Author: Jen Clarke

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Opinion The Last Word

Louisville’s Kentucky Derby Festival Offers Lessons for Memphis

CREDIT: Louisville CVB

I visited Louisville for the first time last weekend to run in the Kentucky Derby Festival Marathon. Stay there. Before you close your browser or throw your paper in the recycling bin, I swear this isn’t about running. I’m just setting the scene. Anyway, Louisville wasn’t exactly on my bucket list, but I wanted a race in late April or early May within driving distance. There was a race in Nashville the same weekend, but this is a hobby. The hills and humidity, with NFL Draft bros folded into the usual mix of pedal taverns and interstate chaos do not match my definition of fun, so I continued north up I-65.

My preexisting knowledge of Louisville comprised three things: bourbon, horses, and a college basketball rivalry that predates my existence. What I discovered was a comfortably sized city next to a river, with a couple of cool bridges and some friendly people. I felt a kinship. Sorry, basketball old-timers, they’re like us.

Louisville CVB

Water park feature in Louisville’s Waterfront Park.

Granted, I was only among them for a weekend. They could excel at first impressions and Southern fake-nice. But my presumptions about bourbon and horses proved accurate: It’s a city that is Proud of Their Thing. Sound familiar?

The marathon is a week before the Kentucky Derby. I had assumed it was part of a Derby Week kickoff of sorts, but it turns out those folks have been partying for about a month. The Kentucky Derby Festival is, I suppose, Louisville’s Mardi Gras. Or some other month-long celebration of a city’s cultural identity and stuff.

The race started in Downtown Louisville, passed through Churchill Downs, and finished in Waterfront Park. Waterfront Park overlooks the Ohio River. A mile-long railroad bridge, converted for pedestrians and cyclists, connects the park to Indiana on the other side. I’ve seen similar in other cities, with one notable example. During the festival, the park is home to the “Kroger Fest-a-Ville,” with food vendors, music stages, bars, and beer gardens.

The Fest-a-Ville hosted a kickball game, a yoga class, a wrestling competition, two concerts, a rubber duck derby, a drag show brunch, and a fitness expo — just while I was in town. After the festival, the park no doubt returns to its regular programming: a riverside gathering spot with bike tours, food carts, summer concerts, a playground and splash pad for kids, an old steamboat, and gorgeous sunset views.

Waterfront Park is not the festival’s only venue, of course — the big to-do is at Churchill Downs — but wouldn’t it be silly to limit the festivities to one location? After all, it’s a celebration of the community, not just an 80-acre sliver of Downtown. Louisville Slugger Field (add those baseball bats to the list of Louisville pride points) hosts a food festival. Hot air balloons race from Bowman Field Airport. Drum lines perform in the Louisville Palace theater. I think I saw that there are 70 events in all, with something for just about everyone.

By this point, I hope you’ve figured out that this isn’t about my weekend trip to Louisville. It’s May now, and a month we’ve long associated with celebrating Memphis is still tainted by uncertainty and pettiness regarding the future of our riverfront park and the Memphis in May International Festival.

We can recognize the festival’s contributions — from its role in Downtown’s revival to the enduring economic impact — while acknowledging that Tom Lee Park’s potential is shamefully unmined. Maybe we can also approach the possibility that Memphis in May’s two cornerstone events have already outgrown the park, and this is an opportunity to evolve a little. Those barbecue “tents” can only get so tall, right? The Beale Street Music Festival can’t bring the big acts people want to see, without the space to accommodate their fans. Maybe more Memphians can participate and feel included if the festival’s footprint expands or moves.

Memphis in May can become more than Tom Lee Park, and vice versa. I’ve seen the possibilities with my own eyes. When both sides can come together on a way to make it happen, there may be some compromising and adapting — but just because something has “worked” for a long time, doesn’t mean it cannot improve.

Jen Clarke is a digital marketing specialist and an unapologetic Memphian.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Snow Cones and Nazis: Twitter Keyboard Commandoes Strike Again

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

The billionaire Reimann family — owners of Krispy Kreme, Einstein Bros. Bagels, Panera Bread, Dr. Pepper, Stumptown Coffee, and a long list of other brands in your pantry and bathroom cabinet — recently confessed that their progenitor was a straight-up Nazi. Albert and Albert Jr., who died in 1954 and 1984, respectively, didn’t speak of those days. The Reimann heirs believed a 1978 report had uncovered all there was to see about their family’s Nazi past.

They maintained that they were “reluctant” employers of slaves and prisoners of war in their chemical plants: That was the cost of doing business back then. Further research, commissioned by the family a few years ago, revealed otherwise. Father and son were avowed anti-Semites and early donors to the SS. Huge Hitler fans.

“They belonged in prison,” a family spokesman told German newspaper Bild. The Reimanns pledged to donate $11 million to charity after learning the extent of their ancestors’ crimes.

“Never get another dollar from me again,” one Twitter user said. “And I bet I’m not alone.”

Others: “Oh well, another business I don’t have [sic] patronize.”

“You have no loyalty and made a lot of enemies.”

“Never buying a snow cone from y’all again.”

Okay, wait. My bad. I must have gotten my notes mixed up. Those quotes aren’t about the Nazi bagel family. That story barely registered a blip on the outrage meter; I stumbled across it five levels deep into the Washington Post app.

Justin Fox Burks

Tennessee traitors? Nope, it’s Jerry’s Sno Cones.

No, those comments were a sampling of responses to locally beloved icy treat purveyor Jerry’s Sno Cones after they tweeted a picture of an orange UT-themed Jerry’s shirt with good luck wishes for the Volunteers in the NCAA Tournament. For this apparent mortal sin, a small army of snow cone snowflakes masquerading as “real Tiger fans” bullied @ConesJerry into deactivating their account.

If you weren’t convinced by now that Twitter has outlived its usefulness as a medium for polite and reasonable conversation, re-read the sentence above. It’s the most embarrassing thing a handful of people has done in the name of “Tiger Nation” since the Calipari lawn vigil a decade ago.

I only wish the person running the account — probably some teenage employee trying to build a portfolio for job applications — had been empowered to respond appropriately: “We’ll sure miss you in the line this summer, @TiptonTyger5892335. We hate to lose a regular.” Or “When the Tigers make the tournament, we’ll post something for them, too.” They could have turned off notifications and deleted the app for a few days. Shortly after Jerry’s was “canceled,” Purdue sent the Vols and their orange-and-white trousers back to Knoxville.

Twitter is the only place where acknowledging the existence of other universities in the state is viewed with frothing rage as an affront to “901 loyalty,” because who would say that out loud? That’s the beauty/agony of the platform. You don’t even have to consider whether your tweet is thoughtful, right, or stable. Just chuck it like a Frisbee and hope someone catches it. And if someone calls you out for saying something ridiculous? Well, they need to learn how to take a joke. I swear, for every connection I’ve made on that website, there are at least two asinine takes I wish I’d never read.

Want to be angry at a business? There are so many to choose from, and so many legitimate reasons. Get mad that one chicken restaurant can’t stop bankrolling anti-LGBTQ organizations or disrupting traffic on Poplar. Stay forever mad that one family owns almost every bagel and coffee chain in America — a fact that depressed me before I learned they’re a couple generations removed from actual Nazis. Look around and observe all the conveniently timed exterior projects in Memphis: How many companies could have spent their tax cuts on payroll and hiring, but opted to paint the building gray instead? Shake your fist at pay inequality, crappy family leave policies, CEO compensation, and all the other gross side effects of capitalism. Instead folks are pitching fits over a snow cone stand and an orange T-shirt. Very cool.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing specialist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Should We Ban Smoking on Beale Street?

CREDIT: Beale Street Merchants Association

Remember when Tennessee banned smoking inside public places? I do. It was 2007. I was working in a restaurant and, relatedly, a smoker. The Non-Smoker Protection Act forced some businesses to choose an identity: Is this a bar that serves food or a restaurant that serves drinks? No longer could a partition between “smoking” and “non-smoking” areas permit establishments to be all things to all people. Restaurants and bars could — and still can — allow smoking inside, but only if they’re age-restricted to 21-plus, all the time.

The bar where I worked had a well-crafted 21-and-up sort of vibe, so it wasn’t impacted much. But as a patron, I simply adjusted. We chose smoking bars when we went out. Or we dutifully huddled outside when cravings called, careful to stand a few feet from the door. I never viewed the ban as an affront to liberty — the effects of secondhand smoke had been long known. It was just annoying. That meant the law was doing its job. As far as I can tell, the recession probably killed more restaurants than smoking bans did.

Beale Street Merchants Association

Beale Street

Culture changed. The Camel representatives stopped showing up with free packs of cigarettes for anyone with a valid ID — disappointing in the moment, but an unconscionable practice in hindsight. The ghosts of thousands of cigarettes escaped from the walls of newly smoke-free restaurants. The air got cleaner, and dining out became a more pleasant experience. I had expected the choice to go smoke-free would doom the Young Avenue Deli, but I learned their famous cheese fries were better without a fine layer of ash on top. As it turns out, smell is an essential complement to taste!

As a now-former smoker, I kinda like not smelling like other people’s cigarettes. And more than a decade later, it’s much harder to find a restaurant or bar that allows smoking indoors. Unless you’re on Beale Street.

It feels so weird and anachronistic to walk into a Beale Street bar before a basketball game and see ashtrays on all the tables. Like, are they for hot wing bones? It’s 2019. Instead of carding families at the door when they try to pop in at 11 a.m. on a Saturday for some pregame nachos, wouldn’t it be easier to send smokers to the patio? They know the drill by now. More than 80 percent of the U.S. population lives in an area where smoking is banned in public places. Our visitors won’t be offended. Lunch business might improve, too. Long shot here, but maybe folks would be more inclined to stay inside on those summer stampede nights if the air’s not as toxic.

I don’t have access to this kind of data, but I am not sure “tourists who see a smoky bar and say, ‘Heck yeah, this is my kind of place'” is a niche worth pursuing anymore. Not at the expense of the health and comfort of the 86 percent of the population (according to the CDC) that doesn’t smoke.

Consider the musicians in the bands, who need to use their voices and breath to create the sounds that tourists come to hear. Think of the employees who can’t afford to take sick time because they work for tips. Sure, plenty of those people smoke. But an hourly break and an eight-hour shift of continuous smoke inhalation are not the same.

For a destination that’s relentlessly promoted by state and local tourism boards, shouldn’t the atmosphere be a little more welcoming? Oddly, the state law preempts cities from enacting their own regulations on smoking in public. Before my smoking friends approach with torches and pitchforks, our beloved dives are safe. But as Memphis and Nashville are on a short list of cities across the entire country where smoking in bars is still a thing, perhaps the law is worth revisiting to exclude entertainment districts like Beale and Broadway from the exemption. Or, you know, bars could get with the times.

Jen Clarke is a digital marketing specialist and an unabashed Memphian.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

What’s the Matter With Memphis? Time to Reconsider PILOTS

Parts of Thomas Frank’s What’s the Matter with Kansas?, a cheeky exploration of voters’ tendency to undermine their own self-interests, hold up better than others. Especially in this political era, I’m not sure if latté liberals’ fancy vocabularies drove working-class “values voters” into the arms of tax-spurning billionaire deregulators as much as Frank believed. And by using Kansas, a state whose population is 5 percent African-American, to illustrate his “backlash” phenomenon, Frank was able to conveniently ignore the large and growing segment of working-class Americans who still vote blue.

Whether by intention or not, the book’s enduring message comes in a critique of neoliberal policies — deregulation, union-busting, and the practice of luring businesses with economic incentives in the name of “job creation” — that are largely tolerated, despite their toxicity. It’s as if people stop listening when they hear “job creation” — just don’t tell them how much they’ll pay or who’s footing the bill for this “investment.”

I’ve been thinking about that critique a lot since Electrolux announced it would be shuttering its plant, well before the expiration of its PILOT agreement. Why was such a risky deal pushed through so quickly? Where was the outrage over the lack of of a clawback provision? The sub-optimal salaries? The $40 million commitment from the city and county? Were we so drunk on job juice that no one spoke up?

I’m no economist, but it was one-sided from the start. It’s a deal bad enough to make even Chris Wallace cringe. Sure, there was skepticism in 2011, after the deal was done and the shovels-and-hard-hats photo op had already taken place. But the jobs were the lede. The ugly details weren’t in the press release.
When the deal was announced, the unemployment rate in Shelby County was about 10 percent. For context, it was 3.6 percent in December. The hope, no doubt, was that a well-known brand and 3,000 new jobs would accelerate recovery from the recession. If the city, county, and state didn’t make the commitment, someone else would. That was the cost of doing business. Incentives are a necessary evil.

If that’s so, how do we prevent this from happening again? And who else is preparing to weigh anchor before the tax bill comes due? How much of the momentum I keep hearing about is fueled by property taxes?

Back to Kansas for a moment: Kansas City, Missouri, and Kansas City, Kansas, were engaged for years in a race to the bottom for taxpayer-funded business investment. Companies would take short-term leases to leverage a sweeter incentive package across the river. Over a five-year period, according to a Hall Family Foundation study, Kansas and Missouri gave up $200 million in tax revenue for 400 jobs. Kansas had paid $340,000 per job. In 2011, an alliance of Kansas City businesses petitioned both states’ governors to figure out a better way.

Yes, this was happening as Memphis, Shelby County, and Tennessee were filling a vault with coins for Electrolux to dive into, Scrooge McDuck-style. Set that aside for a moment. It was the businesses who said, “This isn’t really helping us as much as you think.” The so-called border war became so costly, both states — Missouri in 2014, and Kansas in 2016 — have proposed truces.

It’s an extreme example, but Memphis, as a neighbor to Arkansas and Mississippi, is in a position similar to the Kansas Cities. Memphis is in a financial position that necessitates creativity and restraint, and with a lot of in-state competition in Nashville. I get it. But if incentives are necessary, so is transparency. So is equitable pay.

Basically, we’re told, we can’t get by on our charm and good looks alone; to get the big boys to notice us, we’ve got to put out. Fine. There’s a difference between flirting and begging for a date, though. It’s nice to see local and state officials working to recoup Electrolux’s tax backlog and prevent such a swindle from happening again, but it never should have happened the first time. Not without public input. Not without taxpayer protections in place, should the company decide to bail on Memphis the way it bailed on its facility in Canada (spoiler alert). There were signs.

We should be angry that Memphis is, yet again, starring in a cautionary tale. That money ain’t coming back. However, there may be a hidden opportunity to reshape the definition of “business-friendly.” Communities in every state are dealing with this. Maybe we can be the ones to say, “We make the rules now.” If there’s any positive takeaway from this debacle, it’s that more people are paying attention. I hope our leaders are prepared to start answering more questions.

Jen Clarke is a digital marketing specialist and an unabashed Memphian.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

200 and Counting: Thoughts on Memphis’ Bicentennial

CREDIT: Susan Ellis

When I found out 2019 was Memphis’ bicentennial year, I expected a nonstop party. But here we are, almost halfway through January and I have not been invited to a single birthday function. Nor have I seen photos from a birthday function I wasn’t invited to. People don’t even know. You’d think it was just some regular year, not the dawn of the Third Century of the Bluff City.

The bicentennial has barely garnered a mention since the state legislature tried to punish us for removing those Confederate statues by taking our birthday party money away.

Susan Ellis

Calvin Farrar

You only turn 200 once. Plenty of haters — the yellow fever, for one — didn’t think we would make it this far. This is no time to be bashful. Sure, the “big day” is still four months away, and I know we’re not the type of city that likes to make everything about us. But if anyone’s saying “Ugh, we get it, it’s your birthday year” by then, do we really need that kind of negativity in our lives?

Maybe, like me on my 30th, Memphis doesn’t feel like it’s accomplished as much as it had hoped. In that case, I can empathize with the desire to keep things low-key. But listen, Memphis: 200 isn’t the end. We are going to take every lesson learned in the first 200 years and use them as the foundation for our Best Century Yet. We’re not going to dwell too much on the past and somehow make this another Elvis thing. I’m taking it upon myself to get the party started with some shoutouts to a few present-day Memphians I admire, because the people make the place. Also, the water. But mostly the people. I could probably list 200, but in the interest of word-counts I’ll start with three who, like the city itself, are unsung, underrated, and understated.

Gary Crain is the pastor at the New Testament Christian Church at the corner of Quince and Mount Moriah. I don’t attend his church, and I’ve never heard his sermons. But he has been a part of my mornings for as long as I can remember. No matter the weather, he’s standing out front, smiling and waving to commuters most weekdays. Sometimes cars pull over to stop and chat, and other drivers quietly go around them. It amazes me that an act as small as a wave can bring so much joy to a person’s day. Multiply that by thousands of drivers and passengers: It’s a movement. It makes me want to be more neighborly. I plan my commute around that wave.

You may not know his name, but if you’ve seen painted windows in Midtown and Downtown, or shopped at Cash Saver or the Superlo on Southern, you definitely know Calvin Farrar‘s work. For years he’s brightened the windows at Silky’s, Huey’s, the Bar-B-Q Shop, and dozens of other businesses with those colorful and imaginative murals. Griz dunks on Santa Claus, Pouncer devours Huey burgers, all in the most perfectly old-school, quintessentially Memphis style. Parking Can Be Fun is only fun because there is usually a Farrar painting nearby. Nobody does what he does. He is an institution, and watching him work is a treat.

Memphis basketball fans love local players who stay home. Maybe I’m overanalyzing, but I think the appreciation transcends your standard-issue hometown-hero worship. They represent the belief that you don’t have to choose between the city and your dreams. That is a lot to put on a kid, which explains why many still choose to leave and others stay and fail.

It’s early, but Alex Lomax is a teammate. I’ve watched him flex after assisting on a layup and chest-bump a teammate after drawing a foul — no victory is too small to celebrate. He doesn’t score a ton of points (yet?), but he leads in other ways. A 5’10” point guard, he had eight rebounds against Wichita State. And what he lacks in size, he makes up for in hustle. If that’s not Memphis as hell, I don’t know what is. He is easy to root for, just like his coach, and his coach’s coach before him.
Nearly 200 years in, is Memphis perfect? No way. Is it even close to perfect? Also no. Is it full of fantastically kind, brilliant, talented, and creative people? Yes, we do have that going for us. Let’s celebrate them all year and beyond.
Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Don’t Fear Millennials; They’re Just Trying to Survive

CREDIT: Michael Eldridge | Dreamstime.com

Divorce, American cheese, and boob-themed restaurants. Banks, brunch, cable television, the workplace, and the rules of written English. What do all these things have in common?

Millennials.

They killed them, and they’re coming for you next. At least, that’s the thesis behind scores of lazy articles that blame a generational cohort for the decline of traditional American institutions like mortgage debt and new car purchases. Millennials’ bloodlust for destruction is surpassed only by their appetite for avocado toast. 2018 is not like 1988, and the only difference is millennials! That’s it, and nothing else.

Michael Eldridge | Dreamstime.com

Millennials vs. motorcycles

Capitalist failures fall at the feet of 22-to-37-year olds, who now comprise the second-largest generation and therefore, apparently, bear the largest share of responsibility for all cultural disruption and the fates of brands such as Applebee’s and Harley-Davidson. And why not? They’re so entitled, with their participation trophies, safe spaces, and other assorted tropes.

Except none of those things impact millennials’ spending decisions. I can’t wait to hear what Generation Z, which has already surpassed millennials in number, has in its crosshairs.

Millennials don’t spend money on road hogs, first, because they can’t afford them, but they’re also not the target audience for a $25,000 motorcycle. And chain restaurants: Offering two four-course dinners for two for under $20 isn’t a convincing pitch for the quality of your food.

Millennials aren’t the only ones turning up their noses. We can cook our own frozen processed dinners, and we’ve been trying to tell y’all. Well-compensated CEOs would rather run bajillion-dollar brands into the ground than start producing products that don’t suck, and it’s a lot easier to blame consumers than face the real reasons people aren’t giving them our money.

Last week, the Federal Reserve Board released a working paper, humorously titled “Are Millennials Different?” that sets the record straight. The short answer is no, not especially. All generations are different. It’s kind of the point. The long answer is that any differences in millennial spending behaviors are attributable not to finicky desires, but to the economic disaster during which they entered the workforce. “Millennials are less well off than members of earlier generations when they were young, with lower earnings, fewer assets, and less wealth,” the study concludes. And the Great Recession could have a permanent impact on them.

I’m no economist, but it sounds to me as if millennials are the victims here, not the villains. Full disclosure: I’m a millennial, and I’m tired of being framed. Pity validation has no cash value, but at least the truth is finally out there.

The full paper can be found at the Federal Reserve Board’s website under “Economic Research,” but here are a few bullet points. Good news: Millennials, on average, have lower debt balances than Generation X did at the same age. However, that’s because it’s a different kind of debt. Millennials have lower mortgage debt because fewer of them have mortgages, because one typically needs credit to procure a loan. Instead, they have more than twice as much student loan debt than their Gen X equivalents did 20 years ago.

On the bright side, millennials are better educated than previous generations … because they came of age at a time when jobs were unattainable without a degree. Their education expenditures are higher, because college tuition costs rose at a higher rate than general inflation. Millennials hold more in their retirement savings than previous generations — but that’s only because pensions are no longer offered. Oh snap, did millennials kill pensions, too? There’s no mention of the percentage of millennials who actually have retirement savings, versus Generation Xers and boomers, by the way. But since millennials have significantly lower net worth than their forebears, one can make an educated guess.

There’s no evidence that millennials’ vehicle preferences are generation-specific tastes, and the study says older generations are responsible for recent shifts in car-buying demographics. Keep that in mind when millennials allegedly kill another vehicle model. (Bet it’ll be minivans.) A lower share of millennial expenses is dedicated to garments and apparel. But not because they killed the mall! Clothing prices just haven’t increased at the same rate as other goods, thanks to imports.

Next time you see a “Millennials killed (fill in the blank)” headline, swap “millennials” for greed, tariffs, technology, robots, or the passage of time. Any of those would be more accurate.

Jen Clarke is an upapologetic Memphian and a digital marketing specialist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Cheer, Don’t Complain, for the St. Jude Marathon

CREDIT: Andrea Zucker / © Memphis Convention & Visitors Bureau

Maybe you’ve noticed more people running in your neighborhood lately. Some have always been around, but you didn’t see them because being outdoors was only bearable from about 4 to 6:15 a.m. due to the humidity. The primary reason, though, is that the St. Jude Marathon is December 1st.

Some runners are crushing 22-milers as they wind down their 16-week training cycles. Others just remembered they signed up for the 10K a few months back and should probably get out there and train a little. That’s one of the many reasons the race is special: There’s room for everyone, from 5K walkers to elite marathoners.

If you’re new to Memphis, or you’ve never experienced the glorious spectacle of 25,000-plus people taking to the streets to help eradicate childhood cancer, you really should check it out. Of course, all distances besides the full marathon are sold out — so unless you casually run 40 miles a week for kicks, it’s too late to register. But there are ways you can support the runners, now and on race day.

Andrea Zucker / © Memphis Convention & Visitors Bureau

Runners ready for the St. Jude Memphis Marathon

The first, easiest way is not to drive like a jerk. In wooded neighborhoods, roots and gumballs turn sidewalks into obstacle courses. One misstep can lead to a rolled ankle or worse. In other areas, sidewalks are poorly kept or nonexistent. Sometimes running in the street is the only choice. I’m constantly surprised and terrified by how fast people drive, often while looking at phones, on the residential streets where I run. Those “Drive like your kids live here” signs don’t work so great.

Sharing the road also means respecting crosswalks, those thick white stripes you’re supposed to stop behind at red lights. If you’re at a light and a runner is crossing, please let them clear the intersection before you turn. Stop before you reach stop signs so people don’t have to wait for you to go or run behind your vehicle. Basically, just do everything you were taught in drivers’ ed.

And please don’t honk your horn at runners, unless they’re in danger. Even if your intentions are innocent, understand there’s no way to tell — especially for women runners who endure street harassment regularly. Yes, it does happen. If you see someone you know running, just tell them later you saw them. “I see you getting after it! Go on, girl!” can make someone’s day, but the sincerity doesn’t quite resonate when it’s yelled from a moving vehicle.

Please donate, if you can afford it. Fund-raising isn’t required, but it’s kind of the whole point of the race. The registration fees only cover the cost of putting on the event, which is St. Jude’s biggest single-day fund-raiser. Most runners who participate have pledged to raise money as St. Jude Heroes. When a participant commits to a Bronze, Silver, or Gold fund-raising goal, they’re on the hook for it.

That’s why your runner friends are blowing up your Facebook feed with their personal donation links. Asking people for money is extremely awkward. And if you live in Memphis, chances are everyone you know knows someone else who’s raising money, too.

When you help someone achieve their fund-raising goal, you’re helping them cruise into race day focused solely on what happens between the start line and the finish. Also, you’re literally saving lives.

Finally, please don’t be that person who complains about the road closures. They’ve been doing this thing for 16 years now. The marathon is the first Saturday in December every year. The 2019, 2020, and 2021 races are already scheduled: They’ll be on the first Saturday of December, too. The route has been changed this year to lessen the impact on traffic. Signs are posted on the affected streets. All the local news outlets run stories about it. There’s an entire website (stjude.org/MarathonNeighbors) with all the information you could possibly need about the road closures. It’s less than one day out of the entire year. It raises more than $10 million dollars for pediatric cancer research and has a massive economic impact on the city.

People will still whine about it, though — in spite of those warnings. Please, if you live in Midtown or Downtown, just plan ahead. Find an alternate route to wherever you’re going. Make your grocery run Friday night. Crash at someone else’s house if you have to. I’ve had to make arrangements before; I know it’s inconvenient. But you know what’s super-inconvenient? Kids getting cancer. So keep it to yourself. Figure something out, or better yet, embrace it. Find some poster board and a folding chair and head to the nearest cheering station. Pay close attention to the names on shirts: some are angels, others still fighting. It will inspire you. I hope I see you there.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and a digital marketing specialist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Spooky Times: Helpful Halloween Costume Ideas for 2018

CREDIT: Tony Posnanski via Twitter

Halloween is only a couple of weeks away. Hard to believe, right? With temperatures still hovering in the 80s, coffee shops might as well serve their pumpkin spice lattés in hollowed-out coconuts. Festively arranged seasonal gourds look out of place when the outdoor pool at the YMCA is still open.

For some, the past 22 months or so have felt like an endless haunted house of confusion and outrage. Behind every door awaits a new “Oh, what now?” Some are merely head-scratchers, like the unexplained and unnecessary deregulations gifted to niche interest groups. Others, true oh-my-God-how-is-this-happening nightmare fuel, like the enduring detention of immigrant children, deteriorating relationships with allies — Canada? Really? — and the shameful display of victim-shaming and mockery that recently took place a few miles south of us at a Southaven campaign rally.

As for the aforementioned unseasonal heat, according to UN scientists we have until 2030 to stem the rapidly escalating damage wrought by climate change. How about that Paris Agreement?

Tony Posnanski via Twitter

Beer-Lovin’ Brett

Yeah, spooky times have indeed arrived. I can’t blame you if you haven’t started thinking about your Halloween costume yet. So here are a few ideas to help you stand out among all the Sexy Handmaids and save you from the line to buy the Halloween store’s last raggedy wig on October 30th.

This first one is easy and timely — then again, who knows what will happen between now and the end of the month to bury those contentious Senate hearings in our collective consciousness? You might not be the only Beer-Lovin’ Brett at your Halloween shindig, but you’ll be comfortable and you’re guaranteed to have a good time even if you don’t remember it. Snag a black robe (pants optional for the Justice of the Party, woo!) and behave like the overprivileged jerk in an ’80s college movie. A beer helmet is not required, but drinking beer and talking about how much you like beer are. Sneer and rant about left-wing conspiracies and cry about your high school bros in the same sentence. You’ll get a lifetime appointment to a roaring good time.

Next, this unconventional couple costume might look like a dinosaur and a unicorn, but tuned-in Tennesseans know who you really are: former governor/Senate hopeful Phil Bredesen and a Moderate Republican! The Moderate Republican doesn’t have to be a unicorn, of course. It can be any made-up or extinct creature or a visual manifestation of wishful thinking. Let that imagination run wild! And let your dino — “Democrat In Name Only” — date chase you around all night. Bonus points if he arrives with another group of friends and ditches them to buy a round for the guy in the Brett Kavanaugh costume. What are they going to do? Hang out with Marsha — the woman whose positions are so toxic, even human vanilla scoop Taylor Swift had no choice but to speak out? He’s their ride home so they have no choice. What an exciting time for our state.

If you’re as exhausted by politics as I am, you’ll enjoy these next two. This is Memphis, after all, where “Everything sucks, let’s basketball” is a cherished coping mechanism. After a disappointing year in Hoop City, we needed a little hope. FedExForum was packed to the rafters for Memphis Madness, with thousands of fans eager to catch a glimpse of two people. Not Penny Hardaway and coveted recruit James Wiseman, silly. According to a few sports-talk dudes, the true men of the hour were Justin Timberlake and Drake, two Real Memphians who totally rep the city all the time and not just when it’s convenient. If you plan on staying in this Halloween, have a friend start a rumor that you’re attending a party as Drake or JT. Don’t actually commit yourself. If anybody asks, say nothing. Don’t show up. See how ridiculous that sounds, Tiger fans?

Finally, sticking with the theme of ridiculous Tiger fans, one of my favorite sports phenomena. Inspired by the timeless catchphrase of chatty fans, I call this last costume “I’ll Hang Up and Listen.” If you have any University of Memphis or Memphis State gear, all you need is a cell phone and an arsenal of terrible sports opinions. Yell things like “I been follerin’ the Tigers since Moe Iba and I never seen defense this bad! Go Tigers” and “Penny needs to play [insert walk-on here] more; that kid’s got a cannon! Go Tigers” into the phone. The less coherent, the better. If you can’t think of anything clever, call for someone’s job and name-drop a coach or obscure player from 40 years ago. Sure, this isn’t unique to Memphis, but I like to keep it local.

I hope these ideas help you create a memorable Halloween look. If not, you can always bring back Sexy Mitch McConnell. Happy Halloween!

Jen Clarke is an unabashed Memphian and a digital marketing specialist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Breakfast on Beale?

CREDIT: Sean Pavone | Dreamstime.com

Beale Street is unique. That isn’t rose-tinted boosterism or uncultured naivete, it’s true. Exempt from both city and state open-container laws, Beale Street is part of a special coterie of places where folks can openly booze it up in the middle of the street. If there’s anything we Memphians and the kind of tourists we attract love, it’s drinking al fresco. Such an amenity is bound to draw a crowd. And it does, so much so that a cover charge is now a perennial discussion — despite the corny name, layers of questionable optics, and uncertainty whether the program even worked last time.

A fact-finding mission to the French Quarter must have come up empty, otherwise we’d have strip clubs and video poker by now. According to the Beale Street Task Force’s study, there have been eight “stampedes” since April. There’s no denying that crowd control is an issue. So the city hired a consultant to tell the mayor and merchants what they want to hear: Beale Street Bucks are a good idea.

Nowhere else is such a fee necessary. But Beale Street is unique. Other more practical recommendations included setting crowd capacity at 20,000 and reconfiguring the entry points to alleviate crowding at Second Street.

Sean Pavone | Dreamstime.com

Beale Street

Assessments of the situation and their costly fixes seem to overlook the encompassing reality that Beale Street’s biggest problem is that it’s not very big. The distance from Blues City to the New Daisy is less than a quarter-mile. When something outgrows its container, you don’t discard the excess, you get a bigger container. Expanding the perimeter would make sense. This was the intent behind a resolution earlier this year that would have expanded the open-container zone to include South Main. Unwilling to yield their dominion on street-booze enjoyers, stampedes be damned, Beale Street’s merchants bristled.

As long as the primary source of entertainment in the entertainment district comes from a bottle, with thousands of sweaty people up in others’ personal space well past bedtime, there will be issues — cover charge or no. Whodini was right: The freaks do, indeed, come out at night.

So I’d like to propose some alternative solutions designed to lure people off the street. I’m happy to offer my consulting expertise to anyone who wishes to put these ideas into action in exchange for a commemorative plaque or unlimited mozzarella sticks.

Visit a pro sports arena in any other city. On your way, you’ll pass at least one sports bar filled with eager pregamers gorging on jalapeño poppers and cheap beer before they move on to $9 drafts at the stadium. With AutoZone Park and FedExForum yards away and locals’ enthusiasm for basketball, football, and now soccer, the area is overdue for a real sports bar. The Liberty Bowl brings thousands of college football fans in December, and Memphis in May always coincides with the NBA Playoffs. So hang some old growl towels, Memphis State gear, and a couple dozen monster televisions. Whip up a few flavors of wing sauce, ice down some beer buckets and watch the cash pour in. Call it Hop City — like Hoop City, but with beer, get it?

As companies consider making the move Downtown, surely their representatives have noticed a lack of options for grabbing a sausage biscuit on the way to work. This is essential to economic development. A 24-hour diner on Beale would meet this need and fulfill revelers’ need for 4 a.m. sober-up eggs. Lives will be saved. Plus, it would help bridge that weird identity gap between the historic, family-friendly Beale Street tourists enjoy during the day and the boisterous playground it becomes at sundown. It doesn’t have to be blues-themed or have a pig logo and 901 in the name. Call it whatever, as long as it serves jet-fuel coffee and thick-cut bacon on demand.

One of the liveliest spots on Bourbon Street is a Krystal. Surrounded by some of the best food in the world, the restaurant with the square hamburgers and the hot dog carts stays busy. Drunk people need to eat, and “Kitchen Open Late” is bar-speak for “Kitchen Open Until We Send the Fry Cook Home.”

Am I suggesting more — or at least different — businesses on Beale would disperse crowds and prevent fights from breaking out? Hardly. But open containers and walk-up drink service encourage loitering, and more reasons to get people out of the street and into the businesses couldn’t hurt. A cover charge perpetuates the perception of danger, and that iconic street deserves so much better.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing specialist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Space Force: The Final Frontier of Lunacy

Sorry, border wall. You’ve been demoted. Trade war, you’re on notice. There’s a new boondoggle in the ole U.S. of A., and its name is Space Force. Because what this country really needs — before we can even think about securing our elections or rebuilding Puerto Rico — is to hunker down for a Space War.

Print 1,000 copies of this and plaster them to my car if I’m wrong, but Space Force may be the dumbest idea of all time. For a president whose avocation is spraying free-association word bricolage from his mouth and Twitter fingers 24 hours a day, that is quite an accomplishment.

Yes, we have played this game long enough to know last week’s announcement is a set of jangling keys meant to divert our collective attention from some sinister immigration policy or looming Mueller investigation bombshell. And, sure, the cockamamie proposal may end up flying warp speed through a Republican Congress whose members are cozy with the industries who stand to make big bucks on anti-gravity space blasters. For now, though, it feels good to laugh.

Watching Vice President Mike Pence detail mercifully vague plans to launch the Space Force by 2020, I almost felt sorry for him — as much as it’s possible to feel sorry for a guy who thinks the movie Mulan is liberal propaganda. He asked for this, though. He wanted to be vice president so badly he’s willing to stand on the Pentagon dais and brief military professionals about an interstellar defense strategy that sounds like it was lifted from one of those YouTube videos of doped-up teens after wisdom tooth extractions. With a straight face!

Like many others who have served at the whim of capricious bosses and clients, I too have been dispatched to look into the feasibility of an “out of the box” idea from above. However, I know the best and quickest approach to these requests is to get an estimate. If a quick number-crunch doesn’t elicit a “Jesus, that’s how much it would cost? Forget it,” get another estimate. The next best approach is to avoid the person or change the subject whenever he brings it up, until he moves on to something else.

Either would have worked in this scenario. The price tag for research and development of a space army would make any true fiscally responsible conservative weep. Name-dropping Barack Obama or CNN before scrambling away would have bought at least 280 Twitter characters’ worth of time. Then again, Pence may have viewed the task as God’s punishment for making eye contact with a lady server and ordering a ginger ale before his wife sat down for dinner in 1993 or something. Nowadays, one must self-flagellate a little in order to be a heartbeat away from the highest office in the land.

I love Space Force because it’s 100 percent the kind of idiotic million-dollar idea people come up with when they’re blasted out of their minds. Having worked in bars, I’m quite familiar with cocaine gibberish. A space army that fights … um, TBD … is exactly the stuff I would expect to hear from a patron who has taken a few too many trips to the restroom. To be clear, I would never accuse POTUS of tooting — that would be downright unpatriotic. But I’m willing to bet at least one fun-loving individual has woken one afternoon with an empty wallet, save for a bar napkin with “SPACE FORCE” scrawled on it. Maybe he muttered “Space Force? What the hell is this about?” before tossing the napkin into the trash. He may have forgotten about his revolutionary strategy for weaponizing the cosmos until weeks later, when a concerned friend mentioned how weird he had been acting. “Bro, you were babbling about space weapons and you were like, ‘Space Force all the way!’ Do you remember? What was that about? Is everything okay with you?”

The name “Space Force” belongs on a child’s generic astronaut costume or a poorly counterfeited Stair Wards or Battlestart Galtactical figurine, not a serious branch of the United States military. I can think of at least a dozen Space Force puns without even trying. Space Force these clowns out of the White House, am I right? Here’s a tagline: To Infinity and Beyond Ridiculous. And do not get me started on the comedic potential of Space Farts. Did no one warn these people about Space Farts?

This administration is a Space Farce.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and a digital marketing strategist.