Birthright: Flint, Michigan

Flint's downtown as captured on May 22, 2012. Thanks for the shot, Luke.

Inc. Magazine - Detroit!

Inc. magazine has a great spread of articles on Detroit and what is happening here within the startup community. I like the attitude of those featured in the articles as well as the attitude I've experienced throughout the region over the last month. We're here, we're not apologizing for anything, we have a very unique and exciting opportunity, we're confident we're creating something great. But they say this much better in the articles. Read up, come visit, get involved.


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"It's not 'What are we going to do?'" Tatoris says. "It's 'wow, I can't wait to see what Detroit is like in five years." For the folks who have seen Detroit rise and fall over the decades, the view from Webward Avenue is one a city on the move once again. "I just don't know where the tail end of that is going to be," Smith says. "But I'm going to like the ride."  

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"I'm going to be telling my grandkids about this five-year stretch when Detroit got back its mojo."

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Something Bigger: It's rare to be in the right place at the right time, but when you are, the sparks just seem to ignite out of thin air. At this moment, Detroit seems to be "right," as it's experiencing a truly fresh start through revitalization. It's not just an up-and-coming downtown center that's drawing talent; it's the chance to help change the landscape of a region that is in dire need of it and the opportunity to make a long-lasting impact.

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 "When there are doubters, you work a little harder," says Jake Cohen, Detroit Venture Partners' Vice President. "Just the other day, I was on the phone with someone from Sequoia Capital and he was telling me which industries were attracting money on the West Coast--like somehow I wouldn't already know. I think a lot of us have a chip on our shoulder here. People think that our start-ups aren't real, and that we don't know what it's like anywhere else--they think we just got stuck here. But there are a lot of people here who could be anywhere else. It's a choice."

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And though this isn't from any of the articles, it's one of my favorites and seems appropriate for this post (feel free to substitute Chicago with your city).

"Do you want to be another yuppie in Chicago, or do you want to make a difference in Detroit?" - Michigan Governor, Rick Snyder

Pure Michigan

I like this one a lot and really like seeing the Faygo factory.



The newest Michigan business ads now featuring the Pure Michigan theme. I like them but think the feel of these ads have a much better fit for tourist marketing. And why do so many business type commercials, especially those trumpeting universities, have a shot with a glass "whiteboard" with someone writing a bunch of chemistry crap on it while eager eyed dorks look on from a conference table? That's not inspiring at all. I've never even seen one of those glass whiteboards (and I studied engineering with those dorks at the conference table!).



And because you just can't get enough.

Southeast Michigan Startup

The folks behind Model D have just launched an additional site - semichiganstartup.com

MGoBlues

What can explain the struggles of the Wolverines over the past two seasons? The new coach? The decimated defense? The young quarterbacks? All of these are probably contributing factors, but I'm fairly certain that the root cause of our trouble is much more horrifying.

Somehow over the last two seasons UM has gone from pounding our collective chest in superiority once/game:



To hanging our collective head in nerdy shame:



If I can't watch a winning football team, can't I at least watch a winning commercial?

Flint Town!

It's funny how an article, in its first sentence, can remind you of a 27% unemployment rate, yet still leave you feeling inspired. Thanks for the link, Matt.

I wasn't joking

National Georgraphic Traveler named the U.P. drive one of the world's greatest scenic routes.

...Look About You

Growing up driving on streets named Dort and Crapo, visiting museums named Sloan, passing a hotel named Durant and a mansion named Mott, I learned from an early age that Michigan meant autos. And this definition has made it especially painful, in the last few years, to drive around Flint and notice the weeds that spring from the asphalt of the deserted concrete islands that used to hold Buick City, Chevy in the Hole, and Flint East. Because if Michigan is autos, these decaying, blighted, swaths of emptiness cruelly remind me that my town is dead, her industry gone, and my state finished. But what I learned on a recent trip through the Upper Peninsula is that my childhood belief that Michigan means autos is both shortsighted and ill fitting.

Driving through copper country, I was reminded that in 1841, Michigan’s Upper Peninsula was the site of the nation’s first copper boom and by 1869 the state was producing more than 95% of the nation’s copper. In the U.P. I learned that long before the auto industry was born, the Quincy Copper Mine near Hancock had already earned the nickname “Old Reliable” after paying out a dividend to its investors for 32 years. And while Old Reliable worked, Michigan’s booming lumber industry produced more lumber than the next three states combined. So to believe that Michigan is autos is to forget that it was also once lumber and copper. Michigan has been defined by industry before, and my state has watched these “reliable” industries come and go. Lumber gone. Copper gone. Autos dying. We’ve been here before, and the reminder that Michigan still remains after experiencing the death of defining industries was comforting. But what I found more comforting, and what this drive illustrated best, was understanding why equating Michigan with any industry is so stupidly unjust.

Because when the rocky, undeveloped coast of Lake Superior favorably compared to Maine’s Acadia National Park, and when the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore offered sandstone cliffs rising from water that shares the blue and green colors of the Caribbean, and when I stood 700 feet above the world’s largest freshwater lake taking in a view that I had thought was reserved for California’s PCH, I learned that Michigan has always been much more than copper, lumber, or cars. I learned, after looking out over the cold, blue waters of Lake Superior and smelling the pines of Tahquamenon, that Michigan’s strength does not come from industry, but from her natural beauty.

So though it’s easy to believe, driving around Flint, that my state is dying, I now know that Michigan is much stronger than autos. No, Michigan cannot be equated with any industry. Because when the copper industry and lumber industry died, Michigan still lived; and when the auto industry does indeed die, she will still stand, strengthened and always defined by her natural splendor. Michigan is not dead. She is beautiful, and beauty is permanent.

If you seek...

...look about you.

Walter

It was the standard collegiate tshirt, navy blue with “Michigan” written in bright block maize letters across the front. And since “where in the states are you from” came immediately after “what’s your name,” “how many brothers and sisters do you have,” and “how much money do you make” in the horribly predictable Nicaraguan meet-and-greet conversation, everyone knew what my tshirt meant. Michigan was Daveed’s pueblo, and when I wore that shirt around town people would read it aloud. Meecheegan. So it was always a good day when I wore my pueblo around town, and it was a great day when I wore it on a Sunday afternoon during my second year of service.

Walter and I had become, for lack of a better term, drinking buddies. Though it only happened three or four times, our routine was as predictable as the meet-and-greet conversations I had with countless Nicaraguans. He’d see me walking through town, catch up to me in his car, and invite me out for a drink. Swooning over a private car and the thought of alcohol, I’d quickly oblige and hop in. We’d swing over to the local gas station to buy a six pack of Toña cans before driving around town and picking up a few more of his friends. Three grown men in the back and two in the front of his green Hyundai Excel, we’d pound the first couple of beers while on our way out of to Bar Titanic along the Panamericano. At the bar, we’d switch over to rum and coke and waste the day talking about Nicaraguan politics and how, no, I couldn’t easily get them a visa. The one drink he invited me out for always turned into several drinks, and by the time he’d drop me off at home, it’d take all my concentration to lock my doors, neatly tuck in my mosquito net, and pass out. I’d wake up the following morning with a headache.

The Sunday I was wearing my Michigan tshirt was no different. I was on my way to visit Maria’s family when the green Hyundai pulled along side me and offered a drink. Two hours later I was a few drinks deep sitting at Bar Titanic listening to my compañeros sing along to Mexican Ranchera music. And in the middle of Javier Solis’ ballad, Walter finished off his rum and coke, threw his hands up and screamed “Vivaaa…MEEEEEcheeeegaaan!” He looked directly at me when he said it and finished off his proud exclamation with a hearty laugh, gazing around at all of us for approval. I responded by grabbing the letters of my shirt to flip the sides out aggressively (think LeBron James grabbing the sides of his jersey after a thunderous dunk) and, nodding my head, said “Meecheegan!!!”

We stayed at Bar Titanic all day drinking an unhealthy amount of alcohol. After every drink, Walter would raise his hands and salute my home state with his rallying cry, laughing each time as if it was the first time he said it. By the third or fourth drink, all of us had enough liquid courage to join in and help him finish off the salute. By the fifth and sixth, we all knew to start watching for the last sip when the ice in the glass melted, and we joined in right from the beginning. Viva! MEEEcheeegan! By the seventh and eighth, we didn’t have to wait for Walter. When the spirit moved you, you’d put your drink down and raise your arms. Your compañeros would follow suit and we’d cry together, "Vivaaaa……MEEEEEEEEcheeegaaaaan!!”

I woke up the next morning with a hangover, and in an attempt to “work it off” I walked out to my backyard and started doing laundry, scrubbing my tshirts on a concrete slab. When I came to the Michigan tshirt, I was more gentle than normal. I only gave it a couple of scrubs along the concrete and only slightly ringed out the excess water. Instead of hanging it in the direct sunlight, I found a premium spot under the shade of my mango tree. That was my ranchera rallying cry I was holding. It was my pueblo I was guarding. I had to be gentle and caring. I couldn’t let those colors fade. I thanked Walter under my breath, went inside and slept off my hangover.

Viva Michigan!