It all started with him asking my what I do- I explained that I'm waiting for my visa to process- headed to Korea- and that I can't really get a job with my degree (which, after hearing that it was a Bachelor's in Art History, he laughed and said that I have a degree in cocktail party conversation).

After talking a while about art, and the lack of it these days, I discovered that my cab driver was, in fact, a classical flautist. Forty-five years, he told me, and he couldn't find a place to play around Detroit that would pay; interesting people who drive cabs in Detroit- they all seem to be either artists or musicians, all out-of-work.

After a moment of silence, I commented on the construction that seems to be taking place all over the city, and never seems to be finished. He smiled knowingly- his smile was one of experience, worn but genuine- and said that the people who run the city should know better. 'Building these kinds of buildings, putting up new lofts and bringing in businesses for those computer people, that won't help Detroit. That won't bring the kind of people this city needs to get better.'

Now, I have to admit here that I was genuinely excited to hear that Compuware is based in Detroit and that Google recently moved its headquarters to Ann Arbor, so I was somewhat confused when he said this. 'What do you mean?' I asked as conspicuously as possible, hoping that he wouldn't notice the note of disappointment in my voice.

We started talking about Detroit, and why it's falling apart... he basically thought it was because everyone here has forgotten the importance of art (told me the story of a man who discovered the ruins of Sodom and Gomorrah and subsequently destroyed them, saying that there were two reasons: because the drawing and writings he found on the ruins were too disturbing, and, more importantly, that the main thing he noticed about the obsolete society was that there were absolutely no signs of art)... Finally, after laughing about the fact that we're both trying to make a living from our love for art, and we ended up both finding other work that barely pays the bills, he said that he would sell out and make lots of money if he could- take a job in something that he doesn't believe in so he can live better- but he wouldn't be able to sleep at night.

He told me to be careful of the company that I keep, and to cut ties as cleanly as possible when I need to cut ties. 'The heart is a funny thing,' he said, chuckling to himself as he glanced at me in his rearview mirror. 'It only has so much space, and you gotta keep it open for the new things. You can't hold on to old feelings, because then you can't fit anything new.'

He smiled. It was true.

I sometimes get caught up in the fact that every generation is more open-minded than the last; I take for granted the fact that I really had a very liberal upbringing.

When we moved to our first house, in Roseville, the neighborhood was full of cookie-cutter houses, except for our own- the original farmhouse. The neighbors to our left were two beautiful women, who- until my mom brought it up again last week- I thought of as 'roommates.'

We lived next door to a lesbians. Lesbians. And my mom loved it, because she never had to worry about my dad, the handyman, when he was over their house fixing a sink or hanging a new light.

It's funny how the older we get, the more we think we're going to turn into our parents. I always dreaded that, but now I realize that I've been like them all along.