Author: Tim Sampson

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant … (May 14, 2015)

CREDIT: Mike Stone | Reuters

Sometimes I think I’m a little bit strange. Shut up, peanut gallery! I think I’m a little bit strange because I just don’t see the world like other people see it and therefore don’t quite fit into it like other people do. I have no clue if that is a good thing or a bad thing. And to tell you the truth, I really don’t care. It’s just the way it is. Period.

Take this thing that happened down in Garland, Texas, recently, when the gunmen opened fire at Pamela Geller’s “Draw Mohammed” event. Am I the only one who thinks this woman is completely and utterly nuts? I don’t know crap about Islam or any other religion — except the insane one with which I grew up — but did she really have to do this? Did she really have to host an event where people were encouraged to create cartoons making fun of a figure who is to many a spiritual icon? I don’t care if you are Methodist, Baptist, Catholic, Episcopalian, Jewish, Islamic, Church of Christ, Pentecostal (well, that one does come with its own set of problems, like speaking in tongues and fainting a lot, which, by the way, I really love, and l do love the coastal part of it, even if it’s not spelled that way), Presbyterian, Greek Orthodox, Hindu, Buddhist, Pomeranian, Wiccan, or a voodoo lovin’ spastic. There is no reason why you should organize and implement an “art show” just to make fun of someone else’s religious beliefs.

Mike Stone | Reuters

Pamela Geller

Why has the media focused on just the attackers and not on this crazy woman, who took it upon herself to start this mess in the first place? She is such a hate monger that the United Kingdom will not even allow her entry into their country. And they will usually allow anyone in. Hell, I’ve been there four or five times and the only grief they ever gave me was when I was flying into London from Amsterdam. I was in my 30s wearing black jeans, a black shirt, a black leather jacket, and black sunglasses. They took one look at me and were convinced I was smuggling hash and ripped me out of line and took me into an interrogation room. They asked me if I had any drugs on me. I didn’t. I knew better. But they still made me take off my shoes and asked me a hundred questions and went through all of my luggage (well, the duffle bag I’ve traveled the world with) and, of course, the first thing they found was a printed hash menu and a LOT of loose tobacco. See, over there, you mix loose tobacco with whatever it is you are smoking, but mine was just from a half-dozen empty cigarette packages. The “menu” was just a tourist keepsake. I promise. When they asked me why I had it, I blurted out in the most Southern accent I could muster that my friends back home in Tennessee would not believe what went on in that crazy den-of-iniquity city. I was basically hallucinating at that point and they took pity on me — or just lost interest in my life — and let me go.

It wasn’t as crazy, though, as Lima, Peru. I got kidnapped in Lima by a lunatic taxi driver. I’m not making this up to entertain you. I got f-ing kidnapped. I hired some guy to drive me around for the day of my layover. It all started out really sweet. I took him to lunch in a restaurant located at the end of a long pier over the ocean and we dined on the world’s best ceviche and some other incredible food and we went to a church museum, where there were a thousand skeletons of dead priests (I mean, skulls and all) all over the dirt-floor basement and he was going to name his next child after me and took me to the church where he got married and then just turned on me. He kept driving to an apartment and going in and coming back out and was getting crazier with each trip. We drove against oncoming traffic in the wrong lane of the interstate expressway, hurled over a median, got stopped by the Peruvian police, got out of being arrested, picked up a prostitute, and just kept going. He drove past the airport exit about a million times and just laughed as loud as he could with a demonic lilt in his voice and finally drove me to the worst slum in Lima, where cans of garbage were on fire in the streets, and made me take out the remaining $350 of the fortune in my checking account from an ATM and then finally took me to the airport, where guards with machine guns and dogs stared at me like they were going to kill me. Like I was scared of that crap at that point.

But I digress. Oh, I think I digressed a lot. Like I mentioned earlier, I think I’m a little bit strange. Duh.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (April 30, 2015) …

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

Memphis always seems to me to be on the brink of something. Sometimes it’s on the brink of something bad, like this insane and cowardly new mob attack trend. Sometimes it’s on the brink of something mediocre,like the Cheesecake Factory restaurant chain opening a location here (did that ever happen?) and making front-page news.

And sometimes it’s on the brink of something very cool, like the focus now on development in Midtown between Overton Square and Cooper-Young and the possibilities being discussed to finally do something more productive with Mud Island, now that Bass Pro in the Pyramid is expected to draw a lot more people to the west entrance to the city and its surrounding neighborhoods.

Justin Fox Burks

Boo Mitchell at Royal Studios

And who can dispute the cool factor in Bruno Mars and company recording “Uptown Funk” at Boo Mitchell’s Royal Studios, one of the most hallowed spots in the world because, simply, that was the House That Al Green Built. And Ann Peebles and Donald Bryant and Otis Clay and so many others under the tutelage of the great Willie Mitchell. The fact that it is still a working, thriving recording studio is something of which Memphians from all walks of life should be immensely proud.

The other night, I had one of the coolest Memphis moments I’ve had in a long time. If you’ve never been to Itta Bena, the sign-less, almost hidden restaurant on the third floor of B.B. King’s Blues Club at Beale and Second, you are really, really missing out. It’s dark and clubby and has blue-tinted windows, through which the neon lights from Beale Street flood in once the sun goes down. It has a very special feel, great food, and great service. I was having dinner there the other night with someone from out of town (from way up Nawth) who is moving to Memphis pretty soon, and I couldn’t have scripted this one any better.

After we finished dinner, we made our way down the secret stairway that leads to the second floor of the club. When I opened the door, there was a singer on stage whose name, I think, was Angela Atkinson. I was appalled that I wasn’t familiar with her, because, well, you know how cool I think I am. Anyway, B.B. King’s was packed wall-to-wall (and this was a weeknight), and she was busting into a version of “Proud Mary,” much more along the line of Ike and Tina Turner’s version than the original by Creedence Clearwater Revival, not that there’s anything wrong with that version.

So I just stood there trying not to embarrass myself by dancing, and it was a surreal, spontaneous experience that made me think Memphis had passed the point of being on the brink of something cool; it had happened and couldn’t have been any cooler. And it couldn’t have been more “Memphis.”

I got separated from the people I’d been having dinner with and figured they were fine, as two of them were Memphians and they had the out-of-town guest in tow. So I just sauntered down Beale Street alone, smoking cigarettes and watching the Beale Street Flippers and all of the tourists and listening to music being played on outdoor stages and coming out of the windows of bars. All I could think was, Wow, why are there not any residential apartments upstairs from the clubs on Beale Street and how could I possibly get one? Yes, it would be kind of noisy, but that kind of noise would be fine with me. I’m a massive fan of the French Quarter in New Orleans, where people do live upstairs from the bars, restaurants, and clubs, and Beale was giving me that same feeling — at least on that night. No, it’s not perfect and I have no clue why some of the clubs play country music, but still, it’s a place I would like to live, or at least have an escape pad to shack up in from time to time.

And this weekend, I walked around the corner from my house to Overton Square, where there must be 10 patios that are regularly filled with people, chilling. I walked over there to see the Stax Music Academy’s Spring Concert. Yes, I am a little biased about that academy because I work there by day, but I gotta tell you that you could’ve cut the energy in the air with a knife. Hundreds of people came out to support those talented kids, and, again, it was just a pure Memphis thing.

And speaking of the incomparable Ann Peebles, she was in the audience with her husband, the aforementioned Donald Bryant, and when the students and their music teachers brought Ann up on stage, the crowd went crazy. The “I Can’t Stand the Rain” icon had to be feeling all that love for her. And when the students performed one of her songs, she had to be thinking that she made a difference in the world that’s not going away any time soon.

I know sometimes I drone on and on about Memphis being the coolest city in the world, and every time anyone says anything to the contrary, I just wonder how they could be so miserable. They need to have dinner at Itta Bena and quit whining.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (April 2, 2015)

CREDIT: Markwaters | Dreamstime.com

So in the past week or so I’ve received numerous emails from President Obama, inviting me to come to Washington to meet with him. He’s practically begging me to come spend some time with him. I’m quite flattered and trying to figure out what to wear. I may even go to Sears and get some new elastic-waist pants that don’t have frayed bottoms like most of my other elastic-waist pants from Sears that are draped over a chair in my bedroom. It’s the curse of being not only portly but also kinda short.

Markwaters | Dreamstime.com

President Obama

Of course, these aren’t really true invitations. It’s a contest and a fund-raiser. I’m not sure what the funds are for, since he’s nearing the end of his presidency, but I assume the money just goes into a big pool to help keep repugnant trolls like Ted Cruz at bay. The Prez and his staff keep telling me that I need to send him “my story,” and that there will be a drawing for all of the other people they’ve invited and that if my name gets pulled out of the hat, they will take care of my airline ticket and hotel costs. Nothing about meals and taxis and such, but it’s still a pretty good deal, especially given the hotel rates in the nation’s capital.

Oh, and speaking of the nation’s capital. Why is it that having and smoking marijuana in the capital of the United States of America is now legal and has garnered less press than Monica Lewinsky’s recent TED Talk or Kim Kardashian’s blond hair? People, IT IS LEGAL TO SMOKE WEED IN THE CAPITAL OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Did you even know that? The catch is that it’s still against the law to buy or sell it, but if you grow it, you can smoke all you want with no repercussions. I was reading an article the other day on the online Washington Post about a restaurant that was giving away free pot seeds to people who were lined up around several blocks in the middle of the night. And while that was fascinating enough on its own, the brilliant part was that halfway through the article, there was an advertisement about a new product designed to prevent you from losing your keys, cell phone, wallet, or any other item that people tend to lose on regular basis. I praise the agency that was smart to figure out that brilliant ad placement! But back to “my story” and my invitation to visit with President Obama:

Mr. Obama, my story begins with my birth in Memphis in July 1959. Yes, I am older than you. I have only a vague and selective memory of my early years on Earth, but I do recall almost choking my infant baby brother to death on the day he came home from the hospital by trying to feed him by stuffing a maraschino cherry down his throat. I was 3 and just trying to make him feel welcomed into the family. Not long after that, I again tried to do a good deed by attempting to brush our Chihuahua’s teeth. I thought it would improve his dental hygiene. Unfortunately, for both the pooch and me, I was trying to brush his little teeth with thick, brown glue. He bit me in the eye and my father shot and killed him in our backyard. Does that rhyme with “emotionally scarred?”

The next thing I knew I was ripped out of my grandmother’s arms in the middle of the night, leaving bloody scratch marks on her neck, and was kidnapped. Actually, my father, who shot the Chihuahua, had been transferred by his employer to Charlotte, North Carolina, where I would spend the next six years, attend elementary school until grade three, and live with a 40-pound cat named Herman and a pet squirrel named Mr., who lived in the lining of our den curtains and slept on my pillow beside my head every night — all while living a few houses away from the neighborhood bully who was killed by electrocution and whose parents went insane because their talking bird kept screaming the boy’s name from its cage on their patio every day when school was dismissed because the bird was expecting the boy to come home.

Skip ahead a few years and my family moved back to Memphis in the summer of 1968, just months after the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Tanks were still in the streets and there were curfews, and I was starting the fourth grade at Coro Lake Elementary School and I have no clue why there were riots in the cafeteria every other day and why the kid who lives a few houses down on the lake continually picks up cottonmouth snakes by their tails and hurls them at me.

Skip a few more years ahead to my life in a Memphis neighborhood known as Parkway Village, where I lived from seventh grade until moving out of my parents’ house at age 17 into a part of Memphis known as Midtown. It was 1977 and I was transitioning from an overweight high school hippie into a very skinny hippie (please don’t ask how) who is torn between the folk-music genius of Joni Mitchell and the new disco vibes of Thelma “Don’t Leave Me This Way” Houston. What was I supposed to do? I had no idea. Still don’t. It gets only crazier from there, Mr. President, so just put the ticket in the mail. I’ll rearrange my schedule to fit yours.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (March 19, 2015)

CREDIT: Jose Gil | Dreamstime.com

Jose Gil | Dreamstime.com

Hillary Clinton

So I was having a business lunch with some newly met colleagues last week and asking them about their interests. But in the
back of my mind I was thinking about the Oklahoma University SAE fraternity members who were caught on film on a bus singing a racist song a couple weeks ago. My new colleagues are on the young side. Their interests were not at all out of the ordinary. They told me that they loved football and going out to eat and science and music. I thought to myself, well, that sounds a lot like the college students who were caught on film singing the racist song. Yes, those college students probably have a lot in common with my new colleagues, with whom I was enjoying grilled chicken, green beans, and macaroni and cheese. I was thinking that those college students would probably enjoy this lunch too, and I found myself wishing that they were with us. See, the colleagues with whom I was having lunch were a group of African- American sixth graders who were spending the day attending a young men’s conference.

It hit me that if those college students had been at the table with these young men, they would have had a ball and would have realized that they have much more in common with these guys than they ever imagined. And maybe that would have opened their eyes to the fact that people are people and most people just want to be happy and successful, no matter what color they might happen to be. Actually, a lot of people would have benefited from being at that lunch table.

I am so grossly jaded about the world these days that I don’t pay any attention to most of what’s in the news, especially politics — and all of the never-ending posturing that pretty much sums up politics. I learned what I needed to learn about the world that day while talking with and listening to those sixth graders. One of them, a particularly small fellow whose eyes beamed with smarts and more than just a little feistiness, told me he planned to be an NFL football player. When I asked him if he had a plan B in case that didn’t work out, he looked at me like I was a little bit crazy and said, “Of course I do.” And when I asked him what that plan was, he very matter-of-factly replied, “Oh, an anesthesiologist. I’m reading a book about that right now.”

I would follow politics if this young man were to become a politician. He seems so much smarter and wiser than that Tom Cotton guy from Arkansas who wrote the letter to Iranian officials and got 47 of his fellow Republican senators to sign it. I didn’t really know much more about that, other than the headlines, until I saw something on television about it. I was spastically changing the channel to get away from a church service that involved a clergyman talking about “uncircumcised pagans.” As fascinating as that was, I just couldn’t hang with it, because televised church services creep me out for some reason. What made it even more fascinating was that a large group of people in costumes or robes or something was sitting behind the preacher, and one of the men in the group was gnawing away at his fingernails — on television.

Anyway, the Sunday-morning political show I landed on might as well have been about uncircumcised pagans too. The only remotely entertaining thing on the show was a segment about the Secret Service guys allegedly getting hammered and driving into a barricade at the White House during an active bomb threat investigation. Between that and the show’s host bringing up the whole deal about the Secret Service scandal that involved all the hookers in South America, it was far more interesting than Mitch McConnell droning on and on and on and reciting the same rote sentence over and over to make a point, because he is devoid of the ability to utter an original, thoughtful remark about anything.

And I’m sick of hearing about Hillary Clinton’s email accounts. SO WHAT? Who gives a shit what email accounts she used? WHY is this the main topic of the news? We all have personal email accounts. Frankly, I don’t think her emails are anyone else’s business than her own, regardless of what they were about. I think her detractors believe in their sad hearts that Hillary planned the Benghazi attacks herself. That’s probably why Time magazine portrayed her on its cover as having horns protruding from her head. Anyone who believes that was accidental is living in fool’s paradise.

Oh, and on CNN right now, they are talking about Jeb Bush breaking from his Paleo diet to eat biscuits and grits in South Carolina. I rest my case. I can’t wait to talk with the sixth graders again.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (March 5, 2015)

Representative Butt. I love saying that out loud in my best Cartman voice from South Park. It would be a great name for a band. Unfortunately, it’s the name of one Sheila Butt, a Republican Tennessee lawmaker who recently posted on Facebook that she thinks there should be an “NAAWP.” This was in response to an open letter from the Council on American-Islamic Relations, the largest Muslim civil liberties organization in the United States, urging 2016 GOP candidates to engage Muslim voters and reject Islamophobia. Now, you might automatically assume that the W in her imaginary dream organization stands for “white,” just like it did years ago when former Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke actually founded a group named NAAWP. But Butt, who at first wouldn’t even offer an explanation of the post, eventually stated publicly that that was not the case. She said it stood for “National Association for the Advancement of Western Peoples.”

Sheila Butt

Is she talking about Californians? Cowboys? Or is she trying to say we need to advance Western people, like real Americans versus Asian and Middle Eastern people? She obviously thinks the latter is acceptable. That has been her “go to” response as she explains her remarks while basically running down hallways from reporters and pretending to be talking on her cell phone. She shoos them away by acting like she’s too busy to talk with them and too in demand and too important to comment on this issue that she thinks liberals have jumped on because Christians don’t get a fair shake in the good ol’ U.S. of A. and that the liberal media is just making a story out of nothing.

But she pretty swiftly took down the Facebook post. It wasn’t even on her own page, but on the page of a Muslim-hating organization called dailyrollcall.com, which, if you’ve never seen, you simply must. A Tennessee woman named Cathy Hinners writes it, and it is really, really something. She’s like a dog with rabies and a computer. I had never heard of it, so I took a look when the issue of us needing an NAAWP came up. I don’t know where this woman came from (by that I mean, which planet), but she is apparently so obsessed with being anti-Muslim that she has dedicated her entire life to it. But I digress.

Once Butt got the Facebook post down, she replaced it with, “We need groups that will stand for Christians and our Western culture. We don’t have groups dedicated to speaking on our behalf.”

Really? Have you looked around at your own political party and its Tea Party offshoot? And what makes you think all people living in “Western culture” are Christians? Do you also have something against Jews?

One of the things I’m fascinated with regarding this entire issue is the school of thought that if there is a National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, why would it be racist for there to be a National Association for the Advancement of White People?

The last time I checked, not all that many white people were captured on a different continents, packed into ships like animals, separated from their families, paraded around naked in front of crowds, bought, sold, traded, beaten, forced to drink from separate water fountains, denied the right to vote, denied education, and other basic human rights. Of course, there needed to be, and still needs to be, an NAACP. And there is no need for an NAAWP — whether the “W” stands for white or western. There’s no way Representative Butt or anyone else can make that notion make sense.

There are still cities in this country where high schools have separate proms for white students and black students. To this day, there are country clubs right here in Memphis, Tennessee, that do not allow any members other than white people. They hide behind that mask of it being a “private club,” and, yes, in the year 2015, will not allow an African American, Asian, or Jewish person to have a membership. Representative Butt, I think they may just be standing up for your Christian/Western values, so you might have a little less to worry about than you think.

When are people going to learn a) that if you are an elected official, you are under a microscope and anything you say publicly is fair game for the kind of controversy you’ve stirred up? This is not the liberal media trying to make a story out of nothing; and b) that you don’t need to be posting this kind of crap on social media.

Social media posts never go away. You can remove your heinous comments once you get caught, but that doesn’t matter. There’s a little thing called copy and paste and those comments are out there forever. If you have any spine at all, just own up to the blunder and apologize — unless, that is, you still don’t think you did anything wrong, which I suspect is the case. And it looks like you have plenty of Butt fans in your party enough, at least, that they are going to, er, back you.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (February 19, 2015)

CREDIT: courtesy bc buckner | Forgotten Memphis | Wikimedia Commons

courtesy bc buckner | Forgotten Memphis | Wikimedia Commons

Mid-South Coliseum

Ouch. Hold on. Wait a second. Ouch! Ugh. It is so hard to type while hiding under a rock. It’s so dark and so cold. I’ve gone into seclusion because I just caught the tail-end of a news story reporting something about how televisions can record what you shout, uh, say, out loud to the television while watching it and transmit the recordings to some kind of database somewhere. I knew I should never have purchased a flat screen.

If this is actually true, I’m in deep doo-doo with the FBI, CIA, TSA, AA, ABC, NBC, CBS, NSA, and every other organization who’s acronym ends in “A.” Or any other letter. Because this is the area of life in which I am the most politically incorrect. They say the true measure of your character is what you do when no one is watching, and if that’s true, I’m burnt toast.

Every time I see a story on the news about that family in Arkansas with the couple who have something like 22 children and is always expecting another one I shout horrible obscenities at them. “You psychotic breeders!! Do you know how many children need adopting?!! Can you stop procreating for five minutes and give a homeless baby a home??!!”

Every time I see Sarah Jessica Parker on television I shout, “Hey, Jessica! Why the long face?!” I know. It’s horrible and shameful, but I can’t help myself. It’s a sickness.

And the advertisements for prescription drugs and their potentially dangerous side effects: high blood pressure, low blood pressure, internal bleeding, headaches, nausea, diarrhea, sleep deprivation, thoughts of suicide, kidney failure, liver disease, erectile dysfunction, erection lasting over four hours, vision problems, loss of hearing, back pain, anxiety attacks, muscle pain, swelling of the tongue, joint stiffness, blackouts, vertigo, memory loss, acid reflux. … On and on, and I always shout at the television, “Give me some side effects I don’t already have!!!!”

And I might as well throw my hat into the ring on this one: Every time I see anything on the news about tearing down the Mid-South Coliseum I totally lose it and shout, “What is wrong with you a**holes??? How could you even dare entertain an idea so stupid?! Did you never take psychedelic mood-altering substances and go there to see a David Bowie concert and have it change your life?!”

I know, I know. Not everyone has a history with that building and some people are all caught up in the financial spreadsheets (I hate spreadsheets) that calculate the pros and cons of demolishing it versus renovating it, and I don’t think anyone has yet come up with the perfect idea as to what it could become if saved from the wrecking ball. But, come on!  What is the big rush about tearing it down? Who is it hurting? What real danger does it pose? Can we not stop and realize that it has been there for decades and that we should take time to give this some serious thought?

For me, it’s a viscerally emotional thing. Every time I drive by, to this day, the sight of the Mid-South Coliseum takes my breath away. I realize that it’s just a building, but so is the Empire State Building, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Vanderbilt Mansion, Graceland, the Flatiron Building, and the Taj Mahal. If any of those were to become “obsolete” for some reason, would you want them scraped off the face of the earth?

Ever heard the saying, “Memphis has torn down more history than most other cities ever had to begin with?” It’s true. Walgreens alone has demolished the original Grisanti’s restaurant at Airways and Lamar, the original and historic Leonard’s BBQ restaurant at Bellevue and McLemore, and several other landmarks that were part of the very fabric of Memphis.

The city allowed the demolition of the resplendent Hill Mansion on Union Avenue to make way for a Shoney’s decades ago. The only remaining reminders of that beautiful home are the stone lion sculptures that were thankfully saved and are now part of the exterior of the Brooks Museum. Can you imagine what downtown would look like if all the Victorian structures surrounding Victorian Village had been saved and preserved like the ones that are still there now?

I know we can’t change the past, but can we not be a little more patient regarding the Coliseum? That building has a history and personality so culturally significant I think we should give it a lot more thought.

Besides, if they tear it down, it will give me another reason to scream at the television when they cover its demolition, which is just more information Big Brother will have on me.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (February 5, 2015)

CREDIT: Brandon Dill

I know I’m no economics or business expert, but am I the only person in Memphis who could care less about a Cheesecake Factory restaurant or IKEA furniture store coming to Memphis? I know that means jobs and all, but is that really what Memphis needs — another chain restaurant and a generic furniture store?

I’m probably wrong in my way of thinking, but I think the thing about Memphis that makes it so special is something people in the tourism industry refer to as “authentic assets.” I call it “cool shit you can find only in Memphis,” but that’s just me. One of the things that got me started thinking about all this was running across a story about the New York City-based Shake Shack restaurant business going public last Friday with an IPO. Shake Shack used to be a charming little one-of-a-kind food cart that caught on so well, because of its great hot dogs and burgers, that people in New York started standing in long lines to get lunch. Cool as can be. But now I read this from some financial publication:

“Shake Shack was founded by Danny Myer, a restaurateur from St. Louis who made his name with high-end establishments like New York’s Union Square Café. Shake Shack started as a hot-dog cart in Madison Square Park in 2001 and became a brick-and-mortar fixture of New York City by 2004. Mr. Meyer’s 21-percent stake in the company was worth more than $340 million as of Friday afternoon. Shake Shack’s revenue grew 41 percent from a year earlier to $83.8 million in the 39 weeks through September 24th, while net income fell by a fifth to $3.5 million, as it opened 20 new restaurants in the period.”

I suppose it’s the American dream to want to get rich selling burgers, but it’s kind of depressing to me to think that a cool hot dog cart has turned into something being traded on the stock market. It would be like Earnestine & Hazel’s expanding all over the globe and selling their Soul Burgers to the masses and becoming something people could invest in. Gone would be the old griddle in the former brothel, where Steve cooks up those piles of sweated onions with Worcestershire sauce and flat burger patties and turns them into the most gooey, delicious cheeseburgers in the world. And it is the only place in the world you can get them. It’s an authentic asset. It’s cool shit you can find only in Memphis. And you certainly aren’t going to get them at a Cheesecake Factory.

To be perfectly fair, I have never been to a Cheesecake Factory restaurant, because I don’t like chain restaurants. Nothing personal against O’Charley’s, Denny’s, Chili’s, Applebee’s, or any of the other big chain restaurants (and forget about fast food, altogether, except, of course, for Krystal, which is exempt from all comparisons because it is food of the Gods, no matter what). Why would I want to go to a place like that when I could just as easily eat at a restaurant that is unique and owned by a local person and is interesting? There’s nothing interesting about those chain restaurants that I can see or feel or taste. So why all the fuss about a Cheesecake Factory coming to town? It’s kind of a hick-like response to me: “Aw, Memphis has finally made it. We got us a dang Cheesecake Factory. Now, ain’t we cool.”

People, Memphis is already cool. You just have to know where to go. Would you rather have tamales at Chili’s or would you rather go to Hattie’s Tamale House on Willie Mitchell Boulevard in South Memphis just across the street from Royal Studios, where Al Green recorded all his smash Hi Records hits and Bruno Mars just recorded some of the tracks to the new monster hit “Uptown Funk?” Would you rather have shrimp at a Captain D’s or would you rather go to Chef Gary Williams’ Déjà Vu on Florida Street, where exactly seven tables occupy a tiny brick building that formerly housed a storefront church and where the food is as good as any New Orleans’ restaurant?

Brandon Dill

Wanda Wilson

And while we are on the topic of authentic Memphis and what sets us apart from cities like Dallas and Atlanta, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge one woman and that one woman’s “beer joint of your dreams.” I’m talking about the recent passing of the legendary Wanda Wilson, founder of the famed P&H Café. This is another massive loss for Memphis, and one that comes on the heels of many other recent losses. Wanda was a true and genuine character, with her wigs and hats and outlandish outfits, but as many of us know, she was also a mother, sister, confidante, inspiration, and just plain wonderful friend to thousands of people in this city. There’s no other place on earth like the P&H Café, and there will never be another Wanda Wilson. Wanda, you helped make Memphis one of the coolest cities in the world, and we will miss you terribly.

I just hope Memphis can learn a lesson from you about being an original.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (January 22, 2015)

CREDIT: Carrienelson1 | Dreamstime.com

I’m not 100 percent sure, but I think I may be trending. I’m not 100 percent sure what trending really is, but I feel fairly certain that it’s a real word and that I’m doing it. Well, I’m not 100 percent sure if trending is something you actually do or if it’s something that happens to you and you are just lucky to be the recipient of it, but, by damn, I better be trending.

See, in my new role at work of being a social media poster, I’ve taken it upon myself to learn how to do it for myself first before I totally screw up the social media posting for my job. I figure if I screw up my own personal social media posts, it won’t really matter because who the hell cares? Right? Oh, I guess I could probably offend someone by accident or post something that comes across in a way that I didn’t mean for it to come across or I could just appear to be really stupid and inept, but, as it relates to me personally, I really couldn’t care less because I so rarely do anything in my personal life that requires me to leave the sanctity of my own home and interact with others, with the exception of traveling, and even then I try to keep to myself and mind my own business.

But even that can prove to be difficult when you’re packed into a small aircraft and forced to sit so close to someone that you can’t avoid physical contact with them. I was recently on a flight from Charlotte to Florida, and the woman packed into the seat beside me was breaking up with her apparently longtime significant other in a conversation on her cell phone. And she was the one who made the call. It would have been one thing if she had answered her phone and the conversation ended up being that kind of a phone call, but no, she initiated the argument herself, seated so close to me that our elbows were unavoidably rubbing against each other.

And she was not holding anything back, from what I could tell. It was along the lines of, “You are such a f–king piece of s–t! And you’re not getting custody of the f–king dog! I used to really love you, but you f–king ruined all that! Your cooking tastes like s–t! I’m hanging up now!”

But she wouldn’t hang up. She kept railing on and reaming the person out and every third or fourth sentence was, “I’m hanging up now!” Finally, the flight attendant said that all cell phones must be turned off for takeoff. But she still didn’t hang up and kept repeating, “You’re not getting custody of the f–king dog!”

But I digress. The thing about trending is that I could have secretly videotaped this woman’s conversation and put it on YouTube and gotten, say, 4 million hits and could have been invited to the “Orange Room” on the Today Show as someone who was trending. I’m not 100 percent sure how many hits one has to have to be trending, but I’m pretty sure it would have trended.

A few weeks back, when I decided to embrace Facebook on my own personal page that has been dormant since 2009, I posted a question. I’d received a menacing message from someone I didn’t really recall and with whom I was certainly not Facebook friends, harassing me about something that happened TWO DECADES AGO when I was the first editor of this newspaper. He was still mad because I wouldn’t publish some piece of crap he had written that he thought was very clever. So I asked people on Facebook if I should be worried about this guy and his inability to let go of this grudge.

I got a lot of responses, including several from people I don’t even know, with suggestions ranging from call the cops to invite him to meet me in a dark alley and kick his ass to publish his name and warn others about him. It was awesome to read all the remarks, like them, comment on them, and share them. I’m 100 percent sure I was trending with that one.

Oh, and I finally figured out who the guy was. I won’t mention his name here, but I do sort of recall that he was a rather unattractive (not his fault, of course, and I’m no hottie) exhibitionist who made my skin crawl. I didn’t report him because I didn’t know who to report him to, but I blocked him and felt very empowered.

And speaking of which, am I the only person in the world who believes that the hacking of Sony Pictures in regard to the movie The Interview had nothing to do with North Korean hackers? To me, it all smacked of a publicity stunt, and it’s embarrassing that it was referred to as “an act of war.”

I have every intention of trending about this at some point in my life when I figure out what trending really is. Would someone please comment on that remark, share it, and cause it to trend? I’ll check it later to see if it performs 80 percent better than my other posts this week.

I’ve also been tweeting, and ask now of the first “t” in tweeting should be capitalized. Haven’t figured that out yet. I even used a hashtag and got on John Legend’s Twitter feed or RSS feed or whatever it is. I was so impressed with myself.

Carrienelson1 | Dreamstime.com

Bradley Cooper

The thing that got me thinking about all this is that I noticed earlier today that controversial filmmaker Michael Moore is on Twitter. It seems that he sent out a tweet, or Tweet, about Bradley Cooper’s new Clint Eastwood-directed film American Sniper being too “pro-war” or something like that. I haven’t seen the movie yet but my initial reaction is that Moore has sold out by being on Twitter and should make a spoof movie about the social media platform (did I just write the phrase “social media platform?”) and leave Cooper alone. I don’t like people messing with my Bradley. In fact, I’m going to tweet, or Tweet, Brad letting him know I think he’s the the best actor in the movie business right now. I wonder if that will make me trend.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (January 8, 2015)

CREDIT: Courtesy of Stax Museum

Sigh, sigh, SIGH. I remember writing on this page not so long ago that I usually handle another person’s death pretty stoically, knowing that it’s just a natural part of life and that it’s going to happen to us all eventually. I was having a tough time reconciling the passing of Memphis singer and my much-loved friend Di Anne Price, because I knew the world would never be the same without her. It was really an odd and painful feeling.

And now, a few weeks after the passing of Ardent Studios founder John Fry, it’s a testament to him that so many others around the world still can’t seem to accept the loss. So much has been written about John in the past few weeks and shared on social media, and so many beautiful memories and thoughts about him have been included in donations made to organizations in his memory. The themes are universal: John was kind, talented, humble, the voice of reason, and, more than anything, someone who was always giving to others, sharing his knowledge and time, and always giving others credit and encouragement. All of that couldn’t be truer. 

Courtesy of Stax Museum

Huey Lewis with John Fry of Ardent Studios

I don’t know that I can add much more than what has already been expressed, except that John was a dear friend and a massive supporter of the Soulsville Foundation (where I work) and a member of our board of directors. For those who don’t know, the Soulsville Foundation is the nonprofit organization that operates the Stax Museum of American Soul Music, Stax Music Academy, and the Soulsville Charter School. His past relationship with Stax Records is well documented, and John’s Ardent Studios was a sister studio of sorts to Stax back in its heyday, with many of the Stax artists recording at Ardent when the Stax studios were booked up, and for other reasons. And John loved the Stax Museum and loved bringing musicians, and producers, and others there to give them his unique tour.

Soulsville Foundation CEO Calvin Stovall said, “John served on our board of directors for many years and played an integral role in the Soulsville Foundation. He was emphatically committed to everything Stax — the music, the kids, and the Memphis community. His presence and contributions to our organization will be sorely missed. A couple of weeks ago, I had the fortunate opportunity to have John himself give me a tour of Ardent Studios. It was truly one of the most memorable learning experiences I’ve ever had. I’ll never forget it.”

Stax Museum Director Lisa Allen added: “I can’t imagine that anyone else has given a personal tour of the museum more times than John Fry. He was passionate about sharing the history of our music and making sure that current musicians from around the world experienced Soulsville. John became more than a music icon and board member to me; he transformed into a friend. He understood both my professional and personal struggles. Often he would email me with simple words of encouragement that meant more to me than I could ever express.”

But as much as he loved the museum, John probably loved our young people more than anything. It didn’t matter if it was Huey Lewis, or other high-profile artists recording at Ardent, or an up-and-coming young band from Belgium he brought for a tour, he didn’t bring anyone into the museum until he explained what goes on with the young people at the Stax Music Academy and the Soulsville Charter School. He would proudly reel off details about the students’ rate of improvement in mathematics and explain how studying music helped them achieve that. And this started long before he joined our board of directors. 

Another thing I loved about John was his very dry sense of humor and how hilariously cantankerous he could be at times. One of his pet peeves was getting caught up in an email thread about something usually pretty mundane, like a meeting date and time, and everyone chiming in by replying to all in the thread, thereby leaving dozens of messages in his email inbox. Drove him nuts. I laughed out loud at my desk so many times when he finally couldn’t take it anymore and relayed his feeling about that to everyone. In one of the last such threads, which involved lots of people congratulating each other on something that had gone really well, he finally conceded and wrote, “Okay, if everyone is going to keep ‘replying all’ in this, then Bravo Zulu! If you know what that means you’re way cool. If not, search it on Google.”

Bravo Zulu is, of course, an old navy signal for “job well done.” Bravo Zulu, John. You’ll be missed.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (December 18, 2014)

I am happy to report that Cookie’s baby weighs, as of this writing, four pounds. Cookie is my friend who works at the Ballinger’s gas station and convenience store at Cooper and Union in Midtown. I first mentioned her on this page several months ago, as someone who helps make my day almost every day when I stop for coffee on the way to work.

Since that time, Cookie and her equally awesome boyfriend, Terrance, had a premature baby boy. And a movement started.

I guess many of the customers there are regulars who also love Cookie and Terrance, and since their baby was born, there has been an outpouring of support for them. It’s been kind of like a reality television show, only not disgusting and idiotic like 99 percent of the ones that are on television now. Well, I say that having never really seen any of them, except for Million Dollar Listing Los Angeles and Chopped, two of my secret guilty pleasures. But I’ve seen commercials for the other ones. Over and over and over and over and over and over I have seen the commercials, especially about that closet queen millionaire and his nouveau-rich family in Atlanta. Chrisley something or another. Ugh. It makes me ashamed to be a human being.

No, Cookie and Terrance are real. And it has been a journey. Things didn’t look too promising at first, but now the baby has been moved from an incubator to a crib and might even get to go home Christmas Day. All of this has been very expensive for Cookie and Terrance, and they’ve had a little collection box at the cash register, where all of their regular customers and friends have been able to pitch in a little bit to help. And every morning when Cookie is at work, she updates everyone on the baby’s progress. And on Terrance’s shift, he does the same. All the while, both of them have huge smiles on their faces and can make anyone’s bad day turn into a great day.

I hope one person is reading this. At one point, this unknown person stole the collection box with the money in it. Whoever you are, I hope you are reading this, and I hope you get shingles. I hope you are forced to watch the Chrisley show 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, with shingles, for the rest of your horrid, putrid life. And you know what? You didn’t ruin anything. You just made all of us want to cheer that baby on even more and get even more excited. You are nothing. We hope you change into a better person.

I best stop now or I’m going to embarrass Cookie and Terrance. Oh, but one more thing: Cookie asked me one morning if I would do her a favor and thank the nurses at Methodist Hospital in print if I got the chance — all of the nurses who have been so wonderful to her, Terrance, and the baby. So THANK YOU, Methodist Hospital nurses. You might not ever know how much you made this situation better than it could have been.

This is the only thing that has happened to me in more than a decade that made me feel any kind of holiday season spirit. It is making up for all of the over-commercialization of the holidays that annually makes me feel like I am losing my mind. The consumerism, gifts that are “trending,” people waiting in long lines on Black Friday, and at their computers on Cyber Monday, looking for deals on crap no one needs, all of it. It makes me nuts every year.

Take, for example, a recent survey that was featured on the Today show. It was a sampling from Consumer Reports of what people voted on as the worst-ever holiday gifts. The top four worst-ever holiday gifts were listed as 4) books, 3) home décor, 2) flowers and plants, and, coming in at number 1 for the worst gift: booze.

Who the hell are these people answering the questions in this survey? Books? Booze? What is it that they want? How could you not want a great novel and a bottle of champagne for the holidays? Would you rather have the latest contraption that allows you to fluff your bed pillows from work with an app on your iPhone because that makes you feel so much hipper? See, this is where I have the problem with everyone saying they love Christmas because it’s supposed to celebrate the birth of Jesus, even though they probably didn’t even have calendars back then and no one really knows the date. If you are all so into Christmas because of this, why don’t you lie down on some straw and stop it with the social media and shopping?

Personally, I want to start my own reality show for the holidays: Cookie’s Fortune. I sure hope that baby gets to come home from the hospital by Christmas.