When I think about Detroit, my hometown, it’s a mixed bag of good and bad, but I think everyone’s hometown is like that to some extent. My hometown and I share a deep bond, a connection born of living on its streets. I have collapsed on its cold, bare sidewalks and slept in its abandoned houses. I know it intimately, but like an estranged lover, I don’t know it now. I only know my Detroit of twenty years ago, because that’s how long it’s been since I called it home.
I had to leave. It gives me a sense of guilt that, like so many others, I abandoned my hometown when it needed me most, leaving it to rot in its own rubble. However, unlike many, I didn’t leave for a better job or more opportunities; I left because it is where I was beaten and raped. I left because…
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Dearest story, with yellowing bent pages
you sit, a tired old man, on the brink
of my bookshelf.
You want to jump, I can tell.
You’ve been read dry.
Borrowed and returned,
pulled by unfamiliar hands,
dog-eared and tattered,
you show my inner damage.
With your words, you
made me new –
with your ending,
made me old again.
How many lifetimes have I spent
rattling around in your skeleton?
Not nearly enough.
NO JOKING AROUND, Rich Paschall, Sunday Night Blog
Imagine a comedian who insults everyone by race, gender, ethnic background and every other quality you can poke fun at. The audience loves it. No one walks out. No one calls for him to be banned or fired. Social media does not go ablaze with attacks. No Facebook postings, hash tags, capital letter tweets, re-tweets, shares, or re-blogs.
Everyone loves it. That probably would not happen today. A comedian can’t walk into a room, insult everyone, including the President of the United States, yet leave everyone calling for more. We seem to have lost our ability to poke fun at ourselves and our eccentricities. We certainly can’t laugh at stereotypes that grow up around our religion, our ethnic group, or our town.
Today, everything has to be politically correct. Any comedian who forgets that may be in for a short career. There was a time when a…
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More geese along the river. I was shooting quickly, so a lot of my pictures were a bit (or a lot) fuzzy. Yet by art or luck — maybe because I just shoot many frames thus raising the odds of getting some good ones — a few came out well.
My Canada geese by the Blackstone River in early August.