Le Saispas Vintage...Now LOCAL!

Get some of the best of the best of Le Saispas Vintage at Hoot + Louise--on G.E. Patterson just east of the world famous Arcade Restaurant.  I'm bringing in men's and women's clothing, jewelry, handbags, shoes and home decor from the '50's-early '90's.

Anna Avant is the proprietress & has curated a fab boutique of new and vintage clothing for men and women, home decor, jewelry and accessories.  There's truly nothing like it in Memphis--easily the most current (definition "non-embarrassingly garish or dated and/or fashionable right now--9/10/2011--outside of Memphis, TN") independent boutique in our city since the long-gone days of Chelsea Ltd, the old U.S. Male and Tallulah's.

Hoot + Louise will have a booth at Cooper-Young Fest next Saturday and Le Saispas Vintage will be righteously repped!  I'm currently collecting some baubles & gems for your perusal!

Its OK, Tigers.

Well, the Memphis Tigers hoops season has come to its rather depressing close with a loss to those Ole Miss bastards, in Oxford no less, at their crappy arena.  But I have a few positives I'd rather focus on regarding the 2009-10 Tiger season rather than all the bitching I've been doing on Twitter, the Goner Board and live in person for a year:

(1) Will Coleman.  When this guy said he was not giving up on Memphis like his fellow Miami-Dade bro, whatever-his-name is, who went to Kentucky with Cal, Orlando Antigua, Rod Strickland & the bulk of what was our (yes, OUR) recruiting class, I definitely shrugged it off.  I had no idea who he was and I also thought the decision likely lay more in Cal not wanting him more than him wanting Memphis.  That attitude is pretty typical of a native Memphian--i.e. "Mane, who'd care about us anyway. We suck.  Shelby County and Nashville think so, so it must be so.  Gimme a drink."

Little did I know that this guy would end up to be my new favorite Tiger in many a year.  He went from literally being a completely embarrassing clod to playing teams 1-on-5 at the end of the season.  I made excuses for him for awhile ("Well, he just started playing in 11th grade, you know?") to my ecstatically spilling beer on my father at the Tulsa game screeching, "Are you watching this guy???? OH MY GAWD!" as he took the entire Tulsa Golden Hurricane on for at least 4 minutes by himself while who knows what the rest of the Tigers were up to.

I simply cannot wait to see him after a Spring and Summer of workouts get out there with our #1 recruits.  Pastner and Cyprien are geniuses. Which leads me to...

(2) Josh Pastner. Who would have thought?  I mean, really?  A 32-year-old non-drinking, non-cursing, Peter Brady-looking eternal optimist as the Head Coach of Memphis?  Being a total Tiger sucker, I didn't even blink when they named him head coach and simply ran to the internet and my husband to ask questions.  After reading piles of history and hearing my husband--a Tiger fan but above all a Michigan State Spartan, Tom Izzo-loving diehard fan from Lansing--wax seriously on about how Pastner was "perfect" for a litany of reasons, I had something to back up my sucker fan sunshiney self.  The only time I was concerned was earlier in the season when I saw that he was a little reticent courtside, but by the end of the season, he was as demonstrative as Cal, but without looking like a total jabrone about it.  The fact that he yells "Gosh Darnit!" is priceless and precious.  Plus suddenly the Tigers aren't embarrassing at the free throw line and shocker of shockers, can play DEFENSE.  Several versions at will, even.  Love you Josh.

(3) The 6th Man. Yes.  You.  Us. The Tiger Nation or whatever they're calling us now.  While Robin noted that she didn't see as many signs and flags as she used to, we came correct this year, people.  Selling out games like the one against LeMoyne-Owen etc etc and never giving up even when we seriously had some reasons to get very, very pissed.  We rule.

I hate saying "Next year!" but I'm gonna say it.

NEXT YEAR!

That girl's a Superfreak.

December 1983, Mid-South Coliseum, Rick James Street Songs tour, Memphis, TN.  Ed Slaughter always had money.  He always had tickets.  And he always asked me out.  Natch, I was in the "Just friends, RIGHT?" mode with the kid, but what a gent.  Funny, smart and a 40-year-old in a 14-year-old's body.  He was the pill fiend teenager before there was such a thing and I don't even really know if he actually used pills, but I thought he did, even then, when I had probably--by the time this picture was taken--had smoked marijuana about 10 times, MAYBE.

Anyway, this was a fabulous evening.   Rick and the Stone City Band tore it up and the Mary Jane Girls were real and hot where Vanity 6 were weird and hot (not the same show, just comparing/contrasting).  Rick pulled a screeching woman out of the audience that night and laid her down on a brass bed he had on stage, poured champagne on her and licked it off.  I don't think I even did drugs that night but well, you didn't have to be high to feel high watching that man!

I had my heart broken by My First True Love, Steven Pittman, about a month before this night and when I look at this photo now, I am so relieved to see a true smile on my face.  Ed,  you always showed  me a supremely good time.  And I'll always love you for it.  I hope you are alive and happy somewhere out there and I wish I'd run into you so we could go get drunk together again and laugh it up.

Wildin' in Memphis

I probably shouldn't write about this right now because I'm still fluctuating between the emotions of "Disgusted", "Furious" and more recently, "Pity."  It started by my normal first check of the day of Twitter.  Last night a poster I follow (for some reason--it isn't the first time I have wondered exactly what the hell I could possibly care to hear from her as she appears perpetually shallow and annoying), began petulantly posting complaints about a wild Halloween party near her home in Chickasaw Gardens.  I only discovered in a later post (see below) that this was the neighborhood she was referring to and I think that was the cause for my current feeling of "Disgusted Pity."

Chickasaw Gardens is a notoriously old Memphis money, upper middle class enclave bordered by the University of Memphis area, Orange Mound, the southern border of Binghampton and the debatable eastern border of Midtown.  There are beautiful Tudor-style homes, huge trees, winding streets and it was nicely nearly completely protected by a massive brick wall probably sometime in the 1980's, probably due to the encroachment of Blacks that weren't their maids, cooks or housemen of some kind.  Sure, it's a very nice and historic neighborhood, but it's gating of itself inside the city limits has always rubbed me quite the wrong way.

Anyway, apparently this Halloween party got way out of hand which really ticked this certain Memphis woman off to the point where she posted some things on Twitter that I would hope are troubling people who may know her in person, but perhaps not.  All I know is that she seems like exactly the sort of person I'd never want to meet for fear of kicking her off her Manolo's she probably got on sale somewhere.  Hideous, hideous shit.  Worse than that "Ghetto Trash" she felt so free to post all about on Twitter last night.  Apparently things have changed very little in Chickasaw Gardens.  Maybe they can build a moat stocked with sharks or something to protect them from the "Ghetto"?

Here's the dirt:

1st:  An explosion at the Pink Palace right now would be preferable. The city could use fewer ghetto thugs. It's days like this I hate Memphis.

2nd:  Some party with 1000s of people racing cars, blocking streets, and booming music for hours. Police can't seem to control it.

3rd:  Thx MPD for their minimal work of arresting the guys with the train horn in their car. O there it is again! Guess someone else brought 1.

4th:    From tweets by the ghetto trash on here, I see MPD has shut the Palace down. I also hear helicopters. Who's dumbass idea was this party?!

And last, but not in any way the least:  This is Chickasaw, this isn't Orange Mound and the Palace isn't the Plush Club. I dont want to see herds of ppl & blue lights all over.

Sweets, this world could use fewer racist ignoramuses like you.  It's days like this I hate the world. 

THROW DOWN!

Yep.  Roo's about to get her ass beat, but she never learns from history.

It has been raining so long now that I cannot even recall the last time the sun was out.  The front yard looks like a weed farm and the backyard is perfect for mud-wrestling, so if you're into that, come on by.  If people still asked us "WHY would you leave PORTLAND to come to MEMPHIS?" in those drippingly condescending tones, all I have to would have to do is raise my eyebrows and point outside.  This is what you deal with for approximately eight months a year, every year with very few breaks.  That isn't an exaggeration either!  The positive of that, I suppose, is that some very delicious coffee was created in that city and is served somewhere very close to wherever you choose to live there, so bravo to Stumptown for that.

Tomorrow is the Cooper-Young Festival and while it will likely be just as disgusting outside tomorrow as it is today, I think Ryan and I should certainly take a break from East Memphis for a Midtown jaunt and check it out and remind our Midtown-loving friends that yes, we are still alive.  You can't convince most of them to come out here for many reasons that don't include the word "Target" in them, those snobby bastards!  So, again, we'll come on into their realm. I do miss it there, from time to time, but I am always so happy to get back to our little oasis in the Isle of Sea.

I want some wings from Uncle Lou's or Hephzibah so badly right now...anyone care to deliver?  I'll hook you up with an Ativan and a beer!

I smile in your face, but watch your wallet, son.

I hope I am doing any of this correctly because obviously I forgot how to keep up my little blog I had going. Well, we'll see!

So it is nearing Fall 2009, into the "-ber" months which I was in another "-ber" month when I last posted on here. I just spent the last hour messing around with the settings and being extraordinarily irritated at the lack of choices for fonts and the like on Blogger or perhaps I am irritated at myself for feeling more and more like I need to call a youngun over here, like my brother, to show me how to work this little internet thing. I have a photo from 1986 where Jesse is not even a decade old and he is on our family's first Mac, showing my beau at the time (who was WAY too old for me to be dating, but that is another story) how to work the thing while said beau stares in awe.

So, last I wrote we had acquired Roo, the dog and we still have her adorable and loony self and many more photos shall soon be posted. She can catch frisbees, mostly Ryan's throws as I SUCK, but being a dog, Roo gives it the old college try every time I toss one haphazardly across the yard.

We spent the summer lopping, chopping digging and weeding and getting this backyard into the beginnings of something not utterly disgusting and overgrown, but we still have to cope with digging up the remains of weeds and shrubs that were literally left alone for far too long by the previous owner and they turned into trees with trunks. I can't blame her really; she did have Alzheimer's after all and when I start getting demented, I certainly won't be worrying about keeping up with the yard, regardless of what the neighbors have to not-say/say behind our backs about it!

OK, so let's get this thing going again. Perhaps I'll learn a bit more and be able to make this little site somewhat more attractive and hey, maybe my posts will one day be so interesting and thought- or anger-provoking that someone even comments!

Glad to back, peoples.

Meet Roo!

We now have a dog named Roo. A wire haired terrier/German Shepherd mix--she has kennel cough, is overly protective and has to stay in a kennel all day when we are work. She is a sweetheart and we are getting accustomed to each other. Viva is a bit intimidated but deals with her while Oscar growls and hisses and seems royally peeved that she has taken his place as the baby of the family.

Dad and me. Memphis, 1971.

Going back to Florida.

Well, it is a bit too soon, but at least it is Miami. Britten and I are going for the Harm Reduction Conference and because November 13th is the first day, I got Ryan a ticket for his present! So at least we can have some fun together and it will be almost 35 degrees warmer there. I have to admit, however, that I just recently was able to start wearing cool weather clothing and I am NOT looking forward to too big, boring Florida clothes I had to wear out for over a year!

But, I will look forward to the food, the water, Katrina and Bob and yeah, the SUN.

Let's see if this works...

Something to do?

Ladia Yates is my heroine.

Just watch this and tell me if it doesn't cheer you up. Hope for our youth.

I OWN THIS!!!!

Bought my very first home. Ryan and I are officially residents of East Jesus. And loving its laid back style...much more laid back than this born-and-bred "Midtowner" ever imagined. One wonderful thing came out of this fucked up August.

Bye Wicked Annabella.

April 21, 2007, Tampa, Florida-August 7, 2008 Memphis, Tennessee.

Fucking dumbass thieves. It won't even unlock or start without the key. I hope all four of you burn to death after your house catches fire from faulty wiring. I will wish your children and babies mamas to escape unscathed, however.

It is about time.

Since Dior busted out the classic circa 1931 cloche all over the haute couture runways last week, I am hopeful for some knockoffs to start hitting the market just in time for fall. This one is stunning and if it weren't a priceless item, I'd snatch it up.

I was surprised at how wearable the French couture collections were this go-round. The Chanel and Dior ones in particular. I am just going from the 13 photos I just viewed at the NY Times Style site, but there were just some lovely items that were not indicative of something that Galliano used to try to pull off on a regular basis.

Brunch time at Umai! Will report back--this restaurant, located in the old Harry's On Teur location next to Kwik Shop, looks amazing and all have reported that lunch and dinner are wonderful, the sushi killer etc. I have seen the menus for lunch and dinner and it seems like a very French-Asian combo with lots of seafood, but also duck.

I'm Sleeeeeepy.

I owned a doll just like this one as a wee child; it was a Mattel popular favorite called "Drowsy". Note the pajama-clad body and narcoticized eyelids. Well, Drowsy also spoke if you pulled a cord coming out of her flank and my favorite thing she whined was, "AHMMMMMM SLEEEEEEPYYYYYY." I can still hear it today. And naturally, I still say it; far too often these days.

We are in Memphis and both working our pants off but in a much better mindset than we have been in quite some time. I wish I wasn't so damn tired, but them's da breaks.

Thank you, and Good Night.

Just Farr a Laugh 1&2...cue it!

We received out preorder CD of Earles and Jensen's JUST FARR A LAUGH: THE GREATEST PRANK CALLS (AND LINER NOTES) EVER! yesterday afternoon, 5 days in advance of the stores with a very posed and elegant promo poster that is completely wrong for the decor of any room of my home (at least any room in any home I have resided in since 1993). Yes, it is worth your money. While I have heard every call on disc one ad nauseum, disc two is delivering on the promises made on the knees of Andrew Earles. The liner notes are coy, self-conscious/-referential, funny, lazy and cute. Just like these men.

No self-respecting person who thinks they have and/or respect a rapier wit should be without this disc...so go to Matador.com and pony up or better yet, beg your local record store to stock it!

OWWWWWWWWWW. It hurts.

Wow. A week ago, I was scrambling to buy a good ticket after realizing I really needed to be at home for the Final Four and I got there...and it was the best choice I have made in awhile. I interviewed for a job, got to know new and old friends, drank too much, toured John Griffin's amazing house and gardens, deeply searched my soul on how I am going to buy this house on Watkins that my great-great grandmother lived and died in and spend two beautiful sports-filled nights at the wondrous Buttermaker's Lounge (see above, yes that really is Coach Cal on the astral plane with Pierre Niles--sorry, Dave!). Thank you Tigers. You made my year and this visit wouldn't have been 1/16th as good without you.

Why is this gurl not a sportswriter???

I don't even think we know each other, but I "met" her via the infamous Goner Board. She is the eponymous "robin". Her Tiger fan-ness makes mine look like I am some sort of dilettante in that world. This essay she wrote recently for her blog (see "Dirty South Displaced") captured both Tiger fandom and being a Memphian in a way that I am so blown away by even an hour after first reading it, that I have to steal the copy and put it in my own. I am also sending it out to everyone I can think of, including sportswriters.

I am going to throw up on my shoes.

In less than ten hours Memphis will take on Texas in the battle to win the South Region in the NCAA tournament.

I think I am going to throw up.

I haven’t been able to sleep well for weeks solely because of basketball. I know this is a sore point of contention amongst my friends in Boston. People either think it’s annoying- because I make plans that revolve around my basketball schedule- or they think it’s cute and quaint because it’s Just So Odd for someone like me to be so invested in something like a bunch of dudes throwing a ball that swishes through a hoop at the perfect moment.

Let me explain it thusly.

My first memory of life is of shopping for the birthday cake on the day of my first birthday party. I was about to be a year old. I loved Bert and Ernie, and so they were to be on my birthday cake. I remember being tiny; I remember everything being huge; I remember holding my dad’s hand as I teetered through the parking lot of the Big Star on Summer Avenue, knowing it was my special day and that I was going to get a cake just for me. I recall looking at the fancy display of cakes, pointing out the one that was mine, and watching my daddy exchange money for My Cake. There’s a blur between then and the happy birthday song, but I remember blowing out the candles while my family sang the song to me.

My second, third, fourth, fifth and beyond memories are all of Memphis Tigers Basketball. Somewhere in there is a memory of my sister being born. In my child mind I rated them all as being of relative importance. For some reason that is beyond my grasp, my memory of meeting my baby sister for the first time is in the same mental file cabinet as watching Keith Lee take Memphis to the Final Four in 1985.

And that is how it goes. My childhood constantly revolved around the Tigers. Every game came on local syndicated television and we watched them religiously. I can still recite the local commercials (anyone remember the commercials for Big Daddy’s Bowling Alley in Poplar Plaza? They had a free dinner for the kiddies! I know this cos I can still picture the fat girl customer stuffing her face with corn from the all-you-can-eat buffet). I memorized starting lineups. I memorized plays. If I hear the announcers (Dave Woloshin and John Albright, bitches!) now on the radio my brain shuts everything else off. Their voices are comforting to me the same way it’s comforting for some people to go to their parents’ houses and cuddle with their childhood teddy bears.

There were many minor players, but as far as the major stuff goes here is the rundown.

Elliot Perry was a little too short to be an NBA phemonenon, but his goggles were cool and he was a fucking star. As a result of his amazingness I copied his style and wore my swimming goggles all over the place from about 1989 to 1991 (this was before contact lenses were the shit, you see), just cos Elliot Perry did it first. I lived too far out in the country to have a basketball hoop, so I wore the goggles Elliot-style and dribbled my ball in circles in the loop of our driveway, doing it so many times that I remembered where each large rock was in our driveway that could send my ball flying into the bamboo bushes or towards the catalpa trees.

Penny Hardaway was obviously the most amazing phenomenon to hit Memphis since Elvis, but he was cooler ’cos he was local and kept it real. The day he announced that he was going to play for the Tigers he got shot in the foot. Not that you would know this, but THAT IS SO MEMPHIS. It was fucking depressing. Plus his grades sucked, so his whole freshman year was spent on the bench. After that wait though it was magic. Memphis went all the way to the Elite Eight during his junior year- what was that, 1992? I remember peeling the shot from Sports Illustrated of David Vaughn going up for this amaaaazing basket out of the magazine and putting it up on my wall. Memphis lost to Cincinnati in their bracket, which was especially painful, but what a fucking year that was.

I remember regularly seeing Coach Finch at Ike’s at Eastgate Shopping Center and, thanks to my mom’s encouragement, waving at him and congratulating him on his good year while he pushed his shopping cart out to his car, politely smiling and nodding at everyone in his path along the way. I remember feeling like I was a part of something special because he thanked me for acknowledging him. I remember how his smile towards me felt genuine, and I remember how when I watched the next Tigers game it felt like I had something to do with it.

I remember my parents screeching and hollering about The Great Name Change, how it would always be Memphis State to them and how their diplomas would always say that. Sure enough, they still call it Memphis State from time to time even fifteen-plus years later. Haters call it Memphis State all they want, but it makes me smile every time I hear it. I remember Coach Finch being unceremoniously fired and how it made the entire city so, so angry. I also remember how Tic Price was the biggest douchebag that the city ever had the misfortune of dealing with, and how it was like the second coming of Christ once the Tigers landed Coach Cal.

I remember watching and watching, but nothing happening. Then I remember the 05-06 year, going to RP Tracks with Lauryn a month or so before I moved to Boston and sitting with her and Hillary and watching Memphis come So Fucking Close to knocking off Duke in the preseason. It was something. I remember watching this mysterious but amazing number 14, this Chris Douglas-Roberts character, and hearing everyone in the bar murmuring, "who the fuck IS this kid?" I remember doing the math in my head. These kids are all freshmen and sophomores. The next two years will be sweet, but 2007-2008 will be their year. Something big is going to happen.



In a lot of ways, Memphis is a crappy city. Segregation is still alive and well, and as a result the crime is out of control. The poverty is sky high and it’s easy to grow up there and have extremely low expectations for your loved ones and yourself. Honestly, I don’t think I don’t know anyone who hasn’t lost a friend because a robbery went wrong. That’s a horrible thing to have to say, but it is true. When you are raised in a town like Memphis you’re just set up to either be an incredible survivor via suffering horribly or to be an extremely sheltered and mediocre human being.

If Memphis wins the championship this year, it’s not just about a fucking ball going through a fucking hoop. It is about forcing the entire country to acknowledge what it means for a city in a shitty position to overcome mid-major status, financial obstacles, extreme racism and classism, and eternal underdog status. Memphis Tigers basketball isn’t just about a basketball program at a college in the city of Memphis; it’s a perfect emblem of the city itself. If the Tigers win, it’ll be like we hit the fucking lottery. It means some kids in Frayser and Orange Mound whose parents never graduated high school are gonna get a free ride to the University Of Memphis. It means that our parents and grandparents are going to get to experience something they never thought they would- seeing the Tigers cutting down the nets. It means that all these schools/cities/states that think they’re better than us will have to man up and accept the fact that on a basic human level, we’re all pretty much the same.

Memphis kids are in a class by ourselves. We grew up with our parents forcing their versions of their local hipster bands in our ears constantly, which turned out to be The People Who Fucking Invented Rock And Roll And Soul Music. As a result we have impeccable taste- basically, it’s in our blood to know when something’s good or when it sucks. Right now the entire city is rumbling like the big earthquake is finally settling in under its feet. We all know this is special, even when we’re a thousand miles away from home.

This is big.

I don’t think I’ll have to eat my words in a few hours. This feels real.

March Madness!

Tigers? Precodes? Hmmm. Seems that is my only interest of late with this blogging thing; true, it seems that I am not really as interested in it as I was for awhile, but I don't think I will let it go forever; my mind is just preoccupied unless I am thinking about the possibility of the Tigers "winning it all" (the NCAA tournament for those who might be reading this who hate sports) or if Turner Classic Movies is deciding to bust out a bunch of glorious Pre-Code flicks to enjoy.

The best part of last months day of Pre-Code luxury is that Norma Shearer lived up to the hype in The Divorcee. That was my first time watching her after reading her biography and the great book on Pre-Code actresses, Complicated Women. She is a stunner on-screen and her voice was fantastic. I wish she had completed more and similar films during her career.

OK, well, back to my basketball obsession. It all ends in a couple of weeks...until next October, that is! At that time, we will have lived in Memphis for four months and while we won't have to be complaining about all the old people and ultra-aggressive, absolutely-no-manners-having assholes, I will be searching for the appropriate sort of bat to keep by the door and a place that sells pepper spray!

Pre-Code Extravaganza!

March 3, 2008 on Turner Classic Movies is going to be a real humdinger! Beginning at 6 AM we have the wonderful Social Worker Abortion movie, Ann Vickers. This is easily one of the best Pre Code films I have ever seen; its smart, gorgeous, risky, glamorous and sexy. And it is about a social worker! Just like me!

Then, beginning at 8 PM, we have an onslaught of Pre Code Madness beginning with the legendary Norma Shearer superstar-making vehicle, The Divorcee. I have never seen this, so best believe I will be planted on the couch at 7:59 PM!

After Norma Shearer tears across the world in a sex-crazed frenzy, we have the following; included are some of my favorite movies of all time (Night Nurse and Three on a Match):

The double standard destroys a liberal couple's marriage. Cast: Norma Shearer, Chester Morris, Robert Montgomery. Dir: Robert Z. Leonard. BW-82 mins, TV-G, CC 9:30 PM Thou Shalt Not: Sex, Sin and Censorship in Pre-Code Hollywood (2008) This documentary looks at how the social, financial and moral forces all helped shape one of the most intriguing periods in Hollywood history. BW-68 mins, TV-MA, CC 10:45 PM Night Nurse (1931) A nurse discovers that the children she's caring for are murder targets. Cast: Barbara Stanwyck, Ben Lyon, Clark Gable. Dir: William A. Wellman. BW-72 mins, TV-G 12:00 AM Three on a Match (1932) A woman's childhood friends try to rescue her from gangsters. Cast: Joan Blondell, Bette Davis, Ann Dvorak. Dir: Mervyn LeRoy. BW-63 mins, TV-PG, CC 1:15 AM Female (1933) A female CEO who's used to buying love meets her match in an independent young executive. Cast: Ruth Chatterton, George Brent, Johnny Mack Brown. Dir: Michael Curtiz. BW-60 mins, TV-G 2:30 AM Thou Shalt Not: Sex, Sin and Censorship in Pre-Code Hollywood (2008) This documentary looks at how the social, financial and moral forces all helped shape one of the most intriguing periods in Hollywood history. BW-68 mins, TV-MA, CC 3:45 AM Free Soul, A (1931) A hard-drinking lawyer's daughter falls for one of his underworld clients. Cast: Lionel Barrymore, Norma Shearer, Clark Gable. Dir: Clarence Brown. BW-94 mins, TV-G, CC