. A little on the pricey side, but, sooooo good. Ribs and Mac. Make it happen, yo.
Suburbia:
Alibi Pizza: 6700 Rochester Road at South Blvd in Troy, Michigan. 248.879.0014: Best pizza in all of Metro Detroit and, therefore, the world. Granted, I grew up on this stuff, but it’s totally true.
Como’s: 22812 Woodward Avenue at Nine Mile in Ferndale, Michigan. 248.548.5005. Second best pizza in Metro Detroit. Get it with feta and pepperoni because that’s the way to do it, yo. With a great atmosphere and location in the heart of Fabulous Ferndale, its no wonder that the restaurant is hugely popular and a great meeting place during Motor City Pride. I broke up with someone here once, but it didn’t taint my love for their pizza! Seriously, it’s real good.
A variety of pizzas from Como's. Como's pizza is more similar to NY pizza than Chicago on the Detroit pizza scale.
Original Pancake House: 33703 Woodward Avenue at 14 Mile Road in Birmingham, Michigan. 248.642.5775. They don’t take reservations and if you plan on showing up after 9am, you better be ready for at least a half hour wait and ten minutes waiting outside. That’s how good this place is. The coffee’s whatever, but their pancakes and crepes are just the bees knees. The best thing on the menu though (It’s awful as takeout. Come with an appetite big enough to eat it in one sitting) is the famed Big Apple. It’s basically a deep fried apple pancake in, like, a million layers. It’s guhmazing.
The Big Apple
Drink:
Oslo: 1456 Woodward Avenue at John R. 313.962.7200. What’s cool about this unassuming sushi bar is its kinda trendy looking mini-club downstairs. The drinks are great, and the best night to go is First Friday’s for Adriel Thornton’s Fierce Hot Mess party, a little retro gay hipster bacchanal. Michael Trombley throws a similar party, but with a disco theme at the R&R Saloon on the last Saturday of every month. They can be a little hit or miss on the crowd, but the music is simply grand at both parties.
FHM @ Oslo
Atlas: 3111 Woodward Avenue at Charlotte. 313.831.2241. Great little unassuming bar with decently priced, strong drinks. That’s all. Nice place to go with friends at the end of the day.
d’Mongos Speakeasy: 1439 Griswold at Clifford. No phone number. Same as Atlas, but only open on Fridays. D’Mongos stays afloat though by being absolutely insane on Friday nights and you’re always bound to meet someone interesting.
d'Mongos
Menjos: 928 McNichols at Pontchartrain Blvd. 313.863.3934. Menjo’s is a terrible, terrible club that I sort of am in love with. It’s like Splash in Chelsea, but so much worse. So much worse. The crowd? Whatever. Not my kind of gays, the drinks are cheap, though. Two dollar wells on Thursdays which is the best night to go anyway, and a house drag queen whose schtick is boring after you’ve seen it so many times. I don’t know why I love such an awful place, but I do and, yet, I find myself cringing every time I’m dragged by a friend to Splash or, even worse, Rush, ugh.
Los Galanes: 3362 Bagley at 23rd. 313.863.3934: Great Mexican food, but this is in Drink for a reason. Las Galanes’ happy hour is the best thing in the whole wide world. Three dollar margaritas from 3-6 and boy are they strong! You’ll need a designated driver after two, for sure.
Do:
Great Hall @ The DIA. Photo by Tom Pidgeon for the NYTimes
Detroit Institute of Arts: 5200 Woodward Avenue. 313.833.7900. Detroit’s preeminent art museum is also one of the nation’s best. I like to call it the Mini-Met because it has everything, but is a lot smaller than the Met and a lot easier to navigate. Admission is eight bucks and the best time to go is Friday night’s for free concerts (free with admission) and a variety of activities around the museum.
Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit: 4454 Woodward at Garfield. 313.832.6622. The DIA may be the big boy in the Detroit Art World, but MoCaD is the scrappy little upstart that’s got all the buzz. MoCAD (nobody calls it by its full name) is a graffiti marked cube blocks away from the DIA with some of the best curation of a museum in the city. From Rei Kawakubo to the current exhibition of work by Edgar Arceneaux, the museum caters to everything now.
Michigan Central Station: 2001 15th Street @ Roosevelt Park. No phone number. This abandoned Beaux Arts train station designed by the same team who did Grand Central isn’t open to the public, but that doesn’t mean people don’t get in. A huge pastime is sneaking in and exploring the ruin before heading up to the roof to get a great view of the city. A great idea for a self-made tour would be to scout out a series of abandoned buildings and sneak into them all. There’s a lot of them in Detroit!
Inside Michigan Central Station
Theater District: Basically all of Woodward south of Warren. Fun fact! Did you know that Detroit has the largest theater district in the country after Broadway! I bet you didn’t, and we too get lots of Broadway shows. The Fisher just ended In The Heights and starts Les Miserables later this month and you can catch, like, any concert at Saint Andrews, The Majestic, The Filmore and The Masonic amongst other places because everyone stops in Detroit because Detroit is known for two things: Cars and music. There’s also a lot of great independent theaters like Magic Giraffe and The Abreact. The Fox is pretty hit or miss with their material and tends to do a lot of family friendly stuff, but the space is just gorgeous. Seriously:
Lobby @ The FoxView from balcony @ The Fox
The Fox is also known for being the first theater in the country to get the equipment to play talkies! Seriously though, there are so many performance spaces, it’s no wonder a lot of artists are flocking to Detroit. It’s essentially a hyper-cheap Brooklyn.
Heidelberg Projects: 3680 Heidelberg @ Mount Elliot. 313.537.8037. OMFG HEIDELBERG! Tyree Guyton’s open air installation piece with a storied history (the city spent a good deal of time in the 80 and 90s trying to destroy it) is probably the quirkiest place in all of Detroit. Seriously. It’s in a bad neighborhood, so it’s not as popular as it otherwise would be, but it’s just a really colorful, happy place that highlights the downfall of the city (at least, that was my takeaway).
Heidelberg Projects. Photo by Gerry Visco
Eastern Market: Alfred and Riopelle. This is actually a bit of a lie since Eastern Market is a neighborhood, not a strict place. I’m just choosing the center of it as its address. Anyways, Eastern Market is popping in the spring with an amazing flower market as well as other little doodads. It’s just a swell place to be. Its NYC corollary would be the Union Square Farmers Market.
Eastern Market
Other Cool Things in Detroit Proper There’s Just Not Time For
Penobscot Building
The Penobscot Building is one of Detroit's many fine art deco buildings
Detroit Artist’s Market
Garden Bowl
CityClub
CityClub, Detroit's best bisexual industrial goth nightclub is in the Leland Hotel, pictured, which also has another club in its basement called Labyrinth
Renaissance Center (a study in how not to design a building!)
Meeting me for karaoke at Soho Bar in Ferndale on Wednesdays!
Lots of other great stuff too! Go buy a book about the city!
Special Events of Interest
January: North American International Auto Show
May: Detroit Electronic Music Festival (DEMF)
June: Motor City Pride
August: Woodward Dream Cruise
The Woodward Dream Cruise is when everyone brings out their classic cars and cruises down Woodward Avenue
September: Tour de Troit Bicycle Race
November: Turkey Trot 5k/10k Run Through Downtown
Winter: Ice Skating in Campus Martius
It’s a super town with a lot of super things and a lot of super people, but you’re going to need a car and you’re going to need to be okay with the fact that you can’t change your mind on a whim because everything is really spread out, but, seriously, give it a chance. It’s just like Brooklyn, only with more cars and better music (I said it). Beware during winter. It gets cold. So cold.
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