About the project

I was inspired to tell the story "8mile" staring Eminem, in a new way using Flickr and other social media sites, and through my friends and family who are all from the Metro Detroit area, I wanted to tell the story through their eyes. The guidelines are simple. 1: find photos of Detroit MI at any of these locations. Shelter/St. Andrews, Detroit stamp factory, Woodward, 8 mile road, Eastern market, Chin Tiki (don't know if it still exists), abandon homes, and any photo of downtown D. 2: type a story about the photo's. 3: send it to noah.says@gmail.com When all is said and done, I am expecting to have enough photos and stories that resonate with the actual film locations from the movie, and using the audience to tell their experiences with these locations.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Richard Danforth

Location: old packard plant, just south of 94 over by hamtramick

Detroit is the city without the traffic, I like it, I kind of feel like mad max, I don’t like people that much anyway.

This is how life should be, You should be able to go where you want with out cops ticketing you for every little thing, in Detroit cops have murders to worry about not hey should we ticket that guy for doing a wheelie so he does not hurt himself. I will worry about my damn self. If I get hurt it is my own fault.

The old Packard plant is a building that is a couple miles long and it is totally abandon and no one gives a shit about it, no one even knows who owns it, we can fit in places where cars cant.

Tori Ebli

Location: The Magic Stick/The Garden Bowl 4120 Woodward Avenue
Detroit, MI

I was at a show at the garden bowl; it's the cafe below the magic stick. They don't normally do shows there but it was free.This is hell” was the band playing, and there was a garbage can covered in those stickers.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Noah Simon

Location: The Shelter (below Saint Andrews) 431 East Congress Street
Detroit, MI 48226

I remember the first concert that I attended on my own, now certainly my FIRST concert was not by my choice, I was a young child and my parents dragged me along.
The first show I remember attending was back in 2002, I was a junior in high school developing my own taste in music. One of my friends RJ had heavy influence on what I popped into the CD player of my car. The band that I (for better lack of words) fell in love with was Taking Back Sunday. Keep in mind, the year was 2002, that was way before this band went main stream.
The concert venue was in downtown Detroit, about a 30 minute drive down I-75. The venue name was the Shelter. The Shelter is located in the basement of St. Andrews hall, which was, at one time, a church, now converted into two music venues. What's interesting about the two venues, is the big time bands played upstairs, and the hardworking, struggling, touring non stop bands played in the Shelter. This was due to the size of the venues, the Shelter could really only hold around 75-100 people before it started getting really uncomfortable.
The lights dropped and the bands started performing. Still to this day, I have never been to a better show! The stage is so close to where the audience stands you were practically performing with them. It was the mixture of the bands passion that was exploding out of the PA system, and the intimate setting that the shelter provided.
My advice, if you visit Detroit, go to the Shelter, no matter what type of show may be playing. The movie 8 mile did a great job portraying the magic that is held inside.

Alex Caruso

Location: Comerica park, E Adams Rd Detroit, Michigan

My grandfather had been dead for little over two weeks when I went to Comerica Park with a couple friends to take in a Tigers/Cubs interleague matchup.

It had been a very difficult summer to that point. Family member after family member, it seemed, was taking ill or even dying. My parents were struggling financially. My brother was out in California. I had my own problems, as well.

And then my grandfather, the rock of our family, died.

It might have seemed weird to go to a ballgame in the midst of all this. They’re supposed to be enjoyable experiences, after all. I’d had enough of feeling miserable, though, and decided to pause real life long enough to go with my friends to the ballpark.

It was a relatively well-played game at the end of June, and the two teams seemed to be trading runs.

In the seventh inning, Brandon Inge gave the Tigers the lead on a two-run homer. The very next half-inning, Joel Zumaya returned the favor and blew the save on a two-run homer to the Cubs. Everything I’d been feeling since June 11th seemed to be bottled up in that homerun off Zumaya. I felt like God had taken me and squished me like bug between his thumb and forefinger. It’s kind of a melodramatic way of putting it, but that’s how I felt. Served me right for going to a ballgame when my parents and brother were at home, dealing with real life and the loss of my grandfather. Right?

Hm. Not so fast. An inning and a half later, the Tigers had the tying run on base and Ryan Raburn at the plate. Ryan Raburn, utility outfielder/infielder/backup break-glass-in-case-of-emergency catcher. This couldn’t possibly end well

Raburn lifted the second pitch he saw to left-center and right away, we all knew it was gone. The feeling that ran through me when I saw the ball jump off Raburn’s bat wrapped itself around my heart and carried it straight out of the ballpark. I went from the lowest of lows, feeling as down as Zumaya looked in the Tigers’ dugout like I was the one who had just lost the game for my team, to the highest of highs, to Don Kelly pumping his fists as he rounded third for home, to the Tigers pouring out of the dugout and screaming and jumping up and down like children, to Ryan Raburn grabbing onto Jim Leyland after he scored the winning run and giving him a big hug.

The ballpark had always been like a second home to me, but this just sealed it. This was cauterizing the wound. Thirty thousand fans screamed with one voice, and the ballpark felt alive, vibrating with energy. I felt energized along with it. I felt like I could get through the coming days, weeks, even months now as long as I kept this experience tucked away in my memory banks.

I knew I would go back to real life once I got out of my friends’ car, headed up the walkway and stepped into the home I lived in with my parents. For two hours and thirty-four minutes in downtown Detroit, though, life felt pretty all right.

Dan Simon

Location: Longfellow house 1950 -’74, wood and West Chicago Blvd. Detroit, MI

My parents bought this house in the Boston-Edison area of Detroit in 1950. I was born in 1953 and as early as I remember the neighborhood was never more than 25% white. I walked to elementary school and took the public DSR (Detroit Street and Railway) busses to Jr. high and high School. Later I attended Wayne State University, located right downtown, near museums, government buildings and retail establishments. I could have taken the bus here as well, but because I usually had to work after classes, I drove.

In 1967, the riots broke out 3 1/2 blocks southeast of us. Along with many buildings, our neighborhood drugstore, just 2 blocks northwest of us was burned to the ground. We were living right in the middle of a war zone. We lived in this house until 1974; I graduated from WSU College of Pharmacy, and then practiced retail pharmacy in Detroit for the next 20 years… “White flight” wasn’t for everyone.

Photo taken 2010

Monday, July 26, 2010

Jacob Janisae

Location: S woodward, Rosa Parks, River front, ambassador Bridge Detroit MI

This used to be a good city, this sure brings up some strong negative emotions of a once, very livable city. This is what happens when an uneducated population kept voting in terribly corrupt mayors and city council members. Corporate greed cannot be ignored either...it all started with Motown Records leaving, then the sports teams (Lions & Pistons) gave up...ugh..sad!!

Judi Caruso

It was the ‘70s; I was twenty years old and thought I was invincible. I was all grown up, I could drink, vote, and sign a contract… so off I went from the comfort of my parents’ beautiful lake front home to the dangerous life of freedom on 7 Mile and Gratiot in Detroit. The neighborhood was what people called ‘changing’. There were very old people who had always lived in these homes, and there were young families and hippie-types, a mixed, racial and socio-economic blend of people. I rented the upper flat of this house on Saratoga for two years. I was independent. My rent for the 1 bedroom/1 bath place was $125 (this included all utilities except my phone). When I moved out of my parents home I figured it would be parties every night, loud music, late nights and freedom. Little did I know that my landlady, who lived downstairs, would be watching my every move. I had to be SO quiet… I wasn’t allowed to have “gentlemen spend the night”. No loud music… I think my folks called her before I moved in!!

Well after about 3 months, she and I became the best of friends. She knew her house was safe, that I wasn’t quite danger she thought I might be. I had to work long hours to be able to pay my rent, so late night parties were out of the question… It took me over a year to save up for my stereo… so loud music really was never a problem and men, well, let’s just say I didn’t really fight her on that one.

What I did find by making the decision to move to the city was that I had been sheltered from so many things. The culture of Detroit, the mix of people, the foods, the style, these were all things I had only heard about from others. I learned to interact with young and old people who had wonderful stories and colorful pasts. I felt safe and secure in my neighborhood in the “D”.

Traveling back to the area I was excited to see my old home… the city has gone through so much over the past few years; the storefronts are boarded up, the signage all seems to scream poverty. “We take EBT and bridge cards”, “Check advance”, “Sorry, we’re closed”. I got nervous as I turned down my old street.

There I saw overgrown bushes, boarded up houses, and chipping paint. The streets and sidewalks were strewn with trash. My house, along with 5 or 6 others on the block was broken down; burnt. Yet, in this rubble there were 5 or 6 other homes still standing, well landscaped, painted and occupied. On the street, there were children playing, and when I got out of my car to take pictures of my house they shouted friendly hellos. They asked what I was doing and I said “I used to live here”… then they smiled knowingly and when I got back in the car to drive away they waved. The neighbors were the same as I remembered them to be 35 years ago… In the “D” there’s a certain “big heart” sense that people who have never lived there can never understand!

Saratoga Street

Detroit, MI

Remnants of the upper flat I lived in 1973-75.