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09/20/2004: "Rise of the Creative Asshole"
Somewhere, deep in the back of my brain, claws the nagging knowledge that,
had I put forth just a little effort, I could've stopped it. Just as,
somewhere in my heart, lurks the feeling that I should've at least tried
to stop it.
I could've organized a protest - some sort of sit in. Other groups had
similar ideas, and planned to block the doors. Would that have really
stopped it, or just provided it with its very sustenance - publicity? I
could've been more vocal in explaining to people why it was a bad idea and
why shouldn't have welcomed it. I could've written editorials, called in
to radio shows, or distributed flyers. But I was preoccupied by such
banalities as paying my rent and putting food on my table that I never got
my ass in gear. Maybe I'm deluding myself. Maybe it could've never been
halted in its cloven tracks. Maybe it was inevitable - like an earthquake.
By "it", I of course mean the production of MTV's The Real World XV
- Philadelphia. The toehold of the invasion of Olde City by assholes.
Of course, years from now, when blame is assigned, I'm certain that
there'll be no finger-pointing in my direction. By now, most people know
that, despite a rumor to the contrary, it wasn't a little stunt of mine
that imbedded the idea of using Philly as a backdrop in the tiny,
reptilian brains of the suits at MTV.
No, someday, in the near future, when a members of the Committee on Just
How Things Turned Out So Shitty are scratching there balding heads and
looking for someone to pin the blame on, one name will simultaneously
appear on their lips - Florida.
Not the state of Florida, although The Disney Corporation has been
responsible for some of Philly's woes. No, I'm talking about Richard
Florida, the fellow who wrote the book The Rise of the Creative
Class.
It was Mr. Florida who put forth the idea of "creative capital". In a
nutshell, Dick's theory is "creative types" (Gays, artists, performers,
Gay performance-artists) are the canaries in the coalmine of economic
development. These groups move into decaying urban areas and breathe new
life (Culturally and economically) into them.
Once these former urban wastelands are transformed into little Bohemias,
white collar workers (usually in the computer industry) flood into the
area which then becomes a sort of Utopia of the New Economy.
This theory has won many converts on city councils throughout the nation.
That's why you're starting to see cities actually promote "Artistic
neighborhoods", a type of pre-zoned anti-authoritarian land, if you will.
Or, as my wife has christened it "Faux SoHo." It's as if the in the early
50's, City of New York would've put up signs in Greenwich Village that read
"Beatniks only, please."
This begs the question, did your ancestors come to this country because
they heard that there were opportunities here for working people, or because
of their interest in Avant Garde theater. Yeah, I thought so.
Which brings us to Olde City and The Real World.
A few years back, Olde City began to develop a reputation as the new "hip"
neighborhood in the city. Slowly, at first, the empty storefronts began to
morph into trendy art galleries. And everyone agreed that this was a good
thing, because anyone could get into these galleries.
Next the theaters and the Fringe festival came to Olde City and, once
again, everyone agreed that this was a good thing, because anyone could
get go to the theater or attend the Fringe festival.
The, like mushrooms sprouting on a pile of shit, ultra-hip restaurants and
clubs began to appear. And the owners of these restaurants and clubs agreed
that this was a good thing, because only the "right sort of people" could
get in. Pretty soon crowds where flocking to Olde City's hot spots to catch
a glimpse of the Sixers' Alan Iverson. And, as any Philadelphian will tell
you, wherever AI goes, gunfire follows.
Just when it seemed that Olde City couldn't possibly become more annoying,
The Ducks arrived. The Ducks are amphibious vehicles that ferry tourists,
40 at a time, though Olde City and into the Delaware River. Children who
ride The Ducks are provided with plastic duck bills which make a quaking
sound whenever the kids blow into them. And those kids blow into them a lot.
The Ducks provide suburbanites with a safe* way to explore the city. In the
past, if these folks wanted explore Philadelphia, they were forced to do
so on foot, often encountering the smell of urine and the homeless. Today,
thanks to The Ducks, the entire family is sequestered high above all that
urban unpleasantness while eardrum pounding music and the constant sound
of children quacking drown out the rants of insane street people.
Of course, nothing ever turns into an official debacle until the Mayor's
brother, Milton, joins in the fun.
And so we come to Anonymous' Law of Gentrification: Fist come the
"creative types", then come the "creative type" -wannabees, then come the
Assholes (and nothing attracts Assholes like The Real World). Then
the "creative types" leave.
Five years from now, Olde City will once again be an urban wasteland, but
a wasteland of a different sort. The galleries will be gone, replaced by
Disney-esque theme eateries and kitschy clothing store where neither you
nor I can afford to shop.
And that's why, whenever someone tells me that I shouldn't get so upset
about The Real World because, after all, it's just a TV show, I
remind them that The Rise of the Creative Class is just a book.
OK, you know the drill - no criticisms without offering solutions. And, in
this case, the solution is pretty simple. The people of Olde City
should've had the right to vote on rather or not their section of town
would be turned into a yuppie Disneyworld.
No one asked them if they wanted Ducks thundering down their streets, or
if they wanted seven strangers to find out what happens when people stop
being polite and start being real in their backyard.
In America everybody should have a right to make a buck, but not if making
that buck means the death of a neighborhood.
* Well, maybe not that safe. On the 30th of June, 2001, the amphibious
vehicle Lady Duck began taking on water in the Ottawa River.
Although all eight passengers and the tour guide managed to swim to safety,
the Duck later capsized and sank.
Volume One, Numer Two in the RATYHTL series of Trading Cards.
