Month: January 2001

Using $151 each in fake money, the nine members of the Memphis City School Board and Superintendent Johnnie B. Watson prioritized the boards’ goals for the year at their annual retreat.

The elected officials and superintendent met at the Teaching and Learning Center Jan. 26 and 27 to discuss the school system’s challenges for the upcoming year and how they were going to meet those challenges.

After working in small groups to identify areas that needed improvement, the board members individually weighted their concerns with large, photocopied ones, fives, tens, twenties, and hundreds.

Retreat facilitator Steve Allison explained the exercise was important because “we can’t work on all the issues simultaneously to the same degree.” By assigning dollar values, the board could get a more concrete look at what its members felt was most important.

Raising student achievement was its first concern, receiving $612 from the board. Increasing funding got $439 and more parental involvement came in at $193.

Changing the perception of the board got $77 and fiscal management $98.

Some of the commissioners, like newcomer Patrice Robinson, spread their money across the items, while others chose to focus all their money on what they considered key issues.

The casually dressed board members then met in small groups to decide what action to take to meet their goals.

The board, which has previously garnered criticism for not getting along and wasting time squabbling, seemed to enjoy themselves throughout the Friday evening and Saturday morning sessions.

“I think this is a beginning of a new day that will destroy these images of the board not getting along,” said Michael Hooks Jr., vice president of the board.

During a phone-conference meeting introducing her as the new president of the University of Memphis, Dr. Shirley Raines had this to offer: “I want to an extend an invitation. To all the high school students who are deciding on a college in 2001, I want you to join me at the University of Memphis. To the adults who want advanced degrees, then my request is for you to come to the University of Memphis. And to the faculty and staff who are considering positions at our university, my message is to come to the University of Memphis. To the community leaders, my goal is to meet you throughout the city and the entire Mid-South region to tell you about the University of Memphis.”

The confirmation of Raines’ selection as president by Tennessee Board of Regents Chancellor Dr. Charles Manning drew applause from those assembled in the Fogelman Executive Center, where students, faculty, and staff gathered to hear the announcement.

Says Maurice Williams, staff senate president, “I can say that we have a chancellor who is a man of his word. He listened to the faculty and the staff here in Memphis. He heard all our hopes. This is a new day in university history.” Williams went on to say that Raines is “a person who came here with a love and a passion of the University already in her heart.”

Kari Holt, an undergraduate at the University of Memphis, was more guarded in her comments but still optimistic. “I was really surprised with the result,” says Holt, who expected ECU Vice Chancellor Richard Ringeisen to get the nod, and not Raines, who will be the university’s first female president.

In a meeting Tuesday afternoon, Councilman Rickey Peete met with several executives from MLG&W to hammer out new initiatives that all involved hope will ease some Memphians’ high utility bill pains.

The first point in the plan will allow leak relief to customers who have experienced higher than normal water billing due to broken pipes and other leaks this winter.

The second initiative is a Smart Pay system that will allow customers to pay a fixed utility bill each month. Under this program, MLG&W would divide the total amount a customer pays in a year into average monthly payments. The customer would pay the same amount each month. Any additional money that the customer owes MLG&W would be due at the end of the year. If the customer paid too much, the utility would credit the overpay to the next month’s bill.

The most immediately useful initiative is the third plan, which will allow customers who can show a financial hardship to pay the same amount for December and January as they paid for the same months last year. The customer would then have 12 months to pay the balance in installments.

All involved stress that this plan will not be available to every MLG&W customer, but that customers will be considered on a case-by-case basis. In particular, MLG&W expects to extend this option to low-income and fixed-income elderly customers.

“This does not meant that all bills can be extended over 12 months,” says Peete, “because not everybody needs 12 months to pay their bill. We’re asking that everyone be prudent when applying for this so that we can make sure that the most needy and the hardest hit get the help they need.”

Also involved in the design of the three point plan were Council woman Tajuan Stout Mitchell, MLG&W President Herman Morris, and City Council Attorney Allan Wade.

When Wednesday’s episode of “Temptation Island“ came on, viewers got a pleasant surprise: a five-minute voiceover about the rules of the game. During the first two episodes, anyone watching had to just sort of take what came, and assume it was somehow related to the “Are they the one for me?” question.

But they weren’t the only ones. If the viewing audience was in the dark, the four committed couples testing their relationships were in a tomb.

You could see it in their eyes during the first episode when host Mark L. Walberg (not of Boogie Nights) told them that the men and all the single ladies (henceforth known as “the willing women”) would be staying on one side of the Island while their girlfriends and “the single studs” would be on the other. Complete shock. The couples had walked smack into a game they didn’t know how to play.

What Shannon & Andy (together 5 years), Valerie & Kaya (1 1/2 years), Taheed & Ytossie (5 1/2 years), and Mandy & Billy (1 1/2 years) apparently thought they were getting was a sun-filled, fun-filled Caribbean vacation with the opportunity to find out if their long-term relationship would last, or if it could be flung aside at the first glance of someone else’s well-toned flesh. As if all they’d be getting was a glance.

Shannon and Valerie even thought that 13 scantily clad women were going to make their men realize that they were “the one.” Naive? A little. The willing women were picked specifically for the men (Andy said of one woman: “In terms of tempting, she was made-to-order for me”). But then again, Shannon and Valerie didn’t know that the willing women were going to start a pot which would go to the first girl to get some from an already spoken-for fella (wait, isn’t sex for money … ?).

By the third episode (out of six), the committed men and women have figured out what they’re in for and are a little “concerned.” They’ve all gone out on two dates: one blind, one they “picked” themselves. Six singles have been ceremoniously kicked off the Island, “Survivor”-style. And with the exception of Mandy and Billy, no-one’s relationship seems the better or the worse for the Island. But that’s just because their relationships didn’t seem that great to begin with.

The sad part is, Mandy and Billy are the ones you want to make it. Taheed and Ytossie’s relationship is already on so many rocks, it’s a wonder it hasn’t ripped completely to shreds. Shannon, a blond lawyer, deserves someone so much better than Andy (who said that the Island was like “the Pepsi challenge, but with ladies”) that you’re almost hoping he’ll dump her (or even better, the other way around). And Valerie and Kaya seem more like brother and sister.

But Mandy and Billy are puppy love-style affectionate. You want them to go home together. As if that stands a chance of happening.

Mandy has already done body shots with her date and Billy — learning of her indiscretion through the bonfire video viewing (“You chose to come here,” our host reminds us) — goes off to get some retaliatory booty.

Not to mention that the willing women and the sexy studs are being voted off systematically, so that in the end, the field will be narrowed to one sexy single for each person with “whom they will share an exotic final date.” The relationships don’t stand a chance.

It’s just too bad the four couples didn’t realize that to begin with. Even though Mandy and Ytossie (or Kaya, Andy, Billy, and Taheed for that matter) didn’t come down to the Island so they’d hear wedding bells in their future, they still sort of assumed that they’d still be together after all was said and done. And the way things are going now, it doesn’t look like anyone will be together in the end.

Which, when you get right down to it, is maybe why people are still watching.

But a tip for your own happiness: If a Fox executive comes to your door, run away. That, and never play a game you don’t know the rules to, especially if you’re going to be on an Island, screwing people over and voting people off. Someone’s bound to get hurt.

Let’s just hope the “Survivor Two” participants don’t know that.

When Memphis Light Gas and Water announced that it was borrowing $50 million last week because of the soaring cost of natural gas, it raised a few eyebrows at the Memphis City Council, which will consider the proposal on February 6th.

MLGW is financially rock solid, with some $220 million in investments and another $1.015 billion in its pension fund. Moreover, last year its board voted to take $20 million from its electric division and give it to Memphis Networx to start a telecom project.

So why the unprecedented borrowing?

“Each of the three divisions has to stand on its own,” said Mark Winfield, manager of budgeting, plants, and rates for MLGW. “It’s almost like three separate companies.”

Winfield says both the utility’s charter and the Tennessee Valley Authority are specific on that point, so much so that his own pay is split between the three divisions. Even if it were possible for one division to make a loan to another, it would have to be an arms-length transaction at market interest rates. And MLGW is getting “a very good rate” — under five percent — on its 90-day loan.

At the end of last November, MLGW had cash balances of $72.6 million in the electric division and $30 million in the water division. But those will be drawn down when usage increases during the summer months, Winfield said.

As for the billion-dollar pension fund, Winfield said any loan would have to be approved by the pension board, and there are restrictions about what the fund can invest in.

“The pension fund is most likely making more than that (5 percent) on their investment,”he said.

Memphis Networx is a partnership with private investors. The $20 million loan was done under a state law that set up telecommunications as a subdivision of the electric division. It also required approval of the TVA and the Tennessee comptroller.

“I’m a boob guy,” a friend offered when I ran into him at a popular downtown bar. He’d just come from Silk and Lace, the much-hyped new club featuring bikini’d waitresses that’s got Harper Valley‘s panties in a bunch.

“And I’ve got to say,” he went on, “the bikini tops were small, but the bottoms were, like, really, really small.” Apparently a little too small for the anatomy involved. Unable to put his dismay into words, he held his hands out wide, as if holding a large watermelon.

“And the lights. Oh man, the lights … “ His voice trailed off as he recalled the trauma. Goldschlager, stat! He was more than disappointed; he was fast sinking into depression.

“I really thought it was going to be great,” he uttered as I swabbed his forehead and assured him that seeing near-naked ladies live can be scary. It was a clear-cut case of post-trashy-stripper syndrome. I prescribed a week of Internet porn, 7-Up, and saltines.

I figured I could best empathize with this damaged dude if I experienced his nightmare. Flyer reporters Mary Cashiola and Rebekah Gleaves agreed to join me to check out Cotton Row’s latest blemish. We’d all seen the bistro’s hotties gracing the front page of last Friday’s Commercial Appeal and realized we were apparently missing one of the most important stories in Memphis.

We would face the light, but not look directly at it.

Good advice, really, when enjoying a wee nip at Silk and Lace. If this joint isn’t of the strip variety, I must be missing the point. On a small black stage a girl as pale as the recently fallen snow danced (read: thrust her pelvis in and out) to a hard-core rap song, aiming her Target-suited backside to the audience. A strobe light embedded in the floor shone upward between her legs like a heat-seeking missile, magnifying every scratch, scar, and dimpled chad.

Struck momentarily catatonic by Silk and Lace’s unfiltered cheese, I snapped back to reality when I spotted two attorneys I know. We had a “You’re here. We’re here. It’s cool so don’t make a big deal” moment. I probably wouldn’t have noticed them if the place hadn’t been half- empty. Seating was still limited, however.

“Ooh, the only space available is ass-side,” Rebekah said, reluctantly leading us to a table between three excited boys who kept jumping up from their seats like Robin Williams and three gruff trucker-types fondling their beer bottles.

It occurred to me that the sole advantage of a place like this is that dressed women will not be ogled no matter how good-looking they are. The men are too distracted. We ordered a few non-sissy drinks and didn’t say much. Top 40 songs boomed and a woman dressed like a Dynasty extra in a red rayon blazer and a black fedora placed a high-heeled foot on the stairs of the stage to begin her number.

Just as something Steinem stirred in my gut, Rebekah had an idea that convinced me she is meant for investigative journalism. We would get job applications.

Mary laughed, but I could tell she wanted to leave.

Why I turned my head then, I’ll never know. But I made the mistake of looking directly at the light and had flashbacks of the time I accidentally caught my grandmother getting out of the bathtub.

Daisy, our friendly waitress, answered our questions about how much she made and what it was like working at Silk and Lace. She seemed pleased with her three days at the gig and reported that she made $75 a night, sometimes more.

“Do ya’ll work at Platinum?” she asked.

Yeah, sweetheart, we’re spies who’ve taped our double D’s down for the evening.

Daisy tells us that we could work there and asks if we would we like to see the boss. Though I was picturing a scabrous, gut-heavy man chewing on a cheap cigar who would leer over us, inspecting our “talent,” a petite woman who looked like a soccer mom came to our table. She was warm and self-effacing, saying that she wanted to host a Harley party because “everyone in town is pissed at us anyway.” She told us that Silk and Lace’s barbecue is better than anything she’s ever tasted. I was ready to strap on an apron right there. But our interview wasn’t over. We followed her downstairs and were introduced to the boss.

He chewed on a cigar, living up to my stereotype. As he sifted through a messy collection of applications, Polaroids attached, he asked the three of us if we had dancing experience. Um, well … He assured us that it didn’t matter. Dancers “make $250 a night,” he said.

“I need a Wonder Woman, a Catwoman, and that lady who wears a New York baseball cap,” he growled. The boss then cracked an astoundingly funny breast-feeding joke.

I was so very charmed I didn’t want to leave. He told us to come in Sunday afternoon and audition for him. Rebekah promised she’d drop by after church.

A job at Silk and Lace would be pretty cushy, all right. If the guy on the second floor videotaping the girls would do what Daisy had hoped for Ñ “Put us on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos!’”– then I’m certain great things are in store for them.

Call me a backward feminist. I don’t care if women want to show their boobs to feed their families. It’s obvious self-exploitation works in America if you’re smart enough to look good doing it. Disciplined opportunists like Darva Conger and Linda Tripp cashed in on their 15 minutes and headed to the make-over doctors. And yes, they may be the butt of a lot of jokes, but at least they knew enough to keep their own butts far away from a strobe light.

With the opening of The Iron Chef restaurant at 5529 Summer, you now have the chance to see exactly what TV’s culinary masters are up against. The restaurant features the Pan-Asian cuisine of Myung Sook Lee, one of only three chefs in the U.S. ever invited to compete on the Iron Chef competition, which is syndicated from Japanese television and has developed quite a cult following here in America. Lee and her staff offer a tempting array of dishes that highlight her unique combination of Japanese, Korean, and American influences.

When asked to challenge Chef Chin (the Iron Chef‘s original — and still — cooking master) in 1995, Lee was well-prepared. The chef studied in her native Korea, as well as Japan and the United States. Lee opened her first restaurant, Hanilkoan (meaning “fusion cuisine inn”), in Osaka, Japan, in 1986.

The setting of The Iron Chef restaurant is relatively void of the theatrics associated with the popular Japanese game show, allowing its patrons to enjoy their meals without the element of a running clock. It’s set up in a buffet-style, rather far off from Kaga Takeshi‘s castle on TV, but the kitchen is strategically placed in full view of the hungry clients. One can watch and salivate as dish after dish is prepared seemingly without pause. What’s missing are flying dishes and pans and color commentary that add drama to the Iron Chef TV show. The focus of Lee’s establishment is clearly the food. Her Korean barbecued short ribs, Lee’s signature dish, should serve as an interesting addition to the mythos of Memphis barbecue. The menu also offers sushi, Saigon rolls, homemade tofu, Korean salad, and beef, fish, and vegetables dishes.

BOMBAY — India is driven by commerce. Despite its widespread poverty, Indians buy and sell everywhere – on the streets, in their homes, in stores and tiny stalls, even in the middle of traffic.

Once the doorbell rang in the Bombay apartment where we are staying with family. It was after 10 p.m. When I looked out the peep hole and described the old woman in a sari I saw in the hallway the people inside just laughed. Apparently they had encountered her before. She was selling sleepwear – lingerie – door-to-door.

Every morning we are awakened by a cacophony, which includes car and truck horns, crows cawing, and the sing-song shouts of hawkers outside the apartment selling fruits and vegetables from hand-pushed carts. In the amazing tangle that is Bombay traffic we were offered toys, flowers, books, magazines, and miniature Indian flags (January 26 is Independence Day). Outside even the most up-scale shops, vendors set up shop selling every imaginable sundry. There are even people on the street that will shine your shoes, give you a shave, or clean your ears.

Then there was the rat trap salesman in Hyderabad.

My father-in-law operates a liquor store that was owned by his father before him. One day during our stay in Hyderabad, I noticed a man outside the shop with some unusual wares. On closer inspection, I saw that he was selling all kinds of rat traps and rodent poisons. He had humane traps (both wooden and metal) for catching the rats alive and the more traditional metal traps that break the rodent’s neck.

It was an impressive array of goods and I stopped to look more closely. The man, who had very dark skin and appeared to be in his thirties, smiled at me. I returned the smile. By this time I had learned to avoid the frustrating dance of two people who don’t speak the same language. Since I didn’t speak Telugu or Hindi and he didn’t know English, we were confined to smiling at each other and making the universal signs of greetings. We nodded a lot.

I found myself watching the rat trap salesman as he went about his daily chore of laying his rug down on the sidewalk and then putting out his display in an orderly fashion. He didn’t hawk, but waited for an interested customer and then began the inevitable haggling. We continued to smile at each other as I went to and from the house (which is above the store).

The night before we left Hyderabad to return to Bombay one of the relatives who works in the store told me at dinner that the rat trap salesman wanted to come back with me to the United States. He had assured the relative that he would be no trouble to me and that he would be available to do any chores I wished him to perform both at my home and in my office.

Because there are so many people in India and so few jobs available. There are people who do all kind of work. A middle-class family can easily afford someone who cooks for them, another person comes to the house to clean the floors and make the beds, another to wash the clothes (this man is called the “dobhi“). Likewise it is affordable to have someone drive your car (or wash it), bring you a newspaper, or run your errands. This is the world the rat trap salesman visualized; this is the world he knows.

The next day, I gave him a 100 rupee note — about two U.S. dollars. (I had originally wanted to buy one of his wooden traps, but decided it would be too cumbersome to bring back.) He smiled. I smiled.

When it came time to load the cars for the trip to the train station, I shook his hand before getting into the car. From the front seat, I could see him deliberating. Finally, just before the car pulled off, he handed me a note. It read:

Respected Sir,

I wont to go to America with you. My passport is ready. I shall feel oblige if you kindly arrange for a “visa.” I can work at your office or at your house also.

Thank you.

He did not include his name. He obviously had gone to great lengths to get the note written. He couldn’t have known many people who could write English. Still at the last minute he could not decide whether or not to present it to me.

I wish I could have talked to him, explained the many reasons why he could not go back with me. But the car was pulling off. There was only time for one more universal sign. I shrugged.

That night as dusk settled on the country side along the train tracks, as shepherds drove their goats wherever it is that goats go at night, I thought about the rat trap salesman and how different his world is from mine. I felt sad — for both of us.