Author: Jen Clarke

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Goon Squad Forever

CREDIT: Larry Kuzniewski

“Only in the movies, and in Memphis.” And maybe the Old Testament.
Because the long succession of “What now?” moments the 2015-16 Memphis Grizzlies season has endured rivals the Plagues of Egypt. Even Job would be like “Man, that Joerger dude has got it rough.”

And the hits just keep on coming. Vince Carter — who has been surprisingly durable this year, despite being the fourth-oldest active player in the league — is hobbling to the locker room as I type this.

The storyline is full of you-can’t-make-this-stuff up adversity that might make inspiring 30 for 30 material, depending on how it ends. It began with a summer of mostly unwarranted suspense, after which the undisputed anchor of the team re-signed. The draft brought an unknown big-man option from LSU. Free agency brought a promising big-man option in Brandan Wright. And Matt Barnes? Sure, why not? He seems grit-and-grindy enough. Not a whole lot of drama, as far as NBA offseasons go.

Larry Kuzniewski

Dave Joerger

Then the season started and things got weird. An opening-night blowout at the hands of LeBron and the Cavs? Not great. A 50-point shellacking at Golden State? Yikes. Losing to the hated Clippers? Ring the alarm, it’s time to shake things up.

Shipping beloved backup Beno Udrih and local product Jarnell Stokes out of town stung enough on its own. But asking salty, grudge-loving Memphians to cheer for the Mario Chalmers, a man whose game-tying shot once crushed their dreams? That might be one of the front office’s boldest moves yet.

Redemption came quickly for Chalmers, who had really just been doing his job all along. As much as I miss Beno’s cheery tweets from Hog and Hominy, we needed a point guard who wasn’t 34 and injured. Chalmers filled in ably for the unlucky Mike Conley, whose contract year has been disrupted by injuries. Could the search for a serviceable backup point guard finally be over? Did we curse him by considering the possibility? Are we just cursed in general? Did somebody move the crystal skull from the top of the Pyramid when the Bass Pro Shops opened?

On the Boston Celtics’ parquet court, Chalmers uttered four words that forecast the sudden end of his Grizzlies career: “I heard it pop.”
“It” was his Achilles tendon. The team had to waive him because there were not enough healthy players to field a team, even before his injury. Nine players dressed that night, which was actually an improvement over the previous game. Forget “Memphis vs. Errrbody.” The Grizzlies’ new slogan is “Errrbody Is Injured.”

It started with Wright. Then Marc Gasol — the literal engine that propels the Grit and Grind Machine — suffered a season-ending foot injury that has felled some players for good. Tony Allen has missed games. Zach Randolph, Barnes too. Sometimes I forget Jordan Adams is even on the roster. Oh, and I forgot to mention Lance “Born Ready” Stephenson is on the team now. And P.J. Hairston. And Birdman. He’s “Grizzilla” now, though. And you’re never going to believe this, but he’s hurt too. Courtney Lee and Jeff Green are no doubt relieved they were traded before the injury bus could run them over too.

Our starting point guard is on a 10-day contract. He had to jump in on such short notice they couldn’t find him a pair of shorts that fit. He went from packing for a D-League game in Ohio, to playing and starting in his first NBA game, in 36 hours. If you told me you saw him in the Grizz Den before tipoff getting his name sewn on to the back of his jersey, I would believe you. I would believe anything at this point. Conventional wisdom would have eliminated the Grizzlies from the playoffs the moment Marc Gasol went under the knife. Conventional wisdom has been writing eulogies for “Grit and Grind” for three years.

Yet here they are, on the verge of another playoff appearance. This time they’ve added more grit, more grind, and more guys with wacky nicknames who fit only in a place where you’re never fully dressed without a chip on your shoulder.

So obviously the Grizzlies are going to win their first NBA title this year. Yeah, the odds of that happening are something like 200:1, but they have already shown that they care not for your odds, your conventions, or your logic. Look out, Warriors and Spurs. You don’t want none of the Goon Squad.

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

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Backpfeifengesicht!

For Lent this year, I’ve given up paying attention to election coverage. Just kidding! Instead of staying engaged, I’m hate-watching “Decision 2016” like it’s the last season of How I Met Your Mother. Hopefully I won’t hate the ending as much.

The story lines haven’t changed much since last summer. Ted Cruz is still the poster child for backpfeifengesicht. Seriously. Google “punchable face.” There is actual science behind this. Donald Trump hasn’t run out offensive things to say, nor has he suffered any consequences for saying them. Hillary Clinton hasn’t worn the same pantsuit twice. Jeb Bush? Pretty sure he’s the inspiration for Arrested Development‘s Buster Bluth. I’m still waiting for Marco Rubio’s alleged charisma to make its debut. Oh, and Ben Carson’s still out there giving hope to aspiring brain surgeons who are, um, not smart.

Somebody call me when someone manages to hold Bernie Sanders down long enough to get a comb through his hair. Or when the primaries are over. Whichever comes first.

Election Day is more than eight months away, and I am already over it. It’s going to be a long year, and not because there is an extra day in February.

I’m over the constant emails with the ambiguous subject lines, always asking me for a dollar, or $27, like the world’s most persistent panhandlers. I have opened exactly one of these messages, from James Carville, titled “whackadoodles.” Spoiler alert, it wasn’t actually from the Ragin’ Cajun. I only opened it because I wanted to reward the copywriter for capturing my attention. Game recognize game, or something.

Then there are the debates. Surely after nine episodes of the GOP Clown Car Hour, the candidates must be weary of trying to think of new and innovative ways to express how much they hate Obama, Muslims, women, minorities, immigrants, taxes, and poor people, and love guns, Jesus, corporations, and Reagan. We get it. Yet there are three more scheduled. Might I suggest a Thunderdome format? Or the Eliminator from American Gladiators? Let’s just get this thing over with already.

Of course the Democratic debates are more substantial in terms of policy discussion — there are only two candidates. They still have to talk it out a dozen times, though, so every network gets a piece. And the debates are no more illuminating or informative unless you consider the number of millennials who probably had to Google “Henry Kissinger” during the last one. Because he’s relevant in 2016. Thanks for reminding us how old you are, Bern and Hillz! Your Snapchats and emoji tweets are bae and so on fleek, it’s easy to mistake you for fellow youths.

Thanks to the internet, social media, and TV news, we have rapid access to just about everything there is to know about every candidate. Why is it that, when technological advancements have streamlined and simplified every other facet of life, national elections take longer and longer? That’s a rhetorical question, of course. It’s money. It’s always money. Ted Cruz was the first to declare his candidacy last March, and it wasn’t to give us extra time to learn to like him. No, he needed to start raising money. Because running for president is really, really expensive. Which contradicts the whole idea of government being “by the people” and “for the people.” Good thing that line is from the Gettysburg Address, not the Constitution, or we’d be in big trouble.

Candidates spent more than $70 million on advertisements in Iowa, a state that is 90 percent white and one that has little impact on the outcome of the general election. It derives its “importance” from the fact that its caucus system is so complex and convoluted it has to go first. Local businesses — restaurants, hotels, coffee shops and the like — reap economic benefits.

All together, the candidates spent $27,000 on pizza. That’s a lot of pepperonis.

Jeb Bush spent $15 million in Iowa and placed sixth. If I were him, I would have bought fewer ads and more pizza. Instead he went and spent more than $30 million in New Hampshire. He placed fourth! These are supposed to be the “fiscal responsibility” guys! Think of all the problems $30 million would solve. The amount losing candidates spent in that tiny state could have bought new pipes for the entire city of Flint, Michigan.

The longer the election takes, the more it costs. That’s why everyone who runs for president is either a millionaire or a corporate puppet, or is constantly in your email begging for money. Or all of the above. It’s the American way, until it’s no longer profitable.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Zoo Blues

CREDIT: Clewisleake | Dreamstime.com

Clewisleake | Dreamstime.com

The last time I visited the Memphis Zoo was the first “Fake Spring” day of 2015. Fake Spring is the term I use for those late-winter, 70-degree teases everyone savors because they signal the impending change of seasons, though there’s also a 50/50 chance an ice-nado or some other freakish weather event is about to roll through town within a few days.

It was a Sunday afternoon. My friend and I weren’t the only ones eager to get outside for a glimpse at the majestic animal kingdom in our own backyards, as we were joined by practically every family in the tri-state area.

After I paid my five bucks and circled the lot a few times, I wound up having to park on the grass. My friend, who is not from the area, couldn’t believe cars were allowed to park there.

“This is not ideal,” I thought. The ground was still squishy from a recent rain. I hated to think of what the vehicles were doing to the grass and soil, and my hatchback isn’t exactly built for off-roading.

Had I known, I probably would have found a free spot on the street and walked the extra distance. The mosquitoes weren’t out yet, and I have two working legs.

Until last week, “this is not ideal” was about as strong as my opinion ever got on the matter of the parking situation at the Zoo. I saw room for compromise. “We’re so popular, no one can find a parking space” seems like a good problem to have, one that all parties involved should, ideally, be eager to solve together. I read a handful of options for a permanent solution, and I assumed we citizens could sit back and watch the two sides work it out for the sake of the community.

How, after 25 years of living in Memphis, could I be so naïve? Working out a reasonable solution that benefits everyone — that’s crazy talk. When has it ever been that simple?

The latest battle in the war over the Overton Park Greensward (“Treegate,” if you must) is too petty to ignore. Did anyone at the Memphis Zoo envision a scenario in which cutting down — excuse me, removing — 27 trees would result in anything other than a public relations imbroglio? Who signed off on that? Did they think no one would notice? And then, to double down by accusing the conservancy of maliciously planting the trees? Surely at this point the intention must be to alienate the entire city. It’s the only possible explanation. That’s one way to eliminate the need for overflow parking, I suppose.

I understand the challenge the Zoo is facing. They’re trying to get people through the gates. They keep renovating, hosting events, and adding exhibits and attractions to provide us a reason to come back, and it’s working. The facilities have come a long way since my elementary school field trips. Ya Ya’s fertility struggles aside, the Memphis Zoo has the distinction of housing one-sixth of the United States’ giant panda population. The Teton Trek exhibit is magnificent. The polar bears are super cool (har, har). Success hasn’t come without cost, though.

Parking wasn’t as much of a concern in 1906, when the Overton Park Zoo was founded, but now the Zoo is literally backed into a corner. And 45 years after citizens fought to keep I-40 out of the heart of the city, Overton Park is still fighting to keep the cars out.

It may no longer be in the name, but the Memphis Zoo is a part of Overton Park, for better or worse. Trees are not a “nuisance to patrons.” They’re a feature of parks, in case our friends at the Zoo forgot that “park” is not short for “parking lot.” Removing trees and destroying grass are actions that aren’t just un-neighborly — they’re incompatible with the mission of conservation, whether the space in question is used 60 days a year or 365.

Overton Park and the Memphis Zoo share a common goal of bringing joy to local families. It’s time to remember that and start acting like adults.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Gifted: Haunted by the ghosts of Christmas debacles past.

CREDIT: Kuvona | Dreamstime.com

I wish I loved Christmas more. It should be easy, right? What’s not to love about parties and gifts, food and booze — a shortlist of my favorite things? The problem is, the holiday just doesn’t seem to love me back. I’m no good at Christmasing. Let’s just say I’m not my best self this time of year.

When I was in third grade, I sang in the children’s choir at church. It must have been open to all kids regardless of talent, because my singing voice is Roseanne-Barr-singing-the-national-anthem bad and always has been. As with ballet, baton, piano lessons, and every other activity, I suspect it was just another excuse for my parents to get me out of the house for a few hours. Well, I sure showed them.

We were scheduled to sing at Christmas Eve Mass. At the end of rehearsal a few days before the service, the director addressed the entire group.

“Please remember to wear your church clothes, and not the costume you wore in the program. Do you understand? Do not wear your costume. Wear what you would normally wear to Christmas Mass. Everyone nod, so I know you’re paying attention.”

“What are you supposed to wear for church?” my mother asked me the night before the Mass.

To this day, my response is more of a mystery than how the virgin Mary became pregnant. “I think we’re supposed to wear our costumes,” I said.

I deserved what happened next.

“Oh yeah. She did say that,” I thought to myself as the director explained to my mom that she had very clearly and adamantly told us what to wear.

In my defense, she should have sent a note home to the parents. These were elementary school kids! Forget that I was the only one in the group who could not be trusted to relay the message.

There wasn’t enough time to go home and change. I ditched the halo headband, but the wings were not detachable. I had my very first “walk of shame” at age 8 as I cried in the line to get Communion. At least I was small for my age, so I could pass for a younger kid. Hard to believe I was a “gifted” child, huh?

That was the beginning of a long legacy of Christmas debacles, which also includes nearly ruining Santa for multiple children, countless awkward company parties, and a lengthy unlucky streak in white-elephant gift exchanges.

I’ve seen one white Christmas in Memphis, and I’ll only remember it because I face-planted on the sidewalk in front of a Cooper-Young bar … while sober. This weekend I’ll be wrapping gifts for charity, so I’m really looking forward to seeing how I manage to humiliate myself there, too.

Also harshing my Christmas cheer is my tendency to buy all Christmas gifts at the last possible moment. I’m no procrastinator — I just utterly and completely lack impulse control when it comes to shopping. I don’t observe many traditions, but I do this one thing every year where I spend the entire holiday shopping season lavishing myself with discounted merchandise instead of buying gifts.

I blame email marketing. It’s the same thing every morning when I open my Gmail account: “Whoa. Extra 30 percent off sale items at Madewell? Let me see if they have anything for, um, my cat.” Now the cat has two new sweaters, a pair of jeans, and a dress. But he really needed that stuff. For winter. Because it’s so cold in Memphis right now.

I bought two pairs of earrings on Black Friday and put them in my own stocking. If that wasn’t sick enough, I almost took out a pair to wear to a holiday party and had to talk myself out of it using the same kind of language they use on Intervention.

Kuvona | Dreamstime.com

Right now, as I write this, I have purchased a grand total of three items to give as gifts. I will undoubtedly be spending part of Christmas Eve in the Oak Court Mall parking lot cussing and crying and the rest pacing the front porch on the lookout for an 11th-hour Amazon Prime shipment. Otherwise, I hope everyone enjoys the free pizza cards I stole from my husband’s wallet. Or whatever gift cards Walgreens has left. Or maybe I can part with one of those pairs of earrings.

Good luck to my family and friends. I’m sure whatever I come up with will be great.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

How to Grieve Correctly

November is supposed to be a time of gratitude, when we gather round and reflect on all the good things and people in our lives. But in the wake of last week’s tragedy in Paris, plus the recent loss of a friend, I’ve spent a lot of time pondering grief. How do I process these emotions, and how do I respond? How can I help others find comfort in painful situations? How can I best serve the memory of those who are gone?

These are questions we can answer only for ourselves. And, apparently, our Facebook friends.

Last Friday afternoon, as we watched the horrific events in Paris unfold, the social media reaction came in waves. First came the photos of friends in front of the Eiffel Tower, sharing their concern and offering their prayers. Then, the blue, white, and red profile photos.

Outward expressions of sympathy and support are perfectly acceptable responses! Anger, confusion, and frustration are understandable as well. But what came next troubled me. I’m not talking about the Obama-blamers or Donald Trump’s shock-value pander-babble or the “bomb ’em all” crowd. I am used to all that. No, it’s the Grief Police that have convinced me that the Internet has made monsters of us all.

“Where was the outrage over (insert other issue here)?” “Why is there no flag for (insert country here)?” “What is France going to do with your thoughts and prayers?” “Do you people really think changing your profile picture is going to do anything?”

It can be a burden, but it is possible to care about more than one thing at a time. There is a veritable cornucopia of issues to lose sleep over. I usually am outraged about at least three different things, and that’s on a good day. I’m sure most of France appreciates the thoughts, prayers, and gestures. I doubt anyone at ISIS headquarters has decided to give up the terrorist life after logging in to Facebook and seeing the shows of solidarité. All of this is beside the point, which is: Don’t tell people how to be sad.

Grief is a process that all of us approach differently. There are healthy approaches, but there is no single correct approach.

Of course, that did not stop me from considering whether I should change my Facebook picture, lest anyone suspect me of being unsympathetic. Because if something terrible happens and you don’t post about it on the Internet, how will anyone know you care?

How did we grieve before Facebook and Twitter? Where did we offer our #ThoughtsAndPrayers in times of tragedy? Is wearing black the analog version of a changed profile picture or a pithy meme? And how on Earth were we able to judge others when we perceived them to be processing their sadness in the “wrong” manner? Is this brand of shaming a new phenomenon like Tinder and selfie sticks? Or has it been happening all along, just in beauty parlors and sewing circles and Letters to the Editor?

Social media provides a space for people to grieve together in spite of physical distance. Seeing and sharing anecdotes and photos and well-wishes can be therapeutic. Or it can be overwhelming. It might be #toosoon. It might fill you with regret or remorse or sometimes even resentment. But that’s your response. We all have emotional baggage, but the contents vary. Each of us carries our baggage in our own way.

There is so much ugliness in the world. And we’re exposed to so much more of it thanks to the myriad technologies we have at our fingertips. Let’s not compound it by being assholes to each other on the Internet when people are hurting. There’s not a whole lot we can control, but one thing we can control is the way we treat others.

Be thankful for that.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Halloween Costumes That Don’t Bluff

I was never too keen on Halloween as a kid. Each year our church hosted an event that featured both a haunted house and a fright-free “fun house” for the little ones who couldn’t handle it. And me. I tried to act as if I was protecting my much-younger little sister, but nobody fell for that trick.

I wore the same witch costume for at least four years until the dress was a tunic and the pointy hat’s elastic band was tight enough to cut off the circulation to my brain. I spent the next few Halloweens going door-to-door in my soccer uniform, before finally deciding I was too cool to participate in that lame kiddie stuff. October 31st was just another day until I was old enough for Adult Halloween.

Adult Halloween is a totally different holiday, one that’s more about cocktails than candy. Adult Halloween means multiple weekends of party-hopping in a costume that’s either clever, timely, skimpy, or terrifying as hell. Or all of the above. I don’t know if there’s an upper age limit for Adult Halloween, but if there is, I’m not there yet.

I usually try to come up with a Memphis-themed costume, but I haven’t managed to top Halloween 2009, when I was “The Vacated Season.” That costume consisted of a meticulously reproduced 2008 NCAA Final Four banner over a white sheet with eyeholes and a mouth hole that grew as the night progressed. I could barely breathe, let alone drink my beer without making a mess, but it was worth it.

I thought of this year’s costume on November 1st last year. Because, as we all know, that’s when all the best Halloween ideas happen. For once I actually wrote it down, instead of trying to remember it a year later.

I’ve come up with a few others since then. Halloween is fast approaching, and I know some of you are waiting until the last minute (or until someone invites you to something) to put together a costume. Consider these costume ideas my gift to the people — a public service, if you will. Bonus: you can make them using items you already own or can acquire cheaply.

Statue of Liberty Bowl: Wear a blue sheet as a toga. Carry a football under one arm. Keep a beverage in your “torch hand” at all times. Print out a picture of the exterior of the Liberty Bowl and wear it as a crown.

Bike lane: Wear a black shirt and black pants. Paint two vertical white stripes down the front of each. Find a bike lane symbol online and stencil it on the front. If you want to take it a step further and be the Madison Avenue bike lane, affix a toy bus to the front of the shirt.

The Roo: Procure a stuffed kangaroo. Wear the kangaroo on your head. Give people piggyback rides in exchange for candy.

Grindfather clock: Make a kindergarten-style paper-plate mask of a clock face. Or paint a clock on your own face, if you prefer. Just make sure you don’t paint it backwards. Mirrors can be tricky, you know. Wear a Tony Allen jersey. Make a pendulum by affixing some kind of a gold disk to a chain.

Bass Ho Shops: for those who like to slut it up on Halloween, I’ve got three words. Sexy. Bass. Pro. Wear a silver triangle bikini top and the shortest camo shorts you can find. Complete the look with some hunting boots and an iconic Bass Pro trucker hat. If you insist on accessorizing further, carry a fishing pole. Whatever you do, please leave the firearms at home.

Overton Square Parking Garage: Cut holes for your head and arms in a cardboard box. Ask people to give you three bucks. Pair up with The Roo for an easy couple costume.

The “At Least We Look Good” Ole Miss Football Fan: Here’s another potential couple costume. Wear a red dress and brown boots. No tights, no leggings, no matter the temperature. Or go with a navy blazer, white dress shirt, red tie and khakis. Loafers are a must — but no socks. (What is it with the aversion to hosiery, y’all?) Accessorize with a red Solo cup. If you’re going to a party, act like you own the place, and then leave early.

Germantown: Print out about a dozen grocery store logos. These must be high-end stores — anything with “Save” in the name is forbidden. Affix the logos to your body. Make sure they adhere to Chapter 14 of Germantown’s Code of Ordinances. Good luck with that!

I’m sure I could think of a few more ideas, but I would hate to undermine my own chances of scoring a gift certificate or a free bar tab in a costume contest. Feel free to use them, and tweet me a photo if you do. And if you win anything, you know what to do. I accept PayPal, Venmo, and cash.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing specialist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

My Choice for Memphis Mayor

CREDIT: Larry Kuzniewski

Larry Kuzniewski

Justin Fuente

Early voting has begun, and I’ve made my choice for the next mayor of Memphis.

My pick for mayor is an up-and-comer who loves a challenge. What some might call “the worst job in the country,” he calls an opportunity.
He balances a lot of responsibilities at his current high-pressure job. But he manages and delegates effectively. He and a few assistants oversee a team of about 90 people, most of whom are only high school-educated.

He hasn’t been in Memphis long, but his outsider perspective means he’s not cynical and defeatist.

He’s not above working on weekends – in fact, he lives for a Saturday at the office.

Sorry A C, Jim, Mike, and Harold. Maybe next time, Mongo. There’s one man who has shown he has the guts, vision, and leadership to tackle seemingly insurmountable odds and effect real, positive change.

His name is Justin Fuente. He coaches the University of Memphis football team.

I know what you’re probably thinking, and, at first, I didn’t believe in him either. I even called him “another ‘who’ hire instead of a ‘wow'” the day it was announced he’d been selected to coach my alma mater’s embarrassment of a football team. I don’t remember whom I preferred at the time, or why I even thought anyone else would be crazy enough to take the job, but I will happily admit I was wrong. With the success Fuente has had here, I’m more inclined to call him a genius or a wizard than a coach. If he can fix Memphis football, let’s see what else he can do.

If Coach Fuente can transform the Memphis football program from trolley fire to conference champion in just three seasons, I’d like to see what he can do for Memphis Animal Services. Did you see that reverse flea-flicker Paxton Lynch threw Saturday at Bowling Green? That demonstrates that Fuente’s not scared to get creative and make bold decisions, a strength I would like to see him apply in addressing the city’s issues with blight.

We talk about attracting and retaining talent to the city, and so far he seems to have done a pretty good job with that. Just imagine the positive attention the city will get if Memphis beats Ole Miss this season. If that happens, we should bypass the mayor thing and crown him King of Memphis for life eternal so he never moves on to a “bigger” job. What better gig is there than king?

I’m sure he’d decline, deflecting the praise onto his players and assistant coaches. But it would backfire, because that kind of humility is another leadership quality that would make him a perfect mayor and/or king of the city. Shoot, bring the staff along too. City Council, start packing your things. I’d offer the players something too, but I’d hate for some NCAA violations to interfere with these good-time feelings in Tiger Nation.  

Former U of M athletic director R.C. Johnson used to say “It’s a great day to be a Tiger,” and it made me cringe every time. But we can finally say without irony that these are halcyon days indeed for Your Memphis Tigers, who have started the season 3-0 for the first time since 2004. That means they’re already halfway to bowl eligibility for the second year in a row, with a  fairly friendly schedule ahead. They’ve won 10 straight games for the first time since Kennedy was president. That’s good for one of the longest winning streaks in the country. In football! Can you believe it? It still feels a little like Bizarro World to me.

For others, it feels too good to be true. Every postgame show, at least one caller asks: “How long before somebody snatches him up?” “What happens when he’s gone?” “What do we have to do to keep him here?” How typically and hilariously Memphis is that? “Things are going great, so we should probably start preparing ourselves for when it all inevitably goes to hell.”

I understand. Sports fans in this town have been burned before. But I promise it’s OK. If I had a dollar for every time a fellow alum told me “I love Tiger basketball, but I root for (insert SEC school here) in football ’cause … you know …” I could upgrade my season tickets. Now? They’re complaining about having to work in the morning after attending Thursday night’s Cincinnati game. The train’s on the tracks (literally, it’s on Southern just south of the stadium), and it’s moving in the right direction. Enjoy it.

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

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

This Would Be An Awesome …

CREDIT: Karenfoleyphotography | Dreamstime.com

Karenfoleyphotography | Dreamstime.com

Beale Street

When I’m meandering about the city by myself, I play games to keep myself company. If this sounds weird to you, please ask anyone who has ever been an only child to explain.

I played a game called “Count the Accents on Beale Street” on my lunchtime walks during Elvis Week. The name could use some work, but you get the gist.

When I’m driving, I also like to imagine what the other drivers on the interstate are listening to. Suburban SUV Mom? Either Mystic Stylez or some kind of Swedish death metal. Big Hemi with the truck nuts? You know he’s singing along to “All About That Bass.”

True story: This game was inspired by a Lyft driver who, um, challenged my preconceptions by blaring some Reba as he pulled into my driveway.

My favorite pastime is a game I call “This Would Be an Awesome _____.” The premise is simple: As I pass an empty storefront or an abandoned building, I think of a new use for it.

Peabody Place would be an awesome grocery store, with a huge salad bar and prepared-foods section (and wine, of course).

If H&M had consulted me, they’d be in the old Tower Records space. No offense, Collierville.

Is it too soon to say the former Chiwawa, né Chicago Pizza Factory, definitely needs to be a gourmet hot dog restaurant? Because that would be awesome. If not there, then the space Pei Wei once occupied on Union.

In the old Towery Building at Union and McLean, I envision a charter high school for kids who are interested in the restaurant and hospitality industries, with a working restaurant and hotel run by the students.

I’ve imagined bootleg Grizzlies T-shirt shops, all-night diners that serve boozy milkshakes, a speakeasy and print shop in the Edge District, a Church Health Center for Animals, and an open-air market in a vacant church in South Memphis. Plus a cat café. And I’ve found at least three spots that would be perfect for a roller rink and bowling alley with a stage for live music.

My brain is like a pop-up shop that never ends, cranking out ideas ranging from “Why isn’t that already a thing?” to “So crazy it just might work” to “Have you been drinking?” I’m not bold or wealthy enough to try to realize any of them. (If you are, feel free to borrow any of the above ideas that appeal to you.)

Please don’t revoke my Memphian card for saying this, but some days this city makes me want to scream. “This Would Be an Awesome _____” grounds me, because it reminds me why I’m still here. Because the opposite, “Remember When This Was a _____” is just boring. And it seems “This Would Be an Awesome _____ But This Is Memphis So It’ll Probably Never Happen” is finally making way for “Why not Memphis?”

Next Tuesday is September 1st, “901 Day.” It’s the day we doff our proverbial caps to the city where you can eat at a different barbecue restaurant every night of the week and never get the same main dish twice. Where folks are only half-joking when they say “Z-Bo for Mayor.” Where nostalgia teeters on the border between quaint and counterproductive but in an endearing sort of way. And you better learn a thing or two about basketball if you want to have a conversation with anybody. Home of Drake’s Dad, an epic love/hate relationship with trolleys, the World’s Biggest Bass Pro Shops Ever, No, Seriously, It’s a Pyramid, and First-Team All-Defense.

Alas, 901 Day is not an official holiday — yet — and you still have to go to work. Who knows, maybe that will change during the Randolph administration. But if you’re looking for a way to celebrate, play a little “This Would Be an Awesome _____.” Just see what comes to mind. It might surprise you. It might inspire you. It might be the next big thing, and it might make you a million bucks, in which case I hope you think of lil’ ole me and help me open the hot dog restaurant this town deserves.

Let’s get more people thinking and sharing ideas. When we see things for what they can be, “This would be awesome” turns into “This IS awesome.” It sounds crazy, but it just might work.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Dodging Bullets

CREDIT: goir | Dreamstime.com

goir | Dreamstime.com

I’m ready for this summer to end. It’s got nothing to do with the heat or school or the lack of interesting sports on TV. I’m just exhausted. I’m angry. I’m sick of reading, hearing, seeing news of people getting shot.

At the time I started writing this, if the United States put up a sign that says “__ Days without a Mass Shooting,” the number would be zero. Hopefully it will have increased by the time anyone reads this, but I’m not holding my breath. (Finally, something more depressing than that sign on Union that tells us how long it’s been since somebody died in a fire.)

First it was the white supremacist kid, with guns he wasn’t supposed to be able to purchase. So we took down all the Confederate flags. Look everyone: progress! It only took 150 years!  

Then it was a guy named Mohammad, who was either a depressed suicidal alcoholic or a freedom-hatin’ Moozlim, depending on whom you ask.

Then a 57-year-old man shot up a movie theater in Louisiana, and he is being described as a “drifter.” I can’t wait to see the anti-drifting legislation no doubt being drafted this very moment.

What happens next week? What explanation? Which victims will we mark on our quickly filling Gun Violence Bingo cards? How many more people have to get shot before someone acknowledges that thoughts and prayers aren’t going to make this problem go away? When is it going to happen here?

The N.R.A. has our redneck uncles convinced that the president is gunna take away our guns!!!!!!! — yet here we are — and it turns out, more guns does not equal more safety. Thanks, Obama.  

But this isn’t on the president. He’s just as frustrated as I am. Truth is, our redneck uncles aren’t the only ones the N.R.A.’s gotten to. Millions upon millions of dollars are being spent to influence gun policy, and it is working. But even that’s only one facet of the problem.

So is racism. Untreated mental illness is a problem, too. Radicalization is a problem, as is sexism, and so on. Drifters might be a problem, I guess? But none of these things are THE problem. Guns are.

Guns are the bloody thread tying this miserable summer together. Weekly mass shootings should be unacceptable in a developed and civilized society, and it is the duty of those elected to represent us to do something about it. Or at the very least, act like they care.

Want to “put an end to these senseless tragedies”? Acknowledge the problem, and do something to make it stop. Say it by name. Say it with me: Guns. Are. The Problem.

Stop making excuses. Stop saying “This is not the time to talk politics.” If not now, when? If Columbine wasn’t the time, Aurora wasn’t the time, Newtown wasn’t the time, and neither were Charleston and Chattanooga — can someone please give me a call when this time arrives?

Stop saying “guns don’t kill people, people do.” Would you say “Hammers don’t put nails in walls, people do?” A gun’s explicit purpose is to kill or wound. That’s it. It doesn’t cut vegetables or open mail or hit baseballs. It has one job. It is a problem, then, that the United States comprises four percent of the world’s population but owns 42 percent of the world’s civilian guns.

It’s a problem that clerical errors and loopholes in the background check process cost lives and have ruined countless others. It’s a problem that a felon can take his grandma to a gun store to buy him a gun “for being a good boy” (which he then used to kill his 8-year-old son and then himself).

It is a problem that, in some places, it’s more difficult to purchase Sudafed or spray paint than it is a firearm.

It is a problem that these acts of violence are making people afraid, and their response is to buy guns. That’s like sitting out in the sun to get rid of a sunburn.

It is a problem that people interpret the Second Amendment to mean they can and should walk around Target with assault rifles.

How can anybody say with a straight face that is what the “Founding Fathers” intended? I think there’s a pretty good chance James Madison, if asked, would say “My bad, you guys, we totally left out a word. Why on earth do you need all these killing machines? This isn’t what we intended at all. The future sucks.”

It does indeed. And the worst part is, nobody’s doing anything to fix it.

Jen Clarke is an unapologetic Memphian and digital marketing strategist.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Congrats, Bristol!

CREDIT: Featureflash | Dreamstime.com

Featureflash | Dreamstime.com

Bristol Palin

Hey Bristol,

Congratulations! I read that you were expecting again! I’m not really sure why I know this, because it’s 2015 and, no offense, I expected your family to have dropped off the face of the earth by now. I thought I wouldn’t hear your name again after your mom didn’t get to be vice president in 2008. But then came summer 2009, when Sarah Palin decided she just didn’t feel like being governor of Alaska anymore. Can you believe that was six years ago? Wow.

But then came the reality shows, the books, the Fox News segments, and the will-she-won’t-she in the months leading up to the 2012 presidential election. I can’t give Sarah Palin credit for much, but she sure made the most of her 15 minutes of fame. I guess that makes your family the Kardashians of politics.

Speaking of your mom, I bet she’s super-excited about the new addition! I’m sure she can’t wait to be a grandma again, especially since she is pro-life and all. I’m so sorry to hear that you’re no longer engaged to the father of your future child, but at least you’ll have the loving, nonjudgmental support of your family. You may be on your own, but you’re not alone. Believe me, that’s more than a lot of women can say.

Wait, sorry, is everything okay? Your blog post says, “This has been a huge disappointment to my family.” Ouch. That’s unfortunate.

Bristol, I know you said you’re not looking for any sympathy, but I thought I’d just let you know these things happen all the time. I bet at least half the people you know are on this earth as a result of an accident, or, as we call them here in the South, “blessings.” Sometimes “surprises” or “miracles” — it really just depends on who it is, bless their hearts. Literally, every single day countless women become pregnant whether they plan to, want to, or even can afford to. Anyway, it won’t be easy to proceed with this on your own, but take comfort in the fact that we live in a free country where, as women, the choice to proceed is ours to make.

Even though I don’t know you, you’re a public figure and I know all of your business, so here’s some unsolicited advice. You don’t have to apologize for getting pregnant out of wedlock. But you should probably — no, definitely — stop lecturing people about abstinence. The good news is, Bristol, I read somewhere the average American changes careers four times. And, you know, millennials just can’t stay in the same place for very long. So you can find something else to do. It’s hard enough to get through to young people. Giving them advice you obviously don’t follow? Now, that’s just buildin’ a bridge to nowhere. I’m sure it will be tough to give up your $262,000 salary as an “abstinence ambassador,” because that’s more than an ambassador to an actual country makes.

I’m not exactly sure what being an abstinence ambassador entails. I assume it involves you talking to teens about how much your child changed your life. “Don’t have sex or you’ll end up like me,” in other words. But how? With a cute, happy, healthy kid and a bunch of money you earned as an abstinence ambassador? That strategy sounds about as effective as abstinence-only education.

You love your child, so why would you talk about him like he’s a punishment? How do you think that makes him feel? How do you think your second child will feel when he or she is old enough to read about you apologizing for bringing him or her into the world?

You’re 24 and you’ve given in to the fact that you’re a human and having sex is a fun thing humans like to do, whether they’re married or not. Good for you. You’re an adult woman, and it’s okay to admit that. Better yet, own it. Turn your hypocrisy into an opportunity.

Abstinence didn’t work for you, but you know what probably would have? Birth control. There are a ton of options, and your doctor will help you find one that’s right for you. Some even have non-reproductive benefits and help with issues like migraines and acne. Methods like implants and IUDs last up to five years and are great for single mothers. Organizations like Planned Parenthood can point you in the right direction, just in case the whole abstinence thing falls through again. Give them a call sometime. Who knows, they might even need an ambassador.

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