Author: Jen Clarke

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

See Ya, 2016: Some Things We Need to Leave Behind

At work the other day, I received an email from a vendor that opened with “2016 was truly one for the books!” I guess you could say that, if we’re talking about Infinite Jest or a Stephen King novel or something. We can agree 2016 was kind of a dud, right? So much ink has been spilled on the topic, it feels pointless to even rehash how much of a tsunami of suckitude this year has been. It was such a slow-burning dumpster fire, it’s probably time to retire the phrase “dumpster fire.” Here is but a tiny sampling of other things that can stay in 2016.

Pepe the Frog

The word “great”

Remember when “great” used to mean something? That’s a trick question, because it never did. Great is the most generic, vague, useless word in the English language. “Great” is the “no offense, but” of adjectives (adverbs too, for you grammarians) because it rarely means what the speaker is saying. “Great” is what you say when someone asks how you’re doing, and things are actually pretty terrible but you know they ain’t looking for an honest answer. When I’m trying on clothes and a store employee says “That looks great on you!” I assume they’re not even looking.

The alt-right

I used to think “political correctness” was an exaggeration. What some people consider PC, I call being considerate. Then I found out there was a PC term for white supremacists that they, ironically, came up with themselves. Hell. No. Neo-Nazis don’t get a “safe space.” Racism doesn’t deserve a nickname. Or a cartoon frog mascot. The alt-right attitudes of sexism, anti-Semitism, homophobia, Islamophobia don’t belong in 2016, 2017, or any year, and ascribing a kinder, gentler descriptor to the movement only makes it sound okay. It’s not.

Blaming everything on the year

One refrain in the symphony of suck that was 2016 was the death of an alarming number of celebrities. Well-loved figures whom we presumed were immortal — David Bowie, Prince to name a couple — proved us wrong. Yes, many of our heroes left this world too soon. The emotional weight of endless bad news is heavy. It’s okay to grieve! But y’all, we cannot say “Ugh, 2016 strikes again” whenever someone dies. The year 2016 didn’t kill John Glenn. He was in his 90s. And it didn’t take Muhammad Ali; Parkinson’s disease did. Don’t give this devil year any more credit than it deserves.

Fake news

Anyone who has read the “literature” available in a grocery store checkout line knows “fake news” is not a new phenomenon. Nor is the notion that people believe everything they read on the internet, particularly if it’s compatible with their worldview. What is new is dismissing any news that displeases us as “fake news.” To paraphrase the late Senator Pat Moynihan, you’re entitled to your own opinion, but not your own facts. Pizzagate? Fake news. Actual events, recorded on camera, with witnesses? Not fake news. Fake news and calling real news fake can hit the road, as far as I’m concerned.

Nightmarish Memphis Driving™ situations

The flyover is open! It’s still a mess, but the hard part is over … maybe? Otherwise I might turn into my mother and never go anywhere that can’t be accessed via Poplar, which sucks in its own right, but I’d rather wait for a train than worry about my vehicle launching into oblivion from the height equivalent of an eighth-story window. By the way, if you’re ever stuck on the flyover behind a little white Toyota going 20 miles an hour, I apologize, but that thing scares the bejeezus out of me.

Grizzlies injuries

I don’t mind a little late-game drama, especially since the Grizzlies usually prevail. I’m convinced Coach Fizdale is a wizard (yes, already), so I enjoy watching him conjure up wins. I love seeing how the team responds to adversity and watching the rookies develop, but man … what do we have to do to get a healthy squad? Does this have something to do with that crystal skull in the Pyramid? How about just a few games at full strength? Maybe blow out a couple of weaker opponents. For the sake of our collective health.

Honorable mentions: 1990s TV and movie reboots. Crying Jordan. Harambe. College football conference expansion or lack thereof. Whatever is going on in Russia. News reports about viral video sensations. Gimmicky fast-food menu items. Most of all, though, I’d like to leave behind the lurking premonition that 2017 might suck even worse. Let’s turn the page and hope for the best.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Thanks, Trump!

As any elementary school graduate can attest, the first Thanksgiving united the Pilgrims and their “Indian” neighbors to celebrate the first successful harvest at Plymouth. According to the settlers, that is. Today, Native Americans observe Thanksgiving as a day of mourning for indigenous peoples and their cultures.

Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863 “as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise” and an occasion for “humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience.” He implored citizens to pray for national unity and healing. Because a handful of states had decided they would prefer starting their own country and going to war over giving up the right to own people. Fake unity is as deeply ingrained in the tradition of Thanksgiving as turkey and pumpkin pie. Does it continue in 2016, a year that has constantly met the challenge of proving it can always get worse?

This election has emboldened a lot of people to embrace their inner ugliness. People of color, women, non-Christians, immigrants, LGBTQ people, and disabled individuals are afraid of losing their rights and their lives. We still don’t know what “making America great” entails, except that it doesn’t include a president who uses more than three adjectives. And something about a swamp, according to a hideous billboard on I-240. Daily headlines announcing fraud settlements, conflicts of interest, and appointments of assorted alt-right fabulists do nothing to quash the dread.

As we come to grips with the fact that we live in a country where the KKK-endorsed candidate can actually win an election, here comes “the most wonderful time of the year.” Talk among friends and coworkers of holiday plans has turned strategic. Some of us are blessed with families who share their beliefs or can at least disagree respectfully. But many others, especially in this part of the country, have relatives who are downright elated to git that damned Obummer outta there. And so, the “where are you goings?” and “what dish are you bringings?” have given way for more serious concerns, such as “Do you have a backup plan in case things get too tense at your in-laws’ house in East Tennessee?” “Is your brother’s wife coming around?” “Is it safe to mix Xanax and tryptophan?”

For those who aren’t feeling particularly festive — and can you blame them? — there are three courses of action: avoid, divert, and confront.

Avoidance is the old standby for non-confrontational types. Football’s on. There are probably some leaves to rake or some dishes to rinse. Find a far-off recliner, pop in some earbuds, and enjoy a podcast or six. Invite Netflix to your family celebration. Open your mouth only to insert food, then fall asleep immediately. Another option: avoid the whole thing entirely. Fake an illness. Pick up a shift. Skip the festivities because you’re an adult and you value your time and sanity. Have a Friendsgiving with people who don’t cause your blood pressure to spike.

Establishing a politics-free zone sounds nice until it turns into a talking-free zone. Save a few topic starters, a couple of memes, and some funny dog photos in your phone. Have you been keeping up with Westworld? Can you believe the Cubs finally won the World Series? Who wants to do the Mannequin Challenge? If politics begins to bubble into the conversation, asking, “Can we talk about literally anything else right now?” is an effective kill switch.

Invoke the Southern rules of polite conversation, and remind your family members it’s just not proper to discuss President Manbaby at the table, especially when Aunt Jean worked so hard to prepare this delightful meal. Speaking of delightful meals, where did you find this sweet potato recipe? The marshmallows are browned to perfection.
Too fired up to play nice? Lay it all out on the table — and I’m not talking about the assortment of festive sides. This year, racists don’t get corn casserole. They get served in a heated argument. Show up armed. With knowledge, that is. Brush up on your fake news and come prepared for every complaint about crybaby protesters or gendered insult about the former secretary of state. The days of letting Uncle Randy get away with his Mexican “jokes” for the sake of peacekeeping are over — no matter how much the yelling upsets your grandma. Passively enabling a legion of Uncle Randys is what got us in this situation.

Then again, you can always just drink. Hand over your keys, sidle over to the nearest box of wine, and reminisce about a greater America, when the worst thing about family gatherings was the food. Cheers to the holidays!

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Down to Grizzness!

Growl towels up if you’re ready for Grizzness. I’m ready to shiver and complain in the hand-wand line and get startled by some pyrotechnics. It’s been too long. Make room in the cupboard for some new souvenir cups because the NBA regular season is here. Finally.

I’ve upped my dosage of sports takes in anticipation of the firehose of of basketball news and analysis I’ll be consuming. Podcasts. Websites. Vines. Periscopes. Whatever. Give me all of it. I welcome our new digital overlords at Grind City Media. Some media members have groused about access and message control, which is very noble of them. Here’s the thing though: Consumers don’t care where the content comes from, as long as it’s hot. The Grizzlies recognize that, and the fans will eat it up. Adrian Wojnarowski is the most connected and trusted basketball writer in the country, and he works for your grandma’s email service provider. The Salt Lake Tribune‘s Jazz reporter broke a story about the Grizzlies’ roster over the weekend. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. And pass the content.

Anyway, the Core Four is back. They may or may not be “better than ever,” but at least they aren’t all sporting the dreaded “suits and boots” uniforms on the bench. Marc Gasol logged the third-highest number of minutes last season but only appeared in 52 games — four more than Mike Conley. By March, I was convinced the roster existed for the purpose of stumping sports trivia players. Matt Barnes — yeah, that Matt Barnes — played more than anybody, and I forgot he was even on the team. Remember Bryce Cotton? I don’t, but Basketball Reference says he played six minutes for the Grizzlies last season. Former Tiger Elliot Williams scored eight points. Jordan Farmar was the starting point guard in the playoffs. Much ink has been spilled over the unprecedented number of players who dressed out in the home locker room at 191 Beale. I’m proud of all of them, but let’s just say those games won’t be airing on Hardwood Classics anytime soon.

Offseason additions to the team appear to be solid NBA-caliber players. One of them, allegedly, is capable of scoring three-point baskets with a frequency to which Grizzlies fans are unaccustomed. I’m optimistic even if it means I have to reprogram my allegiances after years of hating Chandler Parsons. At least the reasons are purely basketball-related, because he routinely torched the Grizzlies and made me resent the fact that they never had an answer for him. (Again, don’t hate the player.) I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve said about him, such as the time I called him “ole lululemon tights looking faceass.” Or the time I tweeted that he “looks like a guy who spends at least 15 minutes a day practicing sexy faces and flexing in front of a mirror.” But I’m ready to take it all back. Hopefully, he can get and stay healthy and hit some of the same shots that made me hate his guts. Also, I acknowledge that compression apparel improves circulation, and I can’t fault a man for knowing he looks good. If you can’t beat ’em, sign ’em.

Not only are there new free agents, there are rookies too! Including the coach, who might actually be an upgrade over the previous coach. Look, Joerger did a fine job, and he’s a good coach. He had a couple of inexplicable pet players, but it isn’t as though he had a ton of stars to hitch to that wagon last season. Like everyone else, I was surprised when he was fired, but if he doesn’t want to be here, well, bye. Memphis ain’t for everybody.

From the interviews I’ve seen and read, David Fizdale appears to have measured the pulse of the team and the city pretty quickly. A place like Memphis, with all its nuances, is a good fit for the wokest coach in the NBA. Supposedly, he develops players, so maybe we’ll get to see some young dudes used for purposes other than trade bait. If he can implement his harebrained ideas, we’ll be in for some fun, weird basketball, just how we like it. Marc Gasol shooting threes? Well, okay. Tony Allen, backup point guard? Ya crazy for this one, Fizz.

I love the clean-slate, first-day-of-school vibe of a new season. It really feels like this is the year. It’s become so much more reliable over the past few years, and I just have a hunch Grizzlies fans are going to enjoy 48 consistent minutes every night of working wifi in FedExForum.

Oh, did you think I was talking about something else?

Jen Clarke has a few ideas. Read them at jensized.com

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Register and Vote. Or Shut Up.

It’s almost over, y’all. After what feels like 928 years, the end is in sight. Election Day is less than six weeks away.

The deadline to register to vote is October 11th. That means you have less than two weeks to make sure your electoral affairs are in order.

Are you registered? You probably know if you are. If you’ve voted or registered within the past eight years, you should be good to go — but double-check to be safe. This is important. Go to shelbyvote.com and click “Voter Information.” Right at the top of the page is a button that says “Am I Registered?” If you’re not registered, no judgment. Maybe you’ve recently returned from a decade living abroad. Maybe you just turned 18. Maybe you haven’t gotten around to it. Whatever. The good news is, you’ve got time. Print a registration form. Or call the Election Commission and get one mailed to you. Or pick one up at the library. Just don’t forget to send it in once you’ve filled it out.

If you are registered, that’s great. But is your information correct? Is everything spelled right? Did you get a new last name (congratulations) and need to update your information? You can do that by email now; the information’s on that website. If your address is out-of-date, are you prepared to drive across town to your old neighborhood or your parents’ house or wherever you’re supposed to vote according to your ID?

Go ahead and check that too, while you’re thinking about it. Is it valid? Does the information correspond with the information on your voter registration card? Do you need an absentee ballot? You can request one up to a week before the election. If you have to work on Election Day, early voting starts October 19th at locations all over Shelby County. You’ll be in and out in less time than it takes to fill out the Best of Memphis survey. If you need a ride, I’m sure somebody can help. I’ll call you an Uber myself, if I have to.

Voter Information

Because you should vote. You certainly have the right to opt out if you want, but I wish you’d reconsider. Even if your favorite candidate lost in the primary. Even if nobody “inspires” you (thanks, Obama, for setting that bar impossibly high) or is the kind of person you’d want to hang out with at happy hour. Vote for the candidate you think is best up to the task. And vote in the state and local races, too. Because even if you don’t vote, you know who does?

People who think our current president — who by most objective and fact-based measures has done a pretty swell job stewarding our nation these past seven-plus years, all things considered — is illegitimate because he is a Kenyan-born Muslim. Still.

People who care more about what Colin Kaepernick does during the national anthem than why he does it.
People who think women should “just work harder” if they want to earn as much money as men with the same amount of education and work experience.

People who think poor children should starve if their parents can’t provide for them.

People who post anti-Semitic, homophobic, and sexist memes all day long on Twitter but still have the default egg avatar.

I don’t believe those people’s views represent the majority of Americans. If you’re one of those people, well, I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m also surprised to see you reading the Flyer. Good on you for branching out, I guess. But even if your guy wins, which tends to be the case in this state, I will have done what I could. At least it’s only 11 electoral votes.

That’s one of the things about America that are both simultaneously wonderful and terrifying. Every citizen over the age of 18 who isn’t a convicted felon gets to pull a lever or push a button or punch out some chads, if that’s still a thing. On Election Day, when it comes to deciding the direction of the country, you get as many votes as your next-door neighbor, your boss, and Beyoncé. Unless your boss isn’t registered or your neighbor is a felon. Why not use it? If your candidate wins, you’ll have helped! If not, you’ll have earned the right to grumble a little. And if some kind of real-life Veep situation or another Florida 2000 happens, well, it won’t be your fault.

Jen Clarke is a proud Memphian and a digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

No More Parking Lots, Memphis. Let’s Get Dense.

CREDIT: Riverrail | Dreamstime.com

My husband, a longtime and therefore long-suffering Chicago Cubs fan, turned 30-something a few weeks ago. Since I believe all sports fans deserve to experience in person what it feels like to root for a winner, we jetted off (found a cheapish flight on Southwest) to the Windy City for a celebratory mid-week series at Wrigley Field.

Our plush, luxury penthouse (minimalist AirBnB studio) in the Lincoln Park neighborhood offered convenient access to everything we needed. It was about a 30-minute walk from the stadium, where the Cubs handled — nay, humiliated — the Brewers for four straight games (this part is true). We checked off most of the standard to-do list items in a surprisingly brief amount of time: hot dog with peppers, radioactive-green relish, and tomatoes; a cheese and sauce casserole the locals call “deep dish pizza;” selfies in front of Cloud Gate (the famous “bean” sculpture in Millennium Park); and a retail hike on the Magnificent Mile.

Comparing Memphis to other cities will either harsh your buzz or make you homesick, so I’ve trained myself to push those thoughts to the back of my mind. It’s an especially bad idea in a city three times bigger, in another region, with a different climate.
But some things are just too obvious not to notice, which is why sometime during day two I realized I had not seen any parking lots. I saw some parking spaces, mostly tucked behind buildings. I saw parking garages, and parked cars, but none of the asphalt seas that line the streets of our fine city. And everybody appeared to be okay with it! People were walking and biking and waiting for the bus and acting as if they didn’t even notice, much less care, that the places they were going to didn’t have a space for every single individual to park his or her own vehicle right outside. Can you even imagine such a place?
We took a late flight back into Memphis International. As I steered my janky old rolling suitcase through the sliding doors, my first view of “home” was of a mostly empty parking lot.

Riverrail | Dreamstime.com

Since then, parking lots are all I see. I read somewhere last week that Memphis’ landmass is three times the size of Detroit’s, and I’m convinced most of that consists of parking lots. Downtown and East Memphis are covered in concrete. Germantown Parkway and Winchester Road are just parking lots with names. With the exception of Tiger Lane, which doesn’t count, they’re all hideous.

Overlay districts by design ensure communities have a consistent look and feel that meet the needs of their stakeholders. In other words, they make neighborhoods look like neighborhoods. Midtown’s streets, especially Union Avenue, have benefited from the Midtown Overlay District since it passed six years ago. How about an overlay district for the whole city that dictates that we’re all set on parking?
Memphis’ sprawl problem was not news to me. But experiencing real density firsthand illuminated for me the fact that our city was planned with cars in mind, not people. One could argue it wasn’t planned at all and could present some compelling evidence to support that view, but that’s a topic for another day. It’s as if someone noticed the population leaking eastward and said, “Let’s just pave over all the gaps and hope no one notices.” Or perhaps “Let’s make sure they have a place to park if they ever decide to come back.”

If we pave it, they will come?

One takeaway from the protracted battle over the Overton Park Greensward is that “convenient” off-street parking ranks a little too high on a lot of people’s priority lists. We saw more of this backwards thinking earlier this summer, when a real estate developer brazenly asserted to the Downtown Memphis Commission that a lack of parking on Front Street was hindering the area’s growth. I’m not sure how anyone who’s visited South Main in the past few years can say that with a straight face, but I guess a person will say anything when trying to get a project approved.

Here’s an idea I hope catches on with public and private developers: Trust people to figure out what to do if they can’t find off-street parking. If people are really as put out by walking a couple of blocks as some would have us believe, we’ll never be able to compete as a city.

Please build stuff, but no more parking lots. Better yet, build stuff on top of the parking lots that already blanket the city. Parking? We’ll find a spot.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing specialist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Back to School!

CREDIT: Yobro10 | Dreamstime.com

A familiar sound has returned. The wind carries the brassy notes and errant cymbals of practice through my neighborhood as a nearby high school’s marching band tunes up for football Fridays. I think (hope) they’re supposed to be playing “Hotline Bling,” but they don’t quite have it down.

The aisle blockers at Target and Walmart are no longer on the hunt for Pokémon. Instead, they’re diving into racks of white polos and navy khakis. They’re checking off items on a wrinkled sheet of paper as they count out glue sticks, red pens, five-subject notebooks, and three-ring binders.

It’s a little endearing to see the supply list still going strong, in spite of the technology that’s come around since my mom and I argued over Lisa Frank folders way back when. I wrongly assumed Amazon would put an end to the pageantry of school shopping and those parent-child showdowns in front of the backpacks. “Are you SURE this is the one you want? I’m not buying you a new bookbag when you decide you don’t like (insert whatever the kids are into these days here) anymore.”

Yobro10 | Dreamstime.com

Last Wednesday I even received an email at work assuring me that it’s “not too late to think about back to school for my retail clients.” Actually, marketing automation software vendor, it is. Now that the conventions are over, television is one long commercial with some tweens dancing in front of lockers. Because it’s that time again.

Some schools are already back in session. But the school year really kicks off in a few days when our Instagram and Facebook feeds will be overtaken by the images of drowsy children wearing brand new sneakers and toting lunch boxes that likely won’t make it past Christmas break before being forgotten on the playground. “My First Day of Third Grade!” a Pinterest-inspired placard reads. “OMG third grade already? I can’t believe she is so grown up! It seems like she was in diapers just yesterday! Heart eyes emoji” our mutual friends will remark in the comments.

I can list about a million things I do not miss about school. Math and science rank high on that list, followed by undressing for gym class and then participating in gym class. Most of all, it saddens me that there is no “adult life” equivalent to the new beginning that is the First Day of School. Until high school, when “cumulative GPA” becomes part of the equation Day One is Square One. Everybody’s got straight A’s on the first day. It’s a chance to make a first impression on a new batch of potential friends and on the teacher, who, by the way, is holding it all together even though she has no idea which student is which.

My teacher friends are my heroes for so many reasons. They spend their summer “vacations” planning, attending workshops, and cramming in as much time as they can with their own children before they re-dedicate their lives to educating other people’s. I don’t know how they do it. Never mind the long hours, inadequate pay, the administrative responsibilities, and paperwork — the mere thought of spending seven or so hours a day with a roomful of kids and their questions terrifies me. Especially during this bizarro election year. Isn’t there, on some level, a moral obligation to discuss it, at least in social studies class? How do you simplify for a child a series of events that defy logic for adults? What do you do if some kid says something like “Donald Trump is going to make America great again”?

I don’t know how I would respond. Wait, yes I do. I’d say something rude like, “Well it’s a good thing you’re too young to vote, because even the members of his own party don’t believe that.” Or I’d accidentally let slip an F-bomb. Then the kid would go home and tell his parents, and that would be the end of my career. That right there is why I could never be a teacher.

So here’s to you, patient and saintly educators. And here’s to you, parents, as you finalize carpool plans and try to figure out why your child needs to provide six boxes of Kleenex and 40 reams of printer paper. And, to the students, good luck. Pick out your clothes the night before, get a good night’s sleep, and make sure you eat breakfast. Don’t get lost, and try not to do anything that will earn you an embarrassing nickname that lasts your entire life. Go get ’em.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The “G” Word

Sears Crosstown rendering

Last week was a busy one for Midtown news. To recap: Parkway Grill and those delicious chicken pitas are history, hopefully not for good. YoLo is moving west to make room for a restaurant at the southeast corner of Madison and Cooper. Crosstown Concourse’s apartment units, the “Parcels,” are available for pre-lease and will be ready in December. And the Greensward debate might finally be settled? I’ll believe that one when I see it.

More changes are on the way. Some seem exciting, others just “ehhhh.” I’m not sure all of them are good ideas, but I’m willing to wait and see. I’ve heard reactions to the Overton Square and Crosstown news that were far less measured, with terms like “overpriced” and “bullshit” and even the dreaded “G word” bandied about.

Whoa there. I had no idea y’all were so passionate about your frozen yogurt. You’d think Pho Binh was being replaced with an artisan mayonnaise boutique or something, the way some people were carrying on. Now THAT would be a crisis.

Let’s not conflate revitalization with gentrification. Not while we’re trying to compensate for a half-century of population loss and alleviate poverty in the poorest metro in the country.

We need Midtown, and Memphis as a whole, to thrive. Yes, authenticity is important. We strive to support and uplift local businesses. We also need safety and good schools and other public goods that cost money. These needs are hard to fulfill in a city that’s full of renters but relies on property taxes. Memphis the metropolitan area spans three states, but Memphis the city only collects sales taxes in one of them (Think about that when you drive to the outlet mall).

I digress. Go to smartcitymemphis.com — they explain this stuff better than I can.

I used to think Midtown was so much more fun when I was in my 20s. Really, my nostalgia was more for the plot of my 20s than the setting. I do miss Square Foods, when it was in the space the Bayou now occupies. I miss the old Hi-Tone. I miss seeing bands at the Deli. I miss the Republic Coffee that was on Madison. Everything else I loved is still around, though. Some things have moved or improved. Some are harder to get to, but that’s because the empty and abandoned places have been replaced by other nice things for all kinds of people to enjoy. Yes, “all kinds” should — and does — include people who live outside of zip code 38104.

Rent was $500, split two ways, for the 2BR/1BA duplex near the Piggly Wiggly (better known to y’all new-to-town folks as “Cash Saver”) where I used to live in the early 2000s. It was much bigger than the entry-level Crosstown Parcel, which is $874. Unlike a Crosstown Parcel, it didn’t include wifi or a washer and dryer or a gym membership or a functioning stove. Like most things that are cheap, it was that way for a reason. The place was falling apart. Literally crumbling. What it lacked in amenities, it made up in “quirks” and experiences that would hopefully inspire a novel or at least an interesting chapter or two in my memoir.

Nearly every element of old-house charm had been painted over or sealed off to exempt the landlord from having to maintain it. I had to screw plywood boards to my window air conditioning unit so it would fit in the one window that opened. The hardwood floors were probably gorgeous at some point, before they were painted black.

The downstairs neighbors were a family of four hearing-impaired insomniacs who hated each other’s guts. Their favorite activities were yelling at each other and watching network television at top volume; often they did both at once. Vonage was running that commercial with The 5.6.7.8‘s “Woo Hoo,” and I swear it aired 100 times a day, double that on my days off. To this day I clench my teeth and fists whenever I hear that song.

The house was boarded up not long after we moved out. It’s still there, probably waiting for a fire or perhaps a strong gust of wind to put it out of its misery.

The character of Midtown hasn’t changed much, but little improvements like “not letting that entertainment district wither away completely” and “finally doing something about that dormant 1.5 million square foot building” seem to be working out OK so far. Housing demand is increasing as more people want to move in than to leave. New apartments are being built for the first time in years, and the market will decide whether the prices are right. Meanwhile, let’s hold off on throwing around words like “gentrification” — at least until the mayonnaise store opens.

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

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Peabody Place? Fill ‘Er Up!

It’s not going to be an aquarium and tropical bird sanctuary, much to my chagrin.

It’s not going to be a fancy grocery store with old-world wines, grab-and-go lunches, and myriad unpronounceable cheeses, unfortunately.

Or a Target. Damn it.

Know what else Peabody Place isn’t going to be? An empty building.

And that right there is enough of a reason for any Memphian to celebrate.

When Peabody Place opened, it was the coolest thing going. Well, to me at least: I was fresh out of high school and enjoying what little freedom is available to an 18-year-old still living at home in Collierville. I’d trek out there with a few friends, and we’d, well … I guess you could say we did a lot of loitering, come to think of it.

We might catch a movie at the Muvico. Sometimes we’d bowl or play video games at Jillian’s and split a burger and fries. We’d bypass the Gap and Victoria’s Secret — there were locations much closer to home — to pass hours in Tower Records. We’d read the imported magazines, sample new CDs, and thumb through the bargain DVDs, but rarely did we walk out of there with a yellow bag.

In other words, I’m probably part of the reason the whole thing failed. Sorry. Could the property have been salvaged as a retail concept if not for the recession? Looking at the condition of other malls in the city and elsewhere across the country, I wouldn’t put my eggs in that basket.

So what do you do with 300,000-square-feet smack in the middle of downtown Memphis? You bring in one of the city’s biggest companies and its 1,200 employees and you set off a ripple that can transform the area forever, that’s what.

Y’all. I don’t mean to devalue the impact of ServiceMaster’s decision merely to stay in Memphis. Their departure could have been disastrous for the city, and I’m glad that out of the 10 to 13 cities they considered, the one they chose was “home.” But I haven’t been this excited about Peabody Place since I was old enough to order my first drink at Club Atlas.

I know it’ll be a while before they move in, but I am ready to roll out the red carpet for ServiceMaster right this moment. I don’t mind that a thousand more vehicles on I-240 will probably slow down my morning commute. I can accept a longer wait in the food truck lines at Court Square on Thursdays. Construction might gunk up Second and Third streets, but it’s a small price to pay for the luxury of not having an abandoned mall in the center of all the action.

I’m hoping ServiceMaster’s arrival inspires a little restaurant boom. (Sidenote: There are a few spots for lease on Madison, so if you have an idea and a few grand lying around, you should get to work, ASAP.) But in any case, I welcome all 1,200 employees to discover the best lunch spots (three tacos for $8 at Maciel’s, thank me later); the best wifi-enabled places to escape the office; the joy of an afternoon cheesecake break at the Peabody Hotel deli.

Bring ’em on. There’s plenty of room. Because downtowns are supposed to be busy. Bring the jobs, and the people follow. Provide those people amenities, services, things to do, places to live. Then come visitors who want a piece of the action — they’ll need a place to stay. Yeah, I’m oversimplifying things a little — but that’s the recipe.

I’ve worked downtown for a decade, and so much has improved these past few years. We’ve been fortunate the improvements have not come at the expense of the history in our buildings: the U of M law school is one particularly gorgeous example. Hopefully, the Tennessee Brewery will be another. The Chisca connects the core and South Main so seamlessly I’ve honestly forgotten what it was like before. Just think — in a few years we’ll have forgotten what it was like to walk, cringing, past that abandoned mall.

But for every Chisca, there’s still a Sterick lurking on the skyline. There are still too many empty storefronts and not enough hotel rooms. The trolleys and public transportation in general seem to be in a perpetual state of “TBD.” But the gaps are filling in, slowly but surely. ServiceMaster is filling a massive one.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

It’s Barbecue Fest time, y’all!

CREDIT: Susan Ellis

One thing I love about people in New Orleans is the way they treat every seasonal event like a holiday. It’s totally normal, even custom, to be greeted with a “Happy Mardi Gras!” “Happy Jazz Fest!” or simply “WHO DAT!” depending on the season. Along with a trunkful of craft beers and several bags of locally-made tortilla chips my husband loves, I’ve decided to bring the tradition home with me after my most recent trip to that other river city.

So, Happy Barbecue Fest, errrbody!

Though the air feels a little less electric (and a lot less polluted by yellow towel lint) without a Grizzly contribution to downtown’s bustle and buzz, this time of year is peak Memphis. Barbecue Fest combines several of my favorite things: people watching, smoked meats, and pig puns galore.

Barbecue Fest is a time to take inventory of personal relationships. It’s about catching up with old friends, whom you may not have seen since the last drunken Thursday night spent at the terrifyingly wobbly three-story tent with the slushie machines. It’s best to send a text a few days or even weeks in advance so as not to seem too obvious, but there’s no room for shame when you’re on the prowl for wristbands. Those things are currency more precious than gold. If you can’t get into a tent, you might as well stay home. Once, I saw a woman salvage a discarded wristband from the dirt like she was Gollum and the One Ring was forged from a flimsy piece of paper from Oriental Trading Company. Now that’s shameless.

Susan Ellis

Hog Holiday

Speaking of tents, it’s a time to redefine what constitutes a “tent.” Fifty-one weeks out of the year, a tent is a 10×10-ish nylon dome you camp in. During Barbecue Fest, a tent is a massive structure with scaffolding, plywood floors, and two flights of steel stairs that ought to require a waiver to climb. Some have nicer televisions with bigger screens than the one in my living room. Some have sound systems that could fill a large nightclub’s dance floor with sound.

Barbecue Fest is a time for adventure and stepping out of your comfort zone. Try something new — like an entry in the “Anything But” category! Or a shot of Fireball, poured down an unsanitary block of ice, into the mouths of you and the new best friend you just met. It’s a time for hopeful optimism, as you say a quick prayer that the porta potty you choose is suitable for human occupancy.

Sometimes, Barbecue Fest introduces you to a new side of people. You might learn a longtime friend is actually a gifted barbecue chef who’s been holding out on you for years. Most people only reveal their drunk side, though. How many of us have watched in bemused admiration as Jane from accounting finally let her hair down after a few Jell-O shots? (Sorry, Jane — you only made me swear I wouldn’t tell your supervisor.)

It’s a time to create the memories that either last forever, or that are conveniently erased by the combined effects of power-drinking and neglecting to take advantage of the omnipresent pulled pork, ribs, and sausage that comprise the entire raison d’être for that glorious event. Maybe you’re on a team, and Barbecue Fest is about finally showing off the results of months spent testing temperatures and tweaking rub recipes. It’s about taking a few days off from the 9-to-5 grind of your day job to build a “tent” and enjoy some time down by the river.

I hate to use the term “only in Memphis,” but does any of the above sound like a good time anywhere else? Maybe not on paper. But there’s something about that view of the river, the aromatic haze that clouds several downtown blocks, and the growing assortment of clever civic-minded bootleg T-shirts. The sight of a lone flip-flop in the mud, left behind by someone who obviously enjoyed her first Barbecue Fest, evokes the comfortable familiarity of home.

So I’m looking forward to seeing y’all down by the river. Or if I don’t, remember to check the weather forecast before you head out. Bring toilet paper, just in case. Carefully consider your choice of footwear. Keep tabs on your Jell-O shot/mystery punch/brown liquor/all of the above consumption, and drink some water. Don’t forget to eat something: You’re surrounded by food, for heaven’s sake. Be prepared to spend big bucks on an Uber. It’s still cheaper than a DUI. Just take it all in, cut loose, and enjoy yourself. Happy Barbecue Fest.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Legalized Bigotry: Tennessee outdoes Mississippi and North Carolina

CREDIT: Tlovely | Dreamstime.com

Not wanting to be outdone by Mississippi and North Carolina in the Great Southern Race to the Bottom, Tennessee’s state legislature last week decided it was time to revisit the issue of where people go to the bathroom. After designating an official state rifle and making the comically unconstitutional proclamation that we Tennesseans are officially Bible-readin’ folk, the Joint Committee on Bumpkin Behavior convened and resolved that we need to work a little harder if we want to be a true national joke.

So last week HB 2414 and SB 2387 — the “bathroom bill” previously sent to summer study in March after opposition from businesses, civil rights groups, legislators from both parties, and anyone with a brain — swung that stall door wide open once again. If passed, the law would require students in Tennessee public schools and universities to use the facilities corresponding with the sex listed on their birth certificates. Not the gender they express and with which they identify, but the check mark beside M or F on a document that they received at birth.

Tlovely | Dreamstime.com

Better things to poo?

I doubt the sponsors, Senator Mike Bell of Riceville and Representative Susan Lynn of Mt. Juliet, have actually met a transgender person. Otherwise they would understand just how ridiculous and illogical the bill is. Then again, something tells me the “2006 Recipient of the Rush Limbaugh Feminazi Resistance” and the lead sponsor of the 2014 “Religious Freedom Act” probably don’t care. If the bill succeeds, they’ll get right to work on expanding it.

Supporters of the bill claim transgender students using the bathroom where they feel most comfortable “risks bodily exposure to the opposite sex.” In other words, it’s got nothing to do with keeping transgender people safe, though they’re the ones being harassed. It’s about protecting the delicate sensibilities of pearl-clutching Philistines who struggle to accept the fact that some people are different from them.

I have so many questions I don’t even know where to begin. How will this be enforced? Will ushers guard all restroom doors, checking birth certificates? That’s one way to create jobs, I guess. Or will transgender people have to wear some kind of patch so everyone knows what equipment they’re packing “down there”? That oughta keep them real safe. What could possibly go wrong?

Will there be a hotline number one can call to report seeing a hot dog where only buns are permitted? Would I be thrown in the slammer for choosing to use the unoccupied men’s room rather than waiting in line for the ladies’? Whatever, it’s usually cleaner anyway. What about parents with young children, or people caring for special-needs or disabled family members?

Legislators have not answered these questions, because this isn’t about safety. There are already laws that prohibit someone from entering a public restroom to hurt, harass, or invade the privacy of another person. And guess who they protect? Everyone. This bill, and laws like it in Mississippi, Georgia, and North Carolina are about discrimination. They’re about making people feel othered and unwelcome.

Privacy in public restrooms is a nonissue. It’s a right-wing dog whistle that has the potential to cause a lot more damage than “but what if somebody sees a penis?” ever could. Aside from being immoral and repressive, it’s bad for business. The bill puts Title IX funding in jeopardy — that’s $1 billion federal dollars for secondary and post-secondary education. Sorry, students: We’re just trying to keep you safe.

And let’s not forget the lost revenue from tourism, conventions, events, and businesses. Those precious millennials that cities are so obsessed with luring? Kiss them and their money goodbye, too.

Even if the bill does not become law, state legislators are making it clear that a) they’re bigots, b) they’d rather let everyone know they’re bigots than deal with legitimate policy concerns, c) they don’t actually care about their constituents, other than the fellow bigots who keep voting for them. And they’re making it harder and harder to rationalize living in the South.

Come to Tennessee! We’ve got gorgeous weather, majestic parks, and attitudes straight out of the 1950s … uh, did we mention the weather?

Please get it together, Tennessee lawmakers. Your civilized citizens are counting on you. Work on setting the state on a path forward instead of backwards. If that’s too difficult, maybe work on selecting an official State Cheese Dip or something. The obvious choice is Pancho’s, by the way.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.