Mabe in Motown

Ferndale, Mich. -- So, in a span of 20 minutes, I bought a Detroit Tigers jacket, a Jack Lord "Hawaii Five-O" bust and a book called "Elvis Died For Somebody's Sins (But Not Mine)."

That's the way Mabester rolls in Motown.

Fall has arrived in Ferndale. The temperature dropped to a frosty 48 last night. Today was terrific. Sixty-seven and sunny. Super.

I ducked into a quirky bookstore in Birmingham. Tomes were tossed to and fro, piles and piles, rows and rows. It was my kind of joint.

I was hunting "A Confederacy of Dunces" but found the Elvis book instead. Had to buy it. It's by a cat called Mick Farren. Ever heard of him?

"Within these pages you'll meet the likes of Frank Zappa, Johnny Cash, Chuck Berry and Gore Vidal, and steam open correspondence between the author and Pete Townshend," writes Charles Shaar Murray in the forward. "And, much more importantly, you're about to go one-on-one with a world class raconteur..."

How can one resist that?

So, Tennessee lost to Oregon and the Tigers lost to the Royals. As Luther H. Gillis, private eye, might say, "Who cares!"

I am on vacation. Plus, that just means the Tigs will win tomorrow. See ya at Comerica Park!

Fun in Ferndale

Ferndale, Mich. -- So, our three day weekend comes to a close.

Big blur, super short, too little time. But, then again, that's the way of it, right? We work too much and play too little, all in the name of some passe Protestant ethic.

To hell with that.

But, we've had a blast. At left, you'll see Jennifer and me with Robert Washington, Elvis Tribute Artist extraordinaire, the highlight of our stop Saturday at the annual Michigan ElvisFest. Fabulous. Hear him here.

We are here, too, to see friends David and Jennifer. I have been heading here, or they have done the opposite, since 1999. They live in Ferndale, this funky, freaky, fantastic foxhole north of Detroit.

This afternoon, we watched the Tigers tame the Orioles via the televisions at Rosie O'Grady's bar. Then we went shopping. I bought three or four books at The Library bookstore -- John Cheever, James Agee, a "Hawaii Five-O" paperback from '68, and Ernie Harwell's early autobiography. (Then I dropped a C-note at a vintage clothing store. Groovy, baby!)

Speaking of the late, great Mr. Harwell, we saw the play "Ernie" at the City Theatre in downtown Detroit on Saturday night. I laughed. I cried. I lamented a long-gone era. Mitch Albom wrote the play. Perfectly poignant.

Before the show, we drove by a fenced-in lot, all that remains of beloved Tiger Stadium. I don't care how cool Comerica Park may be (and it is cool), it will never match the magic of the long-gone cathedral at The Corner. Not a chance.

This weekend was much-needed medicine. I've felt like hell for two weeks. So has Jenn. We needed a grin. We needed old friends.

Every time I come to Ferndale, I get caught up in its bohemian beauty, in its quirky charm, in its ethos.

Now I must return to tea party-tinged Tennessee. I will be honest. The thought depresses the hell out of me.

So it goes. Life is good.

We have enjoyed these two days. I have gotten all shook up and basked in beer and baseball and bell bottoms and the beauty of time spent with friends.

But here is the best part:

We'll be back.