Categories
News The Fly-By

What They Said

About “Penny Gives a Million to the University of Memphis,”
by Frank Murtaugh:

“Way to go, Penny. You’re a good guy, dude! Go Tigers!” — rantboy

About “Beijing Bores Me, I’m Ready for Football,” by John Branston:

“I hope you are being sarcastic. Why would I want to watch a game in which the players themselves look unhappy to be playing? The greatest thing about the Olympics is the athletes are so freaking excited to be there. They are giddy! They act like kids at Disneyland.” — cyngriffin

About “City Gets State Grant to Beautify Graceland Area”:

“Finally, it’s about time somebody did something with that forsaken piece of off-ramp. So many tourists think they’ve made a wrong turn when they get off the interstate at Brooks headed for Graceland. The beautification project can’t start soon enough, and there had better be people watching over it to make sure it stays ‘beautified.'” — skipaway2000

And one more comment about Bruce VanWyngarden’s “Letter from the Editor,” discussing “low-information voters,” whom he referred to as “dumbasses”:

“As a dumbass, I gotta tell you, I feel totally susceptible to the empty slogans from both sides. Every day is a flip-flop of emotions from the hope of change to the reassurance of experience.” — westendgirl


Comment of the Week:

About “The Rant,” where Tim Sampson complained about the members of Topeka’s Westboro Baptist Church who picketed Isaac Hayes’ funeral:

“If God truly has a list of things to hate, which I doubt, I imagine the list would be topped and limited to those people or groups that project hatred. Hmmmm. God loves stupid people too.” — nashid

Categories
Opinion Viewpoint

A Reassuring Choice

I saw another man dance with Joe Biden’s wife, Jill. It was almost three years ago, on the terrace of the sublime Villa d’Este on the shore of Italy’s stunning Lake Como, and Biden watched, smiling broadly and sometimes laughing, as the man gracefully moved Jill around the dance floor. It was late, and the guests still there looked on keenly because Jill Biden’s dancing partner was very good-looking and very famous. He was John McCain.

I tell this story to suggest that if anyone — including, of course, Barack Obama — thinks that Joseph Robinette Biden Jr. is going to play the usual role given to a vice presidential candidate, that of hatchet man, then the wrong man has been chosen. Biden is capable of the occasional gaffe, the sentence without end, the piquant but (literally) politically incorrect statement such as the one he made during the primary campaign — Obama is “not yet ready” to be president — but he has the essential decency that once was commonplace in Washington and now, alas, is taken for weakness and lack of proper fervor. Joe Biden is a gentleman.

In choosing Biden, Obama reached into the very heart of the Washington establishment — especially its foreign policy wing. In his many years on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, both as a member and as chairman, Biden has come to know just about all the players. He has been at it so long — elected senator at the ridiculous age of 29 — that then-Captain John McCain (U.S. Navy) was his military aide on some foreign trips. I applaud the choice of Biden, but the one thing he does not represent is change.

In fact, Biden represents the foreign policy consensus that Obama, and especially his followers, opposed — and in the latter case, abhorred. Biden voted for the Iraq war. He based his position on the received wisdom of that time, that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction and needed to be taken out. Biden later recanted, said he made a mistake. But his mistake, he had to add, was predicated on the assumption that President Bush would not rush to war. That was his second mistake.

Yet if Biden was wrong on Iraq, he has been right on so much else — including that military force had to be used in the former Yugoslavia to end ethnic cleansing. He has been right, too, about the dangers of nuclear proliferation — a dull topic of merely life-or-death importance. Over the years, he has been loyal, to his party and to his president, even when that president was as irresponsible as Bill Clinton.

Biden’s selection represents an implied admission by Obama that he lacks what Biden has: foreign policy credentials. In that sense, the Delaware senator does not make the ticket whole. Instead, he calls attention to what it lacks.

A vice president’s only meaningful constitutional obligation is to succeed the president in the event of death or incapacitation. Biden can do that. But his foreign policy experience is almost beside the point. A president has an entire staff dedicated to national security and a national security adviser who, depending on the president, can have more power than the secretary of state.

No, Biden was chosen because, in the end, he satisfied Obama’s apparent desire, if not need, to reassure those who wonder about his youth, his race, his manner, his peripatetic childhood: I’m safe. I’m prudent. I’m thoughtful. I was president of the Harvard Law Review, for crying out loud. On the stump, Obama did not need someone like himself. He felt the need for someone more rooted.

For Obama, the risk in choosing Biden is that he will, sooner or later, throw this highly disciplined campaign off-message. Biden has substituted loquaciousness for the conventional and more colorful weaknesses of politicians. To quote something I once wrote, his mouth is his Achilles’ heel.

In response to that column, Biden called and left a message. He thanked me for the column … he needed to be told the truth … it was good for him … hard to hear, but in the end the sort of thing he needed to know … of course, he had his reasons for going on so long — this was during the confirmation hearing for Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito — since he had things to say … points to make … but, yes, I was right, and he went on too long and he had to do something about that and it was good of me to point it out … Beep! The machine cut him off.

Gotta love someone like that.

Categories
News The Fly-By

Coming to a Couch Near You

Even though gas prices are slowly dropping, travelers still seek cheap accommodations. With the aid of a travelers’ networking site, many Memphians are opening their homes — and their couches — to strangers.

The free site, couchsurfing.com, which launched in 2004, allows travelers to explore available couches in more than 230 countries worldwide and currently boasts over 700,000 registered participants, with more than 100 in Memphis. The cost for sleeping on a couch in a stranger’s home: free.

Activities aren’t limited to travelers though. Participants can sign up to surf, host, or just “meet for coffee or drinks.”

Midtown residents Will Freiman and Ashley Roach have been registered couch surfers since 2006. They moved to Memphis from Hattiesburg, Mississippi, in July. The couple says they had just two surfers in Hattiesburg but have had many more since the move here.

“We’ve hosted nearly 20 surfers in Memphis, seven of those just in the last week,” Freiman says. They’ve hosted surfers from all over the United States, as well as some from Britain, France, and Spain.

Roach says couch surfing isn’t couch-specific, and accommodations can include beds and floors. Some surfers bring their own bedding. Last week, a graduate student from the University of Michigan and first-time couch surfer, Aviva Glaser, surfed Freiman and Roach’s couch on her way home from summer travels.

“I was looking for cheap ways to travel, and this seemed legit,” Glaser said. “It’s an awesome way to explore a new city and meet new people without having to pay for a place to stay. I don’t know anyone here, so as opposed to staying in a hotel, you get an insider view and have people to show you around.”

Glaser admitted she was nervous about crashing on a stranger’s couch, but the site allows participants to browse profiles and read user reviews. Hosts and surfers can also get “verified” by adding a credit card or bank account through which their identity can be confirmed.

Aaron Fowles, a teacher at Kingsbury Middle School, is Memphis’ couch-surfing ambassador. He applied for the position because at the time Memphis had no official “organizing force.”

“Our aim is to spread the word about couch surfing and resolve conflicts,” he says. “Our mission is to build the community of couch surfing. We do this in part by keeping the couch surfers who live in our cities or regions active.”

To enhance activity, Fowles organizes couch-surfer gatherings: “These can be really fun because locals and travelers come together to share stories. No two meetings are ever the same.”

Fowles generally hosts two or three surfers a week and has surfed abroad in South Korea and Canada.

“Couch surfing is liberating,” he says. “It frees us of the fear of strangers and of opening our lives to others.”

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

Cyclists Unite

In 1992, two dozen bicyclists gathered in San Francisco for a ride they called “Commute Clot.” Its purpose was to raise motorists’ awareness of bicyclists and demonstrate that they, too, should be respected on the roadways.

The name later changed to “Critical Mass,” a term from the documentary Return of the Scorcher. It refers to the large numbers of motorists and bicyclists in China who traverse intersections without signals. The traffic congests to the point of “critical mass,” and the mass then passes through the intersection as one.

By the fourth Critical Mass ride in San Francisco, there were 100 participants. The number continued to grow, and today, similar rides, though not always called Critical Mass, occur all over the world, some with up to 1,000 participants, in more than 325 cities. The rides are generally held on the last Friday of the month.

Memphis is one of those cities. Or at least, it’s trying to be. There is no formal event leader or organizer, though there is a blog for the event at memphiscriticalmassblogspot.com, where information on Memphis ride times and locations can be found.

Midtown Bike Company’s general manager Daniel Duckworth has participated in a few of the Memphis Critical Mass rides. “They’ve been as small as 15 [bicyclists] to as many as twice that or more,” Duckworth says. “I imagine it will be growing.”

In bigger cities, the rides have been perceived as protests, with police intervention a common occurrence. Duckworth says Critical Mass riders in Memphis tend to avoid major streets and try not to block traffic. “You’re more noticeable when there’s a group out there, but we try to conduct things in a manner of courtesy,” he says.

Critical Mass Bike Ride, Friday, August 29th, at 6 p.m., starting in Overton Park.

Categories
Music Music Features

Voices of the South

If the Southern melting pot has a sound — and you better believe it does — you can hear it at the Center for Southern Folklore’s Memphis Music & Heritage Festival. That’s where, every year since 1988 (and don’t forget the first one, back in 1982), musicians, artists, dancers, cooks, craftspeople, and, of course, citizens gather to celebrate and express their shared culture. This year’s festival, held Saturday and Sunday, August 30th and 31st, is more diverse than ever, representing what’s going on today, looking to the future, and never losing sight of the past.

“Each year, we give people the chance to sample the richness of Memphis’ musical culture,” says Judy Peiser, co-founder and executive director of the Center for Southern Folklore. “We go to the people like Billy Lee Riley, Eddie Bond, and Sonny Burgess, who have been performing rockabilly since they first recorded at Sun Studio. But then we go to young neo-soul performers like Tonya Dyson, Tim Terry, and Hope Clayburn, who are looking at the music heritage of this area and putting their own spin on it.

“It’s not something like [renowned mule trader and auctioneer] Ray Lum used to call ‘p.m. whiskey’ — it’s not past memories. It’s a chance for you to know the musical history of the area but also to know what’s happening today.”

Spread over five stages at the intersection of Main Street and Peabody Place, the festival will be a one-stop spree for all the senses. You can eat Ella Kizzie’s best-of-all-time peach cobbler while watching the folks moving to the sounds of Bobby Rush or Al Kapone, or you can smell Neely’s barbecue while getting your hands on a knockout painting. Multiply that by north of 100 performers, artists, and food vendors, and your options are almost limitless.

One unique feature of the festival is the Talkers Corner. There you can sit and listen to quilters, musicians, songwriters, radio DJs, beer-brewers, baseball players, and others tell about their lives.

Another calling card is the festival’s family-friendly nature, with puppet shows, music and craft workshops, children’s storytelling, and general PG rating. (This year also features kid-friendly music from Joe Murphy and the Flying Monkey Man Band.)

Yet another calling card is the festival’s emphasis on dance — or, more precisely, spirit. “The dance is amazing,” Peiser says, “because whether it’s square dancing, Chinese, Latin, or drum lines, people show out.”

One new feature this year is FestPass. The festival, as usual, is free. But for a $20 contribution to the Center for Southern Folklore, you get a dollar off all beverages, a 2008 festival poster for half-price, and priority seating, when possible, at the stages.

This year’s festival showcases two notables from recent International Blues Challenges. One is Eden Brent, a blues chanteuse/boogie-piano performer who won the competition in 2006. The other is the Homemade Jamz Blues Band, a set of siblings from Tupelo who were runners-up in 2007. What makes Homemade Jamz special isn’t just their sound but their sound in light of their ages: Ryan Perry (guitar/vocals) is 16; Kyle (bass) is 14; Taya (drums) is 10.

Their father, Renaud, wrote all the songs, save one, on their excellent debut album, Pay Me No Mind, and he handmade Ryan’s guitar from a carburetor.

Can you have the blues if you ain’t even old enough to shave? From the sound of Homemade Jamz, that’d be yes. (Hey, if an Olympic gold-medal-winning gymnast can be only 14, why not a blues bassist?) You can and should check my math when the band plays Sunday evening.

The 2008 festival is dedicated to “Little” Laura Dukes, the diminutive dancer, singer, and ukulele and guitar player who toured with Robert Nighthawk and many Dixieland bands and performed in the Memphis Jug Band with Will Shade and Will Batts. In her honor, two jug bands will be on the bill: the Last Chance Jug Band and Steve Gardner and the Jake Leg Stompers.

“We’re presenting live music for people to enjoy, smile at, reminisce with, and dance to,” Peiser says.

To get you in the mood for this year’s festival, go to the center’s website at southernfolklore.com. There you can watch and listen to clips of performances from festivals past, such as Rufus Thomas tap dancing or Mose Vinson playing “Tell It Like It Is, My Girlfriend Won’t Be Still.”

“It’s great to have an archive,” Peiser says, “but if it’s not accessible and not used, what good is it?”

Of course, like past festivals, this year’s will be documented for future generations. Still, you’re going to want to be there in person. It’s the best vantage point from which to see the horizon of Southern culture, spread out before you, the past blending into the future.

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

Clowny, Clown, Clown

There’s no other actor like Crispin Hellion Glover. Period. End of story. For those who’ve been put off by his antics, that singularity is a good thing. Others, however, can’t get enough.

In the 1980s, he played a handful of mainstream characters, such as the prototypically geekish father of Michael J. Fox’s Marty McFly in Back to the Future. Then things got weird. Sometimes really weird. We’ve since seen him as the hygienically challenged Santa impersonator Jingle Dell, whose underwear was full of cockroaches in David Lynch’s Wild at Heart. He commanded legions of rats in the title role of Willard and, in another title role, vividly portrayed Bartleby, Herman Melville’s absurd scrivener. Most recently, he supplied the pathetic but frightening voice of Grendel, the havoc-wreaking monster in Beowulf.

Glover, who has also tried his hand as a recording artist, made records that were riddles and listed his home phone number on the packaging so people could call in to see if they guessed the answers correctly. He is most infamous, however, for a wacked-out appearance on Late Night with David Letterman in 1987.

Wearing dangerously high stacked shoes and what appeared to be the rattiest wig in all of New York, an agitated Glover announced, “I can kick really high,” before driving Letterman off his own set with his demonstration.

“You want to have dinner with that guy?” Letterman asked the audience, unable to hide his revulsion.

Well? Would you like to have dinner with that guy? Or at least spend an evening with him? Thanks to Black Lodge Video, you can do just that on September 2nd, 3rd, and 4th at the Palace Cinema. Glover will screen some unusual films of his own creation and take questions.

“An Evening with Crispin Hellion Glover,” Palace Cinema, 5117 Old Summer, September 2nd, 3rd, and 4th at 7 p.m. Tickets: $17 advance, $20 day of the show, sold only at Black Lodge Video. For more information, call 272-7744.

Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

Letter from the Editor: Anti-Semitic Chickens

The letter began: “Chicken Journalists are absolutely afraid of the Jews.” It went on to cite “Bruce VanWyngarden, Karanja Ajanaku, Chris Davis, Susan Ellis, Wiley Henry, Wendi Thomas, and Jackson Baker,” among other local journalists, as being too “chicken” to take on the Jews in regards to their “hatred” of Jesus.

The letter was from Rev. George Brooks, the preacher from Murphreesboro whose scurrilous, anti-Semitic fliers were widely circulated during the recent 9th District Democratic primary. I’ve been getting two or three of these things a week since I wrote a column about “low information” voters and Nikki Tinker’s defeat in that race. It seems the good Rev. has taken a personal interest in Memphis affairs.

Brooks’ missive continued: “Many of these chickens have been ringing my phone off the hook for months, wanting to talk with me about Steve Cohen and the ‘Jews Hate Jesus’ newsletters I have been flooding Memphis with.”

He is correct about one thing: We’ve been trying to get in touch with “Rev.” Brooks for weeks. I’ve called several times. He doesn’t answer his phone, ever, even though the number is printed at the bottom of his “newsletters.” His address is a P.O. box number.

The man is gutter slime. He threatens to “expose” who Cohen is “sleeping with” and disparages local journalists because we haven’t asked Cohen to “confess” that he does not believe Jesus is the son of God.

Here’s a newsflash for you, Georgie: Lots of people don’t believe Jesus is the son of God. They’re called members of other faiths — you know, like Buddhists, Muslims, Jews, etc. They don’t have to “confess” that they aren’t Christians. They have a right to live and worship here — and even to hold office. It’s because of a little thing called “freedom of religion.” It’s in the Constitution. You might want to look it up sometime.

And if you’re going to call out me and other journalists by name in that putrid snotrag you call a newsletter, I’ll return the favor: Quit hiding behind a P.O. box and a phone answering machine, George Brooks. Come out into the light. Stand up and voice your opinions like a man — instead of acting like what comes out the rear end of a chicken.

Bruce VanWyngarden

brucev@memphisflyer.com

Categories
Art Art Feature

A Sense of Place

For the past 15 years, photographer Maude Schuyler Clay has been driving Mississippi’s back roads photographing the Delta. In the darkroom of her 100-year-old family homestead in Sumner, she has developed hundreds of images of eroding architecture, misty bayous, small stands of woods, endless rows of crops, and dogs eking out existences from this hardscrabble landscape.

Thirty-five of Clay’s black-and-white photographs make up Perry Nicole Fine Art’s current exhibition, “Delta Dogs.” Miniscule canines run beneath kudzu-choked cypresses and become characters in a play in which the drama of everyday life is dwarfed by what looks, at a distance, like majestically draped cathedrals.

A young muscular black lab standing in ankle-deep bayou water in Clay’s most famous work, Dog in the Fog, also graces the cover of Barry Hannah’s novel Yonder Stands Your Orphan, the title of which was appropriated from lyrics in Bob Dylan’s apocalyptic ballad, “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue.”

As in Dog in the Fog, rich subtexts weave their way through all of Clay’s art. In Lilly Dog, Brazil, Mississippi, a large white dog lies on a lawn in front of the charred remains of a tenant house. Each time Clay drove this stretch of road, she saw the dog patiently waiting for owners who never returned. With her husband, photographer Langdon Clay, their three children, and several pets already at home, Clay usually enlists the help of friends and agencies rather than rescuing dogs herself. Not this time. Clay opened her car door and adopted a Delta orphan she described in an interview as a “Zen-like dog with an old soul.”

At Perry Nicole Fine Art through August 30th

The most riveting work in the Metal Museum’s Artist-in-Residence Show, being hosted by the Jack Robinson Gallery, is Jeannie Tomlinson Saltmarsh’s aluminum casting of baby doll faces, Escaping the Net. The cherubic cheeks, frozen smiles, and empty eye sockets of the dolls’ faces are cast in aluminum and squeezed through a frayed metal mesh to create a viscerally compelling image that suggests being chewed up and spit out.

The work’s title, however, invites a more positive reading — what Tomlinson Saltmarsh describes as “marshalling all of our mental/emotional/physical faculties to push through life’s biggest challenges.”

George Hunt’s Sojourner Truth

This endlessly evocative, unsparing, simultaneously demonic/cherubic image also brings to mind the Tibetan practice of “Bardo” and going beyond desire and delusion, going beyond the terrifying projections of our own minds, and getting off the karmic wheel of cause and effect altogether.

At Jack Robinson Gallery through August 29th

In its summer show, one of D’Edge’s most accomplished painters, George Hunt, fuses folk art with collage and cubism to capture the lined faces and fractured psyches of hard-living bluesmen, gamblers, and juke-joint revelers.

But Hunt’s most moving, iconic work is the 4-by-5-foot portrait Sojourner Truth, portraying the African-American orator who traveled the country in the early 20th century speaking out against the unjust treatment of women and blacks.

Reyna Castano’s The Face of Truth

A mosaic of purples, deep reds, and dark blues move across Sojourner’s proud, passionate face. These colors are repeated in the thick folds of her quilted dress. Around her neck, she wears a large medallion of Abraham Lincoln’s lined, chiseled face.

Monumental in size and theme, Hunt’s portrait of Sojourner and the portrait within the portrait of Lincoln are made more compelling when thoughts turn to our 21st-century leaders, who have become political zealots rather than seekers of the truth.

At D’Edge through September 21st

Joysmith/Sunsum Gallery’s current exhibition, “Driven to Abstraction,” includes 33 works by nine talented artists from Memphis, Denver, New York, Ghana, Ethiopia, and the Dominican Republic.

Noted Mexican artist Reyna Castano counterpoints the buoyant energy and colors that dominate the show with a mixed-media painting that brings to mind the raw concrete work of Swiss architect Le Corbusier and the crumbling facades of Spanish painter Tàpies — two artists whose sensibilities were forged by WWII.

The jagged red line that runs the length of Castano’s painting The Face of Truth, the dark portals that punctuate its crumbling walls and frayed metal grids, and the work’s title all suggest that clues for the destruction are deep within ourselves as well as in the ruins.

At Joysmith/Sunsum through August 31st

Categories
Politics Politics Feature

Getting Started

On Sunday morning, I woke in a Denver hotel room, and, while channel-surfing, discovered Fox News broadcasting a new version of the Fall of Man. While it was not exactly Miltonian in scope (no loss of Eden per se), the network’s treatment certainly had its apocalyptic moments.

There was its reporter, a neat-looking bespectacled young dude who appeared to have been time-traveled from, say, 1957, to the scene of a gathering march whose members, far scruffier by contrast, belonged to the social tableau of roughly a decade later. Like 1967, the age of Dangerous Long-Haired Hippies. Or 1968, to be precise, since the leaders of this demonstration in downtown Denver had explicitly promised to recreate that year of revolutionary ferment and, specifically, to re-do the Democratic-convention chaos of Chicago 1968.

What did I say, Milton? No, Dante, make it. Or how about George Romero? Over the bottom-of-the-screen slug “Leftist Protesters …” something-or-other, the Fox man betook himself into the maelstrom of marchers, extending his portable mike to this one and that, asking each of them in turn what it was they thought they were doing. What ensued had to be a Sunday morning first on prime-time cable.

The response that Foxman got from anyone he approached was threefold. Either “Fuck you!” (unstrained by any seven-second censor) or the middle finger (in several cases, the two-fisted version) or both. (Update: The expletive just mentioned is what I heard; for the record, others heard such variants as “Fuck Fox News” and even “Fuck America” — the latter version appearing in the Fox crawler during a later replay. In any case, the famous four letters went fully voiced — conceivably in all those variations.)

This mise en scene-cum-cacophony went on for a full minute as the young reporter began to resemble some dogged but courageous fool lost in a no-man’s-land as the Fox anchor-lady back in the studio viewed the proceedings with alarm.

“Things are out of control here, as you can see,” he told her.

“Yes, I can see things are out of control there,” she said. And that was but a segue into an even grimmer announcement. “And wait ’til you see what’s going on inside the Pepsi Center itself!” she teased.

All through the commercial break, I — like presumably the millions of others watching at home — wondered: What must be going on inside the arena where the nation’s Democrats would be gathering, beginning Monday, for four days of celebration, culminating with the acceptance address from Barack Obama on Thursday night?

Were orgies taking place inside? Were dark conspiratorial plans being hatched amid Satanic trappings? Just what, Fox lady? I was on the edge of my seat. (Hotel bed, rather.)

In fact, once the break was over, there was no more reference to anything hot and heavy going on in the Pepsi Center. Instead, the Fox lady and her cohort on the anchor desk merely went back to reviewing b-rolls of the End of the Civilized World, as they had just seen it before the break. They then rattled off a list of some of the incendiary presences who were slated to appear at a rally at the end of the ongoing march, and, lo and behold, one whom they lavished several admonitory words on was former Georgia congresswoman Cynthia McKinney, the current presidential nominee of the Green Party USA.

Among the horrors so far inflicted on honest society by McKinney, as the Fox folks reminded us, was her alleged physical assault some years back of a U.S. Capitol policeman who, befuddled by a brand-new Afro hair style she was sporting, stopped her at a congressional checkpoint and challenged her for her ID.

Not long after their tabloid-style treatment of McKinney, the Fox people went on to their wait at Denver’s airport for the arrival of Michelle Obama, wife of the presidential-nominee-to-be. “We hope to be able to ask her about some of her statements in the past,” the reporter at the scene said, referencing, among other things, her reported acknowledgement during the Obamas’ Wunderjahr of these last 12 months that, for the first time in her life, she was genuinely proud to be an American.

That, plus several wry reminders from the Fox reporter on the scene that Michelle Obama was the product of an Eastern Seaboard education, and a repetition of the reporter’s intent: “We intend to stay here and try to get some words with her and see if she has anything to say.” (“… for herself” seemed to be the implied continuation.)

Rotsa ruck, I thought, and decided I’d had enough for one day of the Fair and Balanced network. I turned off the TV and fell to thinking about my own conversation in Memphis last week with a visiting Cynthia McKinney, who was accompanied by the Green Party’s candidate for U.S. Senate, Chris Lugo.

I had sat down with them at the Barnes & Noble store at Wolfchase Galleria for a brief chat, and either McKinney and Lugo were concealing their involvement in what Fox saw as a concerted effort to undermine the Western World and its values or they were in fact calm, reasonable people, possessed of a will to protect the environment, reform the political apparatus, and impose some restraints on what they saw as an unbridled capitalist system that had run amok for the last eight years.

McKinney served two different stints in Congress, and Lugo had so far not made a scratch during his two statewide races to date. Neither had realistic hopes of winning this time around, and there was something both forlorn and heroic about their current effort. Since they could not be said to represent large numbers of people in the body politic, they might even have been regarded as irrelevant — maybe even in the comic, almost vaudevillian way that the Fox folks portrayed such types (as an alternative to their being arch-villains at the gates).

But, as Lugo emphasized, they were taking the first, perhaps tentative steps toward organizing a base of support among public interest groups — a foundation that could give them leverage in the system. Maybe so, maybe no. McKinney and Lugo were, in any case, as intolerant of what might be described as liberal condescension as the people at Fox News were.

Barack Obama? They saw him to be the same old same old — just another sellout to the special interests. McKinney was on hand at Sunday’s rally and during the rest of the proceedings in Denver this week to make that point to whatever audience she might be able to command.

She’ll have trouble. All eyes and all expectations are on the man from Illinois (by way of Hawaii and Indonesia), and, as the Tennessee Democratic chairman Gray Sasser got the first meeting of the state delegation to this year’s party convention under way on Monday morning, that sense of hopefulness (or simply “hope,” as the candidate himself likes to say) was palpable among the delegates.

The speaker at that first breakfast meeting of the delegation was one Fabian Bedne, who is involved, he said, in an outreach effort among Hispanics in Tennessee. His speech was largely a snoozer, as he dragged on through a recitation of policy goals until he happened to be mention the magic word: “Obama.”

That inspired a spontaneous wave of applause — one that was as nothing compared to what the several thousand attendees at Obama’s forthcoming coronation at Envesco Field will experience. Really, right now, the name is just a mantra. We’ll all get a chance to see what the man himself looks like on Thursday night.

And, as for the much-vaunted Clinton floor rebellion that numerous news outlets were ballyhooing (Fox once again in the van), one of the former First Lady’s men, Governor Ed Rendell of Pennsylvania, visited the Tennesseans for breakfast on Tuesday to dispel any such thoughts.

Rendell began by asking for a show of hands. “How many people who originally supported Hillary Clinton do we have here?” he asked. A forest of hands sprouted up. “Well,” he reminded his fellow Hillary devotees, “we had 10 days in which to get mad. Then we needed to get over it.” Barack Obama would be “a great president,” he said, and would push all the policy options that candidate Clinton had called for. “I’m sure of it.”

The long and the short of it was that there were some changes that had to be made, and “we can’t wait five years, we can’t wait eight years” to get about them. So, as far as that lingering Hillary hurt went, Rendell said, raising his voice to an exhortatory pitch and sounding, and even looking, like one of Tony Soprano’s minions:”Forget about it!”

Whether they will, of course, is one of the yet-to-be-answered questions of this election season.

Categories
Editorial Opinion

Presidents in Glass Houses …

Buried in the back pages of the newspapers these past two weeks by the Olympics, and now pushed offstage almost entirely by the Democratic Convention in Denver, the mega-crisis in the Caucasus — where Russia responded earlier this month to Georgian sabre-rattling over ending the autonomy of two ethnic Russian regions within its borders by invading the former Soviet republic — took a turn for the worse Tuesday, when Russian President Dmitry Medvedev formally recognized the “independence” of those regions (South Ossetia and Abkhazia). Predictably, Secretary of State Condi Rice blustered about this “regrettable” move on the part of Medvedev and his mentor, Prime Minister Vladimir Putin, who may well be welcoming these two mini-states into the Russian Federation before the first snows fall on Moscow.

And what can the U.S., as “the world’s only superpower,” do about this blatant violation of international law? Not much, thanks to the fact that our military forces are overextended in Afghanistan and Iraq.

Not that what the Russians are doing is anything less than reprehensible. But when Nicholas Sarkozy, president of France and the EU president, speaks out against the “outrage” of Russia’s bullying of Georgia, the world listens. When the architect of our own country’s miserably flawed foreign policy speaks, the world chuckles.

“The territorial integrity and borders of Georgia must be respected,” pontificated George W. Bush Tuesday. Right you are, Mr. President. Just like you respected the territorial integrity and borders of Iraq in the spring of 2003, launching an equally unprovoked war against an equally sovereign state left equally defenseless against the military might of a stronger power.

There is, however, one important difference between Russian aggression against Georgia and your aggression against Iraq, Mr. Bush: The Russian army is already headed home, while ours is still pounding sand in a country where so much American blood, treasure, and national honor has and continues to be lost.

“Tourists” and their Dollars

Tourism spending is supposed to support the financing of FedExForum, the convention center, the Bass Pro Pyramid, the fairgrounds, Beale Street, and Elvis Presley Boulevard near Graceland. Add to that the day-to-day operations of the Memphis Zoo, the Memphis Redbirds, the Children’s Museum, and many others.

Tourists, in other words, are really loaded. They’re sleeping in $100-$200 hotel rooms, eating expensive meals, and buying $50 tickets. And they’re oblivious to the price of gasoline, unlike the rest of us. The truth, of course, is that “tourism” spending includes a lot of local spending, too. The revenue streams that support our sports and entertainment projects are fed by taxes that would otherwise go into state or local coffers. And if the state rebates the taxes, you can bet someone in Nashville is keeping track and debiting the Memphis account somewhere along the line.

When public officials say they’re building major projects without using general funds or property taxes, they are fudging. The general fund would be more robust and Memphis property taxes — the highest in Tennessee — would be lower if financiers didn’t play their shell games. One way or another, it’s all public tax money.