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 how "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?"
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.
Another aggravation making the list again is the verbal habit of,
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 has 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 7:00 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.
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 Chinese 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.
And finally, 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.
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 thirty-five, 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 thirty-five 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 by Randy Haspel
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.
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 thirty 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 molestations, 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, but he gets so mean when he's schnockered, he frightens the ladies.
Trump got his Preppie, frat-boy, jock "fixer" onto the Supreme Court just in time to quash any pesky subpoenas he might receive to testify before the Special Council. Weren't the tumultuous Kavanaugh hearings supposed to be the major issue for the Republicans in the mid-terms? But, as usual, Trump had 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 five-thousand troops to spend Thanksgiving in West Texas eating turkey and dressing from a 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. The angry and paranoid Trump left it to Gen. John Kelly to do the firing. This was expected, but before Trump flew off to France to become an international pariah, he installed his pool boy as Acting Attorney General. His 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 twenty-six 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 a limitation 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 alright 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 fearmongering 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 most deadly fires in its history, on top of the twelve people slaughtered by a twisted gunman with an illegal extended magazine in a college bar in Thousand Oaks. Trump has yet to utter a word. He has, however, announced the winners of this year's Presidential Medal of Freedom awards. Among Trump's picks are right-wing scourge 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.
Y'all know me. Heaven forbid that I would use this valuable space to self-promote, mainly because I haven't had much to promote lately. But I couldn't help but notice in last week's front page story in The Memphis Flyer that there's somewhat of a kerfuffle going on concerning community radio station WEVL. This is a subject that I know a little bit about because I was a volunteer programmer at WEVL for twelve years. I left the station under somewhat less that pleasant circumstances, but it was my fault. I was playing protest and anti-war music from the sixties, and I couldn't help but draw comparisons between the arrogant decision to go to war in Vietnam and the idiotic invasion of Iraq. I was told by both the Board and management to cease my on-air political commentaries, and I tried. But then came Hurricane Katrina and I went a little nutty. I prepared some "fight the power" music and some measured personal outrage for my first post-Katrina show and did the modern-day equivalent of locking all the doors and playing "Louie, Louie" for two hours. I thought if I had a platform, no matter the size, and failed to use it to express indignation over the complete neglect of hurricane victims in New Orleans, then I'd be a coward. Considering my longevity, I kind of thought the station would have my back, but unfortunately, I caused a couple of members to cease their contributions in protest. I had committed the cardinal sin. My show was cancelled, and I felt obligated to resign. I still continue to support the station, mainly because I have many friends there who do dedicated work that's worth supporting. Other than that, I have no idea what's going on at WEVL since I haven't set foot in the studio for thirteen years. According to the Flyer, the Board of Directors and station management haven't changed much in that time either, so I have an inkling about what the "Friends of WEVL" are trying to accomplish. But that's no longer my concern. I've returned to volunteer radio now and I'd like to tell you about it.
One of Memphis' best kept secrets is the Public Library's radio station, FM 89.3 WYPL (Your Public Library). I had assumed the station was solely for the purpose of reading to the blind, which they do and much more, but I never knew that after dark, WYPL 89.3 lights up. Daily programming consists of volunteer readings for the visually impaired, not just the daily news, but best sellers, popular magazines, and everything else from the Memphis Flyer to the New Yorker. But when the sun goes down, it's party time, utilizing the library's extensive Memphis Music Collection and much more. For your listening enjoyment, here's what's happening. Monday features guitarist and former Gentry's drummer Alan Heidelburg with "Memphis Music Memories," followed by Ron Hall and "The Roaring Sixties." Author of four books about Memphis Music, including "Playing For a Piece of the Door: A History of Garage and Frat Bands, 1960-1975," and the exhaustively researched, "Memphis: The Rock & Roll Years," which documents all the concerts that took place in Memphis from 1955 to 1985, Ron Hall plays music from every local band that ever cut a record in the sixties, such as the Guilloteens or Tommy Burk & the Counts. Tuesdays belong to the legendary Leon Griffin, veteran disc jockey, entrepreneur, former Weatherman on Good Morning Memphis, and producer/director at WHBQ TV for memorable programs like Talent Party, Studio Wrestling, and even the Happy Hal Show. Leon features music from the 70s and 80s in his "Memphis Radio-Active" show. Wednesdays spotlight the "Memphis Gospel Collection" with archivist and engineer Vance Durbin.
Are you ready for self-promotion, because Thursdays are Soul night in Memphis. That means my show, "The Memphis Soul Revue," features music not just from the world-famous local studios, but from artists that traveled with the great Rhythm & Blues package shows that played the Auditorium and the Coliseum. For many years, I've been asked when was I getting back on the radio. I'm back. Rufus Thomas said, "'The Memphis Soul Revue' is the most exciting new show on the air today." If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'. But then so is everyone else. Friday features the Sun Studio Collection with various hosts and Saturday, singer/guitarist and blues aficionado Paulette Regan hosts "Memphis Women's Music," followed by "Playing Around" with Bob Elbrecht, and former WLVS DJ Tim Mullins playing current music from our local artists. On Sunday, the "Reigning Queen of Beale Street," Ms. Barbara Blue, plays the blues on "Shout, Sister Shout." Former FM 100 and Rock 103 DJ, Mitch McCrackin hosts the "Memphis Music Inner View," where local musicians are interviewed in depth. Musician extraordinaire Jim Spake hosts Memphis legends to discuss and listen to their music. So, just in case you were looking for an alternative to the alternative, how's that line-up fer ya? I've been there for a year now and having more fun than a dunk-tank clown. All the equipment is top-notch and Antonious Smith is the innovative engineer. Station Manager Tommy Warren is ambitious about improvements and additions and the station is streaming on the interstates. It's all financed by the Public Library, so I guess self-promotion's not bad if it's for a good cause.
Funding for both the FM station and WYPL TV Channel 18 comes from the popular twice yearly book sales and support from the Friends of the Library, a non-profit, charitable organization that has existed since 1962. Last year, the group raised $400 thousand from the May and October sales of books, CDs, and DVDs, and through the library's bookstore, Second Editions," which offers gently used books from donors and the library. I just bought "Hitch-22," a memoir by Christopher Hitchens, for three bucks. The Friends give free books to Juvenile Court, the Shelby County Jail, Wounded Warriors and other worthy groups, they fund all adult programs at eighteen different public library locations, they've created an online bookstore through Amazon, and they established the Community Art Academy for kids in conjunction with the University of Memphis. They have volunteers that have been there as long as forty years. If you're like me, I must have driven past the Central Library a thousand times, always intending to stop. It's not just an architectural marvel, there's more going on in there than you can imagine. Plus, they have a wonderful music collection, which brings me back to my self-promotion. Turn off the exhausting news and tune me in on FM 89.3 Thursdays at 7:00pm (c) instead. I mean, where else are you going to hear Bo Diddley and the 5 Royales?
