Author: Randy Haspel

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Food Flight: Eating In or Eating Out?

CREDIT: © Negotin8 | Dreamstime.com

We had become embarrassingly close to addiction with food delivery services, until we stepped back from the brink and realized the consequences, not just monetarily, but socially as well. There was a time in the not-so-distant past when you had two choices of food delivered to your door: Chinese or pizza. No more. Now, the finest restaurants in town will pack it up and zip it right out to you, and your only task is the occasional 15 seconds in the microwave. You don’t even need dinnerware anymore. You can eat it right out of the sectional plastic tray.

© Negotin8 | Dreamstime.com

The food delivery business has popped up like mushrooms in a cow pasture, or maybe Uber. Of course, it’s not just food anymore. Need toothpaste and Dr. Scholl’s insoles? Push a few buttons and someone will rush it right over. Don’t feel like Krogering? There’s an app for that. Where they once made it so inconvenient that you had to drive over there and have someone load up your groceries, they deliver now. In fact, if you hurry, Kroger is having a sale for your July 4th festivities. Nathan’s Skinless Beef Franks are $2.99 a pack, their famous mustard potato salad is $3.99 for three pounds, and American flags have been marked down from 49 cents to 44 cents. The beer is regularly priced, but it eliminates what used to be a rite of passage for young males — the beer run. If beer is too pedestrian, they’ll bring you a nice Sauvignon Blanc for $19.99. This is a dream come true for agoraphobics. Now there really is no need to leave the house.

As with any addiction, there are plenty of enticements to draw you in, like free delivery and daily specials. For a hefty deposit, you can get free delivery in perpetuity. It’s especially fun to track your order. The restaurant will inform you when your driver leaves the store and when he’ll arrive. On some services, a little car will pop up on the screen and you can follow it directly from the eatery to your driveway.

Our first experience was with Meals in Motion, which contains some of our favorites but is limited in their number of restaurants. We quickly signed up for Uber Eats, Bite Squad, and Door Dash. We tried Postmates, but they wanted some ridiculous amount of money in advance to put on your credit card, so they got deleted. Grubhub has yet to arrive on my block. The rest operate in pretty much the same way: Choose a restaurant, give them your credit card, pull up the menu, press a few buttons, and some nice person will drive your food over — tip included, even if you feel like a bag of Krystals. There’s no waiting for a table, no dealing with a harried server, no wondering why the next table got served when they came in after you, and no deciphering the difference between 15 and 20 percent.

As with any new service, you learn some things by trial and error. For instance, in a restaurant, if they overcook your cheeseburger, you can send it back. Delivery offers that same option, but it will take an additional hour to correct it, and by then you’ve decided that you’re hungry enough to go ahead and eat the overcooked burger. It’s the same with the occasional menu mistake. There’s no mistaking beef tacos when that’s what you ordered online, but when they arrive beefless, what are you going to do? The restaurant will give you a credit, but that doesn’t make up for a spoiled meal. If you order something from a favorite restaurant, say, a beef chimichanga, it’s not quite the same as when they bring it fresh from the kitchen.

We didn’t realize how deeply we were descending into the hedonistic lifestyle until the night we had a hankering for some ice cream. We live within short driving distance from two Baskin-Robbins ice cream shops and one of them is a drive-thru, but they were on the list of stores that delivered. We ordered a variety of scoops in a cup, but it took a while. I kept checking my phone for updates while our cream-cravings intensified. When it finally arrived, the check not only included the cost of the ice cream, but a healthy tax, a pre-arranged tip for the driver, and a $5 delivery charge that was supposed to be free. The guilt over our obscene laziness was palpable. We could have gone Krogering and had a couple of gallons sent over for the same price.

There’s an additional reason that we’ve scaled back on dinner delivery, and it’s the same reason we never use self-checkout in a grocery store or any other discount store chain. We figured for every self-checkout lane, a cashier or sacker will lose a job, and although there’s no stopping automation, we can do our part until it replaces the entire workforce. The same goes for restaurants. Eating at home is easy, but it doesn’t quite match going to an actual restaurant, sitting down at a table, and enjoying a meal. Since I’m not trying to promote any individual restaurant, let’s pretend you have a particular favorite, and for the sake of argument we’ll call it “Patrick’s.” It’s a down-home meat-and-three restaurant. Their food is good and reasonably priced, the atmosphere is convivial, and they have an Elvis wall right in the same spot where I used to play gigs when it was a nightclub in a previous incarnation. Delivery is great, but then we wouldn’t get to see our favorite host, Ben Sumner, or the best server in town, Jo Jo Chetter, whom we have followed from her days at Kudzu’s and who can enthrall you with tales of Ireland.

Delivery services create new jobs for drivers and profits for restaurants, but before you order the next time, remember the cooks, servers, busboys, and cashiers who depend on you putting on your pants and making a personal appearance.

Randy Haspel writes the “Recycled Hippies” blog.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Interesting Times: Trump in London

CREDIT: Reuters | Peter Nicholls

There’s a Chinese expression that goes “May you live in interesting times.” I always thought it was a toast or an expression of goodwill until I looked up its origins (or “oringes”). I discovered that it’s called the “Chinese Curse” and that it’s actually a wish for misfortune toward another — the significance being that uninteresting times are peaceful and uneventful.

So perhaps the Chinese were prescient when it comes to our current state of instability — but no one should have to live like this. It’s difficult knowing your country’s chief executive is a schizoid, delusional megalomaniac when every day — every day — brings a fresh outrage. I’m not a morning person, but my wife is, so we have a ritual when I wake up. I ask, “What new horror happened today?”

Reuters | Peter Nicholls

Protesters fly the baby blimp in the U.K.

We can’t escape from watching the news like it’s a poor man’s Game of Thrones miniseries. It’s exhausting keeping up with the unpredictable conduct of this vile man when your rage and disgust have already been sapped. I have become drained by the daily onslaught of his boasts, his warped opinions, his disdain for the rule of law, and his endless mantra of “No collusion. No obstruction. Witch hunt.” 

During Trump’s on-camera meltdown during last Thursday’s press pool spray, he unleashed a tsunami of lies. One account had him telling at least 21 lies about the Russia investigation. Trump’s endless repetition of falsehoods points to his misguided fascination with “The Big Lie,” as espoused by Germany in the 1930s. It used to be verboten for a credible journalist to compare the evils of any American citizen to Hitler, but those unwritten rules are no longer viable in the age of Stephen Miller and Steve Bannon. In a 1990 Vanity Fair interview, Trump’s first wife, Ivana, said that her husband often read a book of Hitler’s collected speeches, My New Order, which he kept in a cabinet by his bed. I’m surprised that he reads anything at all, but in reading Hitler’s verbiage, he might have come across this quote, “Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it.” Or perhaps he came across this aphorism from Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels: “A lie told once remains a lie, but a lie told a thousand times becomes the truth.” 

But let’s get real, Trump doesn’t read.The most likely explanation is that he learned the technique from his late attorney, Roy Cohn, who was once described as “The … most evil, twisted, vicious bastard ever to snort coke at Studio 54.” Trump tweeted, “I had nothing to do with Russia helping me to get elected.” He later deleted his Freudian slip.

In a single week in the post-Mueller-Report Trump-world, he threatened Mexico with a pyramid scheme of tariffs if they did not stop the influx of wretched immigrants fleeing violence from Central America. Trump man-splained, “It’s about stopping drugs as well as illegals,” to which Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador replied, “Social problems don’t get resolved with … coercive measures.”

After Trump’s tariff announcement, the stock market dropped like an anvil. Even Republican firebrands were incensed. Doddering Iowa Senator “Chuck” Grassley said, “This is a misuse of presidential authority.” Iowa’s junior Senator Joni Ernst said, “Progress to get this trade agreement [USMCA, the acronym for the rebranded NAFTA] across the finish line will be stifled.”

After threatening Mexico, Trump issued an “emergency declaration,” allegedly provoked by Iran, in order to sell billions of dollars worth of arms to Saudi Arabia while bypassing Congress. He then taunted Iran saying, “If Iran wants to fight, that will be the official end of Iran.”

Then it was reported that while Trump was in a Japanese harbor, a White House directive to move the USS John McCain from the fragile president’s view was received by the Navy. Since it is cumbersome to put a destroyer in reverse, the Navy ended up obscuring the ship’s name with a canvas tarp and then denying the entire incident.

By the time you read this, the Trump three-day family excursion to England will be over, so we have to wait to see what shameful conduct occurs. Before leaving, Emperor Trump interfered with British politics, endorsing doppelganger Boris Johnson as the next Prime Minister; insulted Princess Meghan Markle in the Rupert Murdoch-owned tabloid The Sun saying, “I didn’t know she was nasty,” then denying it, until it was learned a recording existed; and claimed Europe is destroying its culture by admitting so many immigrants.

There are protests planned all over England and Ireland during Trump’s official visit. He will be met by the image of a giant penis mowed into property owned by a landscaper on the approach to Stansted Airport, as well as the familiar giant inflated Trump baby blimp soaring above the city. London Mayor Sadiq Khan claimed Trump was “one of the most egregious examples of a growing global threat” and compared his language to “fascists of the 20th century.”

Trump retorted in a tweet, saying Khan was “a stone cold loser.”
I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for these times to be a little less interesting.

Randy Haspel writes the Recycled Hippies blog.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Joys of Watching Jeopardy!

CREDIT: Wikipedia

Fans of the quiz show Jeopardy! already know that there’s something special happening on the venerable old program. A 35-year-old professional sports gambler from Las Vegas is shattering records during a 22 game streak that has earned him almost $1.7 million. The contestant, James Holzhauer, is on track to surpass the earnings of previous Jeopardy! phenom, Ken Jennings, who earned $2.5 million in 74 consecutive games in 2004. As a devotee of the show, he’s the best I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been watching since college. That’s pre-Trebek for those with sentimental attachments to Art Fleming. What makes Holzhauer stand out from anybody else on a hot streak is his bold style. First of all, I never heard anyone even admit to being a professional sports gambler except that guy Robert De Niro played in Casino, and it ended badly for him. Holzhauer plays Jeopardy! like a poker player. “My approach isn’t complicated,” he explains. “Get some money, hit the Daily Doubles, bet big, and hope I run hot.” So if he calmly bets $38 thousand on a single trivia question, Holzhauer says, “It’s only money.” Seemingly fearless, Holzhauer goes for the highest value questions first and pushes imaginary poker chips with an “all in” gesture every chance he gets. He’s been correct 97 percent of the time. His aggressive betting on the show’s “Final Jeopardy!” question has served him well. He’s answered 21 out of 22 questions. I’m telling you, this guy is the Tiger Woods of Jeopardy!

Wikipedia

James Holzhauer

Doing my due diligent googling, I landed on a site called “The Jeopardy! Fan,” which had lots of stats. Consider this: Holzhauer won $131,127 in one game, beating the previous record of $77 thousand. Out of the top-10 highest earning games in Jeopardy!‘s 35 years in its current iteration, Holzhauer holds all 10. On April 17th, all 41 questions he buzzed in on were answered correctly. In Jeopardy! parlance, that’s a perfect game, or as I like to call it, pitching a Sandy Koufax. After admitting to growing up watching Jeopardy! and promising his grandmother that he would be a contestant one day, Holzhauer said he likes to go to the children’s section of the library to prepare. Children’s books are “Chock-full of infographics, pictures, and all kind of stuff to keep the reader engaged.” He has already donated a portion of his winnings to the Las Vegas Library District along with the Ronald McDonald House and the Las Vegas Natural History Museum. Holzhauer’s streak has improved Jeopardy!‘s ratings by 10 percent with over 10 million viewers per day, making it the third-highest viewed syndicated television program, just behind Judge Judy and Wheel of Fortune.

If I seem enthusiastic about Jeopardy!, it’s because it’s a family thing. When the old homestead still stood, instead of the McMansion that now stands, I would drop in on my parents to watch the show. My father was the best player among us by far. Currently, every weekday at 3:55 p.m., my 97-year-old mother can expect a call from me about Final Jeopardy! The thing that separates me from my smart family members is that I was once chosen to be a contestant. In 2003, the Jeopardy! bus came to Memphis, and their representatives set up shop in Peabody Place. Initially, you were given a 10-question quiz on a variety of subjects and out of a thousand people, about 50 scored high enough to be invited back for a 50-question quiz. Out of that group, the high scorers returned to play a mock game, buzzer and all. Although I felt anxious and nauseous going in, a surprising calm came over me when it came to playing the game. When I exited waving that golden ticket to my wife, I was euphoric. I was assured by a Jeopardy! producer that they would be calling me with a date for my appearance. Thanks to my Kudzu’s pub-quiz team-member and former Jeopardy! champ, Ilene Markell, I was given reams of material to study and strengthen my weaknesses, like Shakespeare, science, math, pop culture, mythology, European history, anagrams, national parks, the Revolutionary War, British monarchs, and those darned before and after questions, among others. I was going to meet Alex Trebek. Then something happened.

On July 22nd, what the National Weather Service called the “Mid-South Derecho of 2003,” but locals called Hurricane Elvis, roared through Memphis with straight-line winds surpassing 100 miles per hour, flattening trees and power lines and leaving over 300,000 MLGW customers in the dark. We tried to tough it out, but after a week of extreme heat and the constant ear-piercing din of a neighbor’s faulty generator, we packed up the dogs and moved to an animal-friendly motel on Sycamore View Drive. What we thought would be a short inconvenience turned into 15 days. We were among the last households to have power restored. If Jeopardy! had called, they would have heard that “temporarily out-of-service” message.

When the call never came, I could only surmise that they phoned during the aftermath of Hurricane Elvis while we were living it up at the Day’s Inn. I called the Jeopardy! office to explain but was told I had to retake the test. I said that I still knew the same stuff that I did during the audition but was instructed to either come to Los Angeles to try out or take the online test. I’ve been a miserable failure at the online tests. I never learned to type, which is a necessary component. For all the traumatic testing, the elation of securing an invitation, and the deflating, deafening sound of the phone not ringing, all I got was a lousy key-chain. I treasure it, though. The number of contestants that have been mowed down by James Holzhauer has softened the blow. I could have been like that character in Cheers who blows Final Jeopardy! and has to live with the shame. As for Holzhauer’s streak, we’ll have to wait until May 20th, after the teacher’s tournament, to see if the professional gambler can surpass Ken Jennings as the greatest Jeopardy! champion ever. I’ll take odds that he does it.

Randy Haspel writes the blog, Recycled Hippies.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Democratic Party’s Candidate Cluster

Somehow, “President Hickenlooper” just doesn’t sound right. But then neither does “President Trump.” But the former Colorado governor is one of nearly two dozen candidates running for the Democratic nomination for president in 2020. And despite his state having the No. 1 economy in the nation, Hickenlooper has no real chance of winning.

So why do they do it? Is it to embellish their profiles or just to raise money? And what happens to that money when they invariably drop out? Money talks and bullshit walks these days, so the most cash talks the most trash. Already, records are being broken for fund-raising, and the campaign hasn’t officially started yet. There are so many aspiring Democrats that you can’t tell the players without a program, so in no particular order, here are the top contenders for the opportunity to crush and humiliate the cruelest president in American history.

Joe Biden: Leave it to the Democrats to kneecap the front-runner before the race begins. Biden’s latest controversy comes from former Nevada state assemblywoman Lucy Flores, who has accused the 76-year-old pol of smelling her hair and giving her a “big slow kiss” on the top of her head. Ever seen Biden swearing in new members of Congress with their families? Joe hugs and kisses everyone. He’s just a hands-on guy. Some find it endearing, but Joe has promised to stop giving neck massages and sniffing hair. Biden comes with enough baggage to fill a cargo plane, already: failed runs for president, plagiarism accusations, the Anita Hill circus, his Iraq war vote. In his favor, Biden said of Trump, “I wish we were in high school. I could take him behind the gym. That’s what I wish.” If that event were put on pay-per-view television, we could clear up the national debt. And to his credit, when Biden was Obama’s Veep, it was a big fucking deal.

Bernie Sanders: I thought I was “feeling the Bern,” but it turned out to be just a urinary tract infection. Bernie’s no longer a novelty, so it will be a lot tougher for him to gain traction this go-round, despite raising $18 million and counting. Ever notice how he throws up a lot of “air quotes” when speaking? I can’t watch him anymore without thinking he’s doing a poor impression of Larry David doing an impression of Bernie. Now that Bernie’s ideas have reached the mainstream, who needs a 77-year-old Jewish Socialist from Vermont? Sit down, Gramps, you’re making me nervous and I’m holding a baseball bat.

Beto O’Rourke: Does he charge for those table dances, or does he do them for free? The former Texas congressman is this year’s golden boy, but just coming close to defeating Ted Cruz, the most loathed Senator in Congress, is not enough for a run at the presidency. He’s loved by millennials for being in a punk rock band called Foss, which is the Icelandic word for “waterfall.” As a teen, O’Rourke was in a computer-hacking group known as the Cult of the Dead Cow, named after an abandoned Lubbock slaughterhouse, where his nom de plume was the “Psychedelic Warlord.” Willie Nelson opened for him at a rally outside of Austin where Beto strapped on a guitar and joined the band in a version of “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die.” He’s been compared to Robert Kennedy, but when you’re still skateboarding at 46, you’re no RFK, sir.

Pete Buttigieg: “Mayor Pete” of South Bend, Indiana, has become a phenom because he’s intelligent and informed, qualities that used to work in your favor. Buttigieg, pronounced  “Boot-edge-edge,” is a tough name to put on a bumper sticker, but he could use the slogan, “Go out on a ledge with Buttigieg.” Mayor Pete speaks seven languages other than English and although he is the first openly gay candidate, he would not be the first gay president. That honor goes to James Buchanan, the “lifelong bachelor” who was often considered the worst president in history until the orange putz emerged. At least he won’t be grabbing anyone by the pussy.

Elizabeth Warren: The Massachusetts Senator already has her nickname from the evil one, “Pocahontas,” for bungling her old family yarns about her alleged Cherokee heritage. But since Orangeface speaks with a forked tongue, she can get past it. Warren is the favorite for taking it to Trump, but the galloping palomino of history might have passed her by in 2016. Still a formidable foe who has suggested breaking up “Big Tech,” which is fine by me. We could use a trust-buster like Teddy Roosevelt, someone who Trump thinks is a Democrat.

Kirsten Gillibrand: Appointed by the New York governor to fill Hillary’s Senate seat, Gillibrand has morphed from a “Blue Dog” Democrat with a 100 percent rating from the National Rifle Association into a “Yellow Dog” Democrat who’s tilted mightily to the left. Known as the main cheerleader for drumming Al Franken out of Congress before it became known that it was a Republican hit job, Gillibrand voted to repeal D.C. laws banning semi-automatic weapons. That translates into no shot for the presidency.

Cory Booker: Rhodes Scholar, former jock at Stanford, vegetarian, and former mayor of Newark, New Jersey, Booker would be our first bald president since Eisenhower, if you don’t count whatever that mess is on Trump’s head. Passionate even when not needed, Booker lived in a low-income housing project called Brick Towers while serving as mayor, so at least he wouldn’t think the White House was a dump. Booker also saved his next-door neighbor from a burning building, making him the first potential Marvel Superhero candidate.

Kamala Harris: A former California prosecutor who made Brett Kavanaugh squirm, Harris would be the perfect candidate to try Trump for his high crimes and misdemeanors. While 27th District Attorney for San Francisco, Harris famously dated the then married mayor Willie Brown. Savvy and politically astute, Harris supports Medicare for all and legalization of marijuana. What’s not to like?

Julian Castro: The former San Antonio mayor is the first Latino candidate, but President Castro? I don’t think so. Too soon. At least he would have a built-in body double. 

Not enough space to get to Amy Klobuchar (mean to her staff), Tulsi Gabbard (first Hindu member of Congress), Eric Swalwell (appeared with a frosted buzz-cut in his high school yearbook and annoying presence on cable TV), or Andrew Yang (do we need another businessman?). There are just too many also-rans when the only objective is to boot Mr. Nasty out of office. The word “orange” has no rhyme, but that’s the color he’ll be wearing when he’s doing time.

My pick for the Democratic ticket: Warren/Harris. Make America Maternal Again, (MAMA).

Randy Haspel writes the “Recycled Hippies” blog.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Dethroning the King of Pop

CREDIT: Imagecollect | Dreamstime.com

So what am I supposed to do with my Michael Jackson albums now? In 20 years they’ll be collectors’ items, but presently, I’m unable to listen to them in the same way as before the HBO documentary Leaving Neverland aired.

How can you compartmentalize the artist’s work from the artist? For Jackson fans, the documentary was devastating evidence that Jackson preyed on boys as young as seven and seduced their families as well. Two victims of Jackson’s alleged predations, now grown men, have come forward to testify in graphic detail about the abuse they suffered at the hands of the “King of Pop.” Jackson himself admitted in a previous documentary that he shared his bed with young boys, but claimed it was in a non-sexual manner. In that film, Jackson claimed that it was all milk and cookies and video games, and that he felt most comfortable in the company of children because of their innocence, and that it was an effort to reclaim the childhood that he never had. We always knew that he was weird, but his explanation seemed plausible to Jackson’s fans who wanted to believe it, including me.

Imagecollect | Dreamstime.com

Michael Jackson

I’ll admit to being an unabashed fan of MJ, from the time he first appeared as the child prodigy lead singer of the Jackson 5, until his death. The first CD I ever bought was Off the Wall. I delighted in his first solo effort as a mature artist and even attended the Jackson 5’s “Triumph” tour at the Mid-South Coliseum in 1981.

When Jackson died in 2009, I wrote for this publication, “I truly believe that Jackson was an emotional man-child attempting to surround himself with the only group of people he felt he could completely trust: children. Even his trust in children was betrayed when the boy he tried to help with medical expenses and emotional support filed criminal molestation charges against him. After the young man and his mother were proven to be grifters and Jackson was acquitted of all charges, Michael was forever burdened with suspicions of pedophilia.”

Boy, was I ever wrong. Maybe the $24-million settlement to the family should have been a clue, but I chose to believe his earnest denials of impropriety because I thought Michael was a unique person whose sole purpose was to bring joy to his fans. He sure fooled me. As a result of the heartbreaking HBO documentary, I’ll never listen to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” or “Smooth Criminal” without thinking of his abhorrent sleepovers.

Leaving Neverland came on the heels of the six-part Lifetime series Surviving R. Kelly, in which underage girls as young as 14 told harrowing stories of being abused and held captive by the 52-year-old superstar. In 2008, Kelly was acquitted of 14 counts of child pornography in a Chicago courtroom, but rumors continued to swirl about his penchant for mistreating young girls and creating a “sex cult.” His marriage to his 15-year-old protege, Aaliyah, in 1994, sealed the deal on his alleged pedophilia. The Kelly-produced Aaliyah debut album Age Ain’t Nothing But a Number should have been seen as an in-your-face confession. Kelly forbid questions about Aaliyah in his recent bizarre interview with Gayle King, in which he dissolved into a frightful hysterical denial of everything negative ever said about him. Does this mean I can’t enjoy “I Believe I Can Fly” anymore? I guess so. But if that’s the case, there are scores of other popular songs in question.

When Jerry Lee Lewis married his 13-year-old cousin, back in the 1950s, it nearly ruined his career. But, here on his home turf, it was just thought of as a “Southern thing.” Chuck Berry was sent to prison for violating the Mann Act for transporting an underage girl across state lines for “immoral purposes.” Charlie Chaplin and Frank Lloyd Wright, among others, were convicted of the same offense. Even Elvis was known for his unusual proclivity for watching teenage girls wrestle in their underwear. His future wife, Priscilla, was 14 when Elvis met her, yet he somehow persuaded her parents to allow their daughter to move into Graceland at the age of 17. Little Richard led a life of such debauchery it caused him to quit rock-and-roll and become a minister. Bing Crosby beat his children, but his Christmas album is still a best seller.

The list goes on. Rick James was accused of torturing two women. David Bowie was famous for his dalliances with underage groupies. Rod Stewart has eight children with five different women. The Rolling Stones’ bassist Bill Wyman had sex with a 14-year-old girl whom he later married, when she was 18 and he was 52. Producer Phil Spector is currently in prison for murdering a female acquaintance. John Phillips of the Mamas and Papas had frequent sex with his own daughter, but you can’t turn on an oldies station without hearing “Monday Monday,” or “California Dreaming.” Gary Glitter was arrested for sexual congress with a 13-year-old and was considered so degenerate he was kicked out of Vietnam, yet in nearly every sports arena you can still hear his song “Rock and Roll Part 2,” with the signature “Hey” crowd response.

If the music “industry” — known for sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll — was purged of songs performed by sexual deviants, there’d be nothing left to listen to but Donnie and Marie Osmond — and I’m not even sure about them. Michael Jackson’s songs are being eliminated from playlists all over the country. But as distasteful as it may now seem, I believe people will be grooving to “Bad” again in the not-too-distant future.

Randy Haspel writes the “Recycled Hippies” blog.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Best People: Trump’s Cabinet of Horrors

Let’s forget about the Giant Orange Menace for a moment, if that’s at all possible, and check out how “The Best People” are doing. You remember, President Trump promised to staff his cabinet with only the best. Space doesn’t permit an examination of all the abominations that have traversed this fetid swamp of greed and incompetence, so we’ll have to narrow our commentary to a select few. So let’s just stick with the Cabinet, starting with:

Agriculture: Former veterinarian George “Sonny” Perdue was a Democrat until 1998, before switching parties and becoming the first Republican governor of Georgia since Reconstruction. Before his tenure ended, Perdue wracked up 13 complaints filed with the state Ethics Commission, including accepting $25,000 worth of illegal gifts. In 2004, Perdue sued the Environmental Protection Agency saying, “Liberals have lost all credibility when it comes to climate science, because their arguments have become … so obviously disconnected from reality.” 

Secretary of Commerce Wilbur Ross

In November 2007, while Georgia was suffering through the worst drought in decades, Perdue led a large crowd in prayer on the steps of the state capitol, saying, “We’ve come here for one reason and one reason only, to very reverently and respectfully pray up a storm.” It didn’t work. After severely cutting funds for food and safety regulations, Georgia suffered one of the century’s deadliest outbreaks of food-borne illness. Perdue is now in charge of the nation’s food safety.

Commerce: After being tapped as Commerce Secretary, Wilbur Ross maintained partial ownership in Chinese state-owned businesses, a shipping company tied to Russian oligarchs, a bank in Cypress, and an auto parts industry. Ross was accused of swindling his business associates out of $120 million. Before divesting his holdings to a family trust, Ross shorted stock in the Russian-linked shipping company, Navigator Holdings, making a small fortune before the price of shares plummeted. He was fined $2.3 million by the Security and Exchange Commission.

Education: Perhaps the most despised member of the Trump Cabinet, Betsy DeVos used her billion-dollar fortune from the Amway pyramid scheme company to advocate for directing taxpayer funds to private, religious, and charter schools. A major GOP fund-raiser, DeVos called for the deregulation and privatization of the American education system. With zero experience as an educator or administrator, DeVos home-schooled her own children. She rolled back Obama-era policies on campus sexual assault and fought to end a school loan borrower protection program that made it easier for defrauded students to get their loans forgiven. After a failed attempt to kill an inquiry into for-profit colleges, DeVos named a dean from DeVry University to lead a group of investigators.

In a comical Congressional hearing, DeVos called for arming school personnel because Wyoming schools might need guns to defend against grizzly bears. She is the sister of Erik Prince, soon-to-be-convicted felon and founder of the Blackwater mercenary security group.

Health and Human Services: After Trump’s initial appointee, Tom Price, was bounced from his position for insider trading, such as purchasing shares in companies manufacturing replacement knees and hips and then introducing bills to affect the cost of such surgeries, Trump tapped Alex Azar as his replacement.

As U.S. Division President of pharmaceutical giant Eli Lilly, Azar increased the cost of a crucial diabetes drug by three-hundred percent, doubled the price of insulin, and was fined for colluding to keep prices high in Mexico. Oh yeah, he also worked on the first two years of the calamitous Clinton Whitewater Investigation under Kenneth Starr.

Homeland Security: Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen is the face of migrant family separation. After tweeting, “We do not have a policy of separating families at the border. Period,” Nielsen said, “We will not apologize for the job we do,” like putting kids in cages. According to The New York Times, nearly 12,000 immigrant children spent last Thanksgiving in federal custody.

HUD: Hapless presidential candidate Ben Carson was most likely put in charge of Housing and Urban Development because it had the word “urban” in the title. Knowing nothing about housing policy or HUD’s work, Carson is mainly known for the redecoration of his office, including the purchase of a $31,000 dining room set, which he blamed on his wife. Citing a “secular progressive movement in this country,” Carson halted an investigation into housing discrimination practices. Dr. Ben stated that, “poverty, to a large extent, is also a state of mind,” and that slaves should be seen as “involuntary immigrants.” Carson tried to impose work requirements on recipients of housing assistance. After Trump’s egregious comments about the neo-Klan rally in Charlottesville, Carson claimed the mayhem and murder were, “little squabbles being blown out of proportion.” Since all the corruption can’t be covered in one page, let’s just skip to:

Treasury: As Chief Information Officer for Goldman Sachs, Steve Mnuchin advocated for the reduction of corporate tax rates, making him a perfect fit for Trump’s Cabinet of thieves. Despite the murder and dismemberment of Washington Post journalist Jamal Khashoggi, Mnuchin traveled to Saudi Arabia to meet with Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS) just two weeks after Secretary of State and far-right Christian zealot Mike Pompeo held a similar meeting. Mnuchin said they discussed “combating the financing of terrorism.” Best known for requesting a government jet for his European honeymoon with sometime actress and nude model, Louise Linton, the Mnuchins were photographed exiting a government jet in Kentucky, which Mrs. Mnuchin then posted on Instagram. The trip was ostensibly to meet with amphibian Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, but just happened to coincide with a primo viewing of the solar eclipse.
And we haven’t even had the chance to discuss the acting Attorney General Matthew Whitaker, Scott Pruitt, Ryan Zinke, or Crypt Keeper wannabe Rudy Giuliani. We’ve yet to touch on Michael Cohen, Mike Flynn, Paul Manafort, Don Jr., Jared, Ivanka, or Nixon fanboy Roger Stone. When the multiple investigations are finally completed, I’m confident that they’ll be “the best people” that prison can hold.

Randy Haspel writes the “Recycled Hippies” blog.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Thanks to The Geeker

Editor’s note: The legendary George Klein passed away Tuesday night. Here’s Randy’s Haspel’s tribute from last August. It seems a fitting farewell — BV

One of my favorite shows on local television is Memphis Sounds with George Klein on the Library Station, WYPL Channel 18. The “Geeker (pronounced jeeker) in Your Speaker” does pretty much what he always has: interview artists and musicians, both famous and non-famous, that figure into this thing we call Memphis music.

The only problem is that for the last several weeks, George has taken a leave of absence because of health reasons. His substitutes, Leon Griffin, Dave Brown, and William Bell, have all been great, but nobody does it like GK. Now in its 12th year, George has interviewed everyone from Isaac Hayes to Justin Timberlake, along with scores of other musicians, while treating disc jockeys from small stations with the same respect reserved for superstars. His encyclopedic knowledge of rock-and-roll and radio give Klein decades of anecdotes to call upon — from being part of the original “Memphis Mafia” to the list of musical giants who Klein has promoted over the years. Always entertaining, Memphis Sounds is dedicated to the promotion and preservation of Memphis music, something that Klein has been squarely in the middle of for his entire professional life.

George Klein

Klein has been a fixture in Memphis radio and television since he was an assistant to Dewey Phillips on WHBQ back in the 1950s. Dewey may have been the first disc jockey to play an Elvis record, but George was the second. Beginning his radio career in Osceola, Arkansas, George worked several small stations before landing a job in Memphis at powerhouse WMC, which wanted to experiment with this new rock-and-roll thing.

After a year or so, the station’s management told George that this rock-and-roll stuff was just a passing fad and let him go. Fortunately, George’s Humes High School classmate, Elvis Presley, hired him on the spot — beginning with a whirlwind year traveling with The King and culminating with a bit part in Jailhouse Rock and, subsequently, seven other Elvis movies.

The friendship between Klein and Presley has become legendary, from George’s book, Elvis: My Best Man, to his radio program, “George Klein’s Original Elvis Hour,” now in its 34th year. His syndicated, “The GK Show,” on Sirius XM, broadcast from Graceland, is in its 10th year. Priscilla Presley even asked George to accept the award for Elvis’ induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

But this is not about what George did for Elvis; it’s what GK has done for the city of Memphis.

I first became aware of George when he was the afternoon disc jockey on WHBQ. He was a rhyming DJ who spoke “hep talk” and could go on a five-minute rhyming patter without missing a beat.

George enjoys the story of how we met when I was 13. Hitchhiking was forbidden in my family … so, I was standing on the corner with my thumb out when a shiny Cadillac pulled over. It was George. He encouraged me when I told him I had started a little band, and when he found out I was heading for Poplar Tunes Downtown, he drove me the entire way and dropped me off at the front door.

That’s the kind of guy George is — generous to a fault. In 1964, GK’s radio popularity led to his hosting a weekly television show called Talent Party. He brought in the finest artists around to lip-sync their latest hits, but most importantly, GK hosted every ambitious, young garage band in town. If they didn’t have a recording, George sent them to Roland Janes at Sonic Recording to cut songs, which they could then perform on Talent Party.

Being the beneficiary of several of GK’s invitations, I can testify that every time we appeared on Talent Party the bookings flooded in. In essence, GK was responsible for the whole ’60s garage-band scene which ultimately produced some of Memphis’ most notable entertainers. Scores of local musicians owe their start to George’s generosity.

Klein also arranged for the first African American to perform live on local TV. Fats Domino not only sang live, he recorded several songs to be broadcast on future shows. After George booked Fats, it was no problem for him to get James Brown, Jackie Wilson, and Sam Cooke. Talent Party was on every Saturday afternoon for 12 years.

I recently spoke with artist manager and music entrepreneur Jerry Williams, George’s friend of nearly 70 years. Jerry said the annual George Klein Christmas Charity Show was the longest running charity in Memphis. The first one was held in a wrestling ring at the Mid-South Coliseum. While the grapplers took a breather, GK featured Charlie Rich, The Bill Black Combo, and Ace Cannon. The next year, the show was moved to the National Guard Armory and then to the Fairgrounds to accommodate the crowds. Major artists donated their talents. Donated items were auctioned with a professional auctioneer, who flew to Memphis at his own expense. In fact, everyone worked for free — the bands, the promoters, the building owners, and the concessionaires. One hundred percent of the profits went to local charities.

After 42 years and hundreds of thousands of dollars raised, the yearly gala ended, but the event’s “Rainy Day Fund” produced enough revenue to establish the George Klein Broadcasting Scholarship at the University of Memphis. Williams said that he knows of no other person who has dedicated more of his life to the betterment of this city than Klein.

Now it’s time to say thank you. Thank you, George, for convincing Elvis that recording at American Studios was a good idea. Thank you, George, for naming the Guilloteens. Thank you, George, for the nights at Fridays or Alfred’s where you spun records and donated the proceeds. Thank you, George, for being the first to play Johnny Cash on the radio and for introducing the Beatles at their Memphis show. Thank you, George, for hosting the Memphis Mafia program during Elvis Week every year from 1978 to 2017 and donating the funds to the U of M. Thank you, George, for all the years of entertainment. And thank you, George, for a lifetime of promoting the great music and artists that come from your home town. We love ya’ madly.

Randy Haspel writes the Recycled Hippies blog.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Off the Rails: Phrases We Never Need to Hear Again

A year has passed without me complaining about the phrases and words I hear on a regular basis that cause me to go “off the rails.” I know it may seem like a “nothing burger” to you, but I am mystified by “that moment when” one person said something clever, and it metastasized into slipshod nationwide verbal swill. There are plenty of “bad actors,” so let’s “play the blame game.” There are some repeat offenders that “rolled over” from last year but, “believe me,” there are plenty of fresh ones that would “literally” gag a buzzard off a shit wagon. “Does that make sense?” 

So. The award for the major annoyance for the second consecutive year is the word, “so.” So, when did this affectation take hold? Ask someone a question, and if they’re pundits, reporters, or teens in the mall, they all seem to have the need to preface every sentence with “So.” For example, “How’d you get that scar on your face?” “So, I was at home trying to train the cat to leap through a ring of fire, and she went for my eyes.” If you haven’t noticed yet, now you will.

Dropping the “T” in the middle of a word. This may not sound impor’ant to you, but it’s cur’ains for the lingua franca. I mean, are we speaking La’in now? I first thought this was just a cultural thing, especially among the British, and it is. This irritant is called a glottal stop, and it’s been studied in England since the 1800s. I’m not sure how it reached our shores, but it spread through every strata of society like a norovirus on a cruise ship. Maybe it was Vladimir Pu’in.

The Adult in the Room. All the grownups have left the building so Donnie can haz cheezburger. “All alone” is the pathetic whimper of an insecure man. But don’t worry. Soon there will be all the “executive time” one inmate can stand.

Moving the Goalposts. I saw this once when Tennessee beat Alabama “back in the day,” but they tore that one down. The only other time I’ve actually seen the goalpost move is when a field goal kicker doinks one off the crossbar like the Chicago Bears did last week. That was “literally” a “game-changer.”

Woke. This is what happens when oblivious lawn servicemen crank up those goddamn leaf blowers at 7 on a Saturday morning. Sweet Jesus, didn’t this city used to have some sort of noise ordinance? It feels like I’m trying to sleep on the deck of an aircraft carrier. By this time, everybody’s woke.

Yeah, no. This expression is the common-law spouse of “Sorry, not sorry.” Which is it? Have some gumption and pick a side, “just sayin’.”

LOL. This was cute back in the chat rooms of America Online, but now that there are a variety of smiley-face emojis, this acronym has become archaic. However, people are saying this in public now. Don’t say “LOL,” just go ahead and laugh. This includes ROFL, LMAO, LMFAO, and SMH LMAO. Of course, all this is IMHO.

Drill down. Cable TV hosts use this expression when they’re fixing to get to the bottom of something. We’ll be hearing a lot more of this phrase in the coming year, but out of professional courtesy, it should be reserved for dentists.

Emilia Clarke in Game of Thrones

References to Game of Thrones. Would you believe that there are people who aren’t into Fantasy/Science Fiction and, thus, don’t know what the hell you’re talking about? I’ve never seen a single episode of Game of Thrones, and I don’t like dragons. I am also uninterested in Star Wars, Star Trek, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and all the Marvel superheroes movies. Does this make me a bad person? I can quote large swaths of dialogue from The Godfather, but I don’t just throw it out there casually. And I’ve frisked a thousand young punks.

MAGA. Fuck you and your made-in-China hat.

No collusion. “No puppet, no puppet. … You’re the puppet.”

Guardrails. See “The Adult in the Room” above.

Thoughts and prayers. I know you mean well, but instead of praying you might consider actually doing something. And they’re always “going out” there somewhere. Shouldn’t they be going in? Just for variety’s sake, after the next mass murder, change it to prayers and thoughts. This illuminates your priorities.

Fake news. It’s curious how the supposed “fake news” keeps turning out to be true. It’s strange that “Individual-1” will only grant interviews to Fox News personalities. Judge Jeanine Pirro will never cross-examine him. He likes Fox and Friends because there’s always a young blonde co-host sitting on the couch in a short dress with her legs crossed. All the time. “This Rusher thing, with Trump and Russia” gets truer every day. All this bombast and middle-school taunting was merely a diversion to distract from the very real news that the president of the United States was under investigation for being a Russian asset. We are living through a nightmare “the likes of which the world has never seen.” But “chillax.” Special Council Mueller is about to “take it to the next level,” literally.

Randy Haspel writes the “Recycled Hippies” blog.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

Mirrors: Old Age is Looking Back at You

This nation has gone completely insane and everybody’s armed. I just wanted to point that out before I got to the main subject of this commentary: having birthdays. Lots of them.

The topic has been on my mind, since I’m about to round that circle once again, and when enough birthdays pile up, you start doing the calculus. It’s not age that bothers me, it’s the aging process. In my mind’s eye, I’m still 35, but my mirrored reflection betrays that fantasy. I’m way far from decrepit and am generally in decent shape for a man whose daily walk is from the bedroom to the den. Of course, the doctor tells me to walk around the block, but, baby, it’s cold outside. My wife will attest that I’m still very boyish and sometimes downright goofy. Here’s a dark confession: I still make funny faces at myself in the mirror. Which brings me to expound upon my concerns in the only creative way I know how — in a song.

Did I tell y’all that I was a songwriter? I thought so. If not, check out “Old Dog, New Tricks,” by Rufus Thomas on YouTube.

See, this journalism business is just my side-hustle. For many years, I attempted songwriting as a profession, but after nine years in Nashville, I burned out. In addition, since there is no more music business, I’ve been receiving royalty checks for 35 cents, or a buck and a quarter, every six months. Why even waste the stamp? However, after I quit writing songs, I found it was a hard habit to break, so I still write them — I just don’t have anywhere to send them. But then, I realized that if I wrote out my song in the Memphis Flyer, it would be published automatically. The law states that a song is copyrighted as soon as the pencil leaves the paper, or in this case, the keystroke hits the screen, so don’t be messing with my latest hit. I call it “Mirrors.”

You’re the one who got elected/ But not the one selected.

The word “orange” has no rhyme/ But that’s the color you’ll be wearing when you’re doing time. 

I’m sorry, that’s from a different song I’ve been working on. If you’ll indulge me:

“Mirrors”

I think my mirror’s lying to me/ Where is that boy I used to be?

My beard is now all specked with grey/ And my hair has mostly gone away.

I just don’t look the way I should/ But then, my eyesight’s not that good.

I just can’t seem to get used to myself/ I think I must be someone else.

The image in my mind is from 1993.

I think my mirror’s lying to me.

I don’t stare anymore/ but just by chance

I can’t help but catch a passing glance.

But what I see just isn’t me/ Where is that boy I used to be?

So I’m taking down the mirrors/ And here’s the reason why.

I just can’t stand to see a grown man cry.

I’m thinking of a Salsa or Samba beat, but it’s still a work in progress. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be one of those old codgers who sit around and complain about what ails them, yet here I am. I’ve accepted my circumstances, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

My first sign that I needed to take cautionary action was when I nearly slipped in the shower. I caught myself before falling through the curtain, hitting my head on the sink, and Elvising out on the bathroom rug. Melody is the mechanically inclined person in this household, so the next thing I knew, she was assembling one of those orthopedic chairs, all rubber and plastic, like the kind they use in hospitals. I balked at first out of reflexive vanity. Surely, a chair in the shower is a sign of surrender. But after I tried it, I wondered why it’s not standard equipment in all showers. It’s like sitting under a tropical waterfall and makes you want to linger. And you don’t have to bob and weave around a shower head like some slick prizefighter. The chair helped me come to terms with my limitations.

Although longevity is on my side, I still can’t help but be concerned. I inherited the longevity gene from my mother, but I also inherited my grandmother’s neurosis. If there’s a genetic predisposition, I’m on course to live a long life — miserably. Now, get the hell off of my lawn.

Randy Haspel writes the “Recycled Hippies” blog.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The News From Hell: Keeping Up With DT

CREDIT: REUTERS/Jonathan Ernst

Remember Brent Kavanaugh? Or was it Bart? Those noxious hearings seem so long ago, I can hardly remember. I seem to recall something about the rollicking activities of Bart and his bros P.J., Squi, and Tobin having a “drink until you puke” contest during Beach Week on a private island somewhere. In between alcohol-fueled episodes of bird-dogging teenage girls, Kavanaugh’s Krewe was directly responsible for the banning of beer on the beach because girls kept getting sand in their Schlitz.

It seems Burt may have received serious mental impairment from Beach Week, because 30 years later, he sat in front of a Senate sub-committee and continued to repeat the phrase, “I like beer,” as if it were some sort of alcoholic zombie mantra.

The all night benders, the shit-faced stupors, along with the alleged sexual assaults, are just the qualities many fine people look for in a Supreme Court Justice. I heard Thurgood Marshall was known to butt-chug some suds while attending keggers at Howard University Law School. I don’t know for sure but many people are saying that. He shouldn’t worry. I understand that Thurgood Marshall is getting more popular every day. He and Frederick Douglass rented a loft in D.C. where they have “brewski orgies” every weekend. Bruce Kavanaugh is still waiting for an invitation.

REUTERS/Jonathan Ernst

Jeff Sessions

Trump got his frat-boy “fixer” onto the Supreme Court just in time to quash any pesky subpoenas he might receive to testify before the special counsel. Weren’t the tumultuous Kavanaugh hearings supposed to be the major issue for the Republicans in the mid-terms? Oops. As usual, Trump had to change the subject to make it all about himself. He told his rabid cultists to “pretend I’m on the ballot,” and they did. Either voters believed his racist and maniacal rantings about the caravan filled with ISIS terrorists and horny “big, strong men” walking from Honduras to your town to have their way with your women and spread exotic diseases — or you believed the truth.

Fox News even featured an ex-ICE agent who said the migrants were bringing smallpox, leprosy, and TB, even though smallpox was eradicated in 1980. According to President Norman Bates, Democrats are evil people who “don’t care about crime and want illegal immigrants to pour in and infest” the nation. When Nancy Pelosi objected to the reference of migrants as “animals,” Trump responded by stating that she “came out in favor of MS-13.” Miraculously, when the election was over, the caravan vanished from the news, except for Trump’s stunt sending 5,000 troops to spend Thanksgiving in West Texas eating turkey and dressing from an MRE pouch.

Trump’s post-election press conference was the most graceless, combative, and condescending yet. Words can’t compare with the YouTube video you should see for yourself. His singling out of CNN’s Jim Acosta as, “A rude, terrible person [who] shouldn’t be working for CNN,” was only the beginning of the cratering of decency. After the press berating, the unforgivably recused Jeff Sessions only lasted an hour. Trump left it to General John Kelly to do the firing. This was expected, but before Trump flew off to France, he installed his pool boy as acting attorney general. The lackey’s name is Matt Whitaker, who looks like a bouncer in a biker bar, but was actually a huckster for World Patent Marketing, a fraudulent invention promotion firm that scammed clients out of $26 million dollars, including the doomed investments from their marketing outreach program for veterans. The FTC shut the company down in 2017 citing “threats, intimidation, and gag clauses,” and froze their assets. Now who doesn’t deserve a job in the White House after that? Especially since Whitaker wrote in USA Today that Hillary should be indicted and appeared on CNN advocating for limitations to the Mueller probe. It’s become obvious that in the lame-duck session, the cornered Trump will do as much damage as possible before the new Congress comes in and demands to see his birth certificate, so expect more Brownshirt rallies.

Cable news pundits assert that Democrats should feel elated for taking back the House, but this election left me disgusted. I’m dismayed that nearly half the country thinks that this sociopath’s blatant racism, sexism, and fear of the “other” is all right by them. This was the most vile, repulsive, and racist campaign in my lifetime, and that was just in Tennessee. The former “image consultant,” Marsha Blackburn, embraced every Trump atrocity, and then some. Her television ads were a disgrace. Sure, Phil Bredesen stepped on his dick with the whole Kavanaugh business, but I naively believed enough people thought he was a good enough governor to be elected. He wasn’t just beaten, he was slaughtered, proving that fear-mongering works among the rural folk. Our little corner of Tennessee was a blue canoe in the midst of a redneck sea. Trump has pledged a “war footing” if the Democrats begin investigating his abuses, meaning nothing gets done for the foreseeable future.

There hasn’t been one calm day since this duck-tailed Colonel Parker clone took office. California is currently experiencing the deadliest fires in its history, on top of the 12 people slaughtered in a bar by a twisted gunman with an illegal extended magazine. Trump has yet to utter a word. He has, however, announced the winners of this year’s Presidential Medal of Freedom awards, including right-wing Justice Antonin Scalia, baseball legend Babe Ruth, and home-boy, Elvis Presley. At least he doesn’t have to worry if they’ll be showing up for the medal ceremony.

Randy Haspel writes the “Recycled Hippies” blog.