This year has flown by at the speed of light. Maybe it’s the unending carousel of deadlines that comes with producing a weekly print publication and managing daily web posts and always planning content for the months ahead. Or maybe we’re traveling through some sort of time portal hurtling through space. Whatever the case may be, I’ve taken a look back at my evolving thoughts throughout 2023, which began, in this editorial space apparently, with eggs.
Last January, everyone was bok-bok-ba-gawking at soaring egg prices — upwards of $7 a dozen — and I took a crack at investigating why it was happening. A more complicated answer than inflation, involving “the ongoing conversion to cage-free egg production systems” and a shortage of laying hens after an influx of avian flu.
Within the first 23 days of 2023, though, Memphis suffered much greater pains. The city — and world — was outraged following the brutal beating and death of Tyre Nichols at the hands of MPD officers. In that first month, we also mourned the loss of Memphis icons Gangsta Boo, Lisa Marie Presley, Vincent Astor, and Dr. Charles A. Champion. In February, the Flyer team lost a member of our work family when longtime sales rep and forever bright light Hailey Thomas passed away. A rough start here, to say the least.
By March, after weeks of processing and writing and reading about the weight of it all, I took a brief hiatus, “seeking serenity,” and relocated a while to work from my grandparents’ former residence — a mobile home at the edge of the county line in rural Greenwood, Mississippi. They’d both passed away in 2022, and the land was unoccupied aside from me and an alligator friend who lived in a pond within eyeshot of the front porch. I say friend because it turned out to be quite docile, poking its head up from the water to sun its scutes and offer me daily salutations. Google told me it was in brumation, a form of hibernation, essentially — resting and preparing for the higher activity of the warmer months to come. I decided I, too, was brumating.
In April, beer went woke when Bud Light partnered with trans activist and TikTok sensation Dylan Mulvaney. The nation was astir with boycotts, unknowingly replacing their favorite beer brand with others that — oops — also supported LGBTQ and equality-focused programs. In the midst of it all, Kid Rock shot up a bunch of cans with a semi-automatic. What a time to be alive!
By May, gun violence was top of mind in the aftermath of the controversial expulsion of two Tennessee lawmakers — Justin Pearson and Justin Jones — from the legislature after protesting the issue from the floor of the chamber. And I pondered the negative impression a video that surfaced of Ja Morant flaunting a gun might have on youth.
June was arguably the best month of 2023 for me (and, like January, held much focus on eggs), as I had the opportunity to spend a month house sitting in Midtown and tend to a small flock of hens. Not only was the change in perspective nice, but caring for those lovely, peculiar ladies was a joy. The first week, I mustered the courage to pick up a broody hen and move her from her nesting box, and by month’s end, I petted and picked them up simply because I wanted to. A beautiful bond was built, and I managed to break my own broody mood.
Also in June, a handful of billionaires imploded in a tin can steered by a game controller on a failed Titanic excursion. Again, what a time!
In July, the Supreme Court voted to squash President Biden’s student loan forgiveness plan (bummer), but I was happily writing my third column about chickens as I offered a wrap-up of my Midtown “staycation” and tribute to the five feathered beauties who made my summer (especially, Pancake: I love you, darling!).
In August, a former U.S. intelligence officer testified before Congress that aliens are real. As it turned out, we didn’t really care. I also received my first hate mail, blaming me and the Flyer for all of the city’s crime and “leftist bullshit.” That was fun.
September in Flyer land is all about Best of Memphis — the annual issue in which we celebrate the winners of our all-things-Memphis readers’ poll. In October, I suffered a bout of writer’s block and reflected on the desire to eat berries in the forest rather than fold clothes.
November was the one-year milestone for my editor role — thankful you’ve all tolerated me (and that I haven’t yet received any further hate mail).
December has been a blur as we worked weeks into the future on staggered holiday deadlines, and now, my friends, we’re at the finish line.
I hope this year has been kind to each of you. And a greater hope still is that 2024 is our collective best yet.
Take care of yourselves.
