From: The Gates of Memphis

How Much Do You Hate The Gates of Memphis? A Lot? A Fair Amount? Just a Little?

The Memphis Business Journal ran an online survey asking their readers how much they read blogs, then posted the results in "Business Pulse results: Memphians hardly care for blogs". The brief story began:

The majority of an online survey participants don't bother to read blogs.

Memphis Business Journal asked its online readers last week if they liked blogging. Of the 106 respondents, 41 percent said they don't waste their time reading blogs. 34 percent said they only read blogs on occasion.

However, 10 percent enjoy reading others' blogs and 6 percent have their own blogs and post often. A surprising 9 percent don't even know what a blog is.

2 things:

1. were "do you bother to read blogs?" and "do you waste your time reading blogs?" survey questions? Maybe they were, but I can't find the actual survey.
   
2. if a majority doesn't bother to read blogs, what's the percentage that does? 34 percent on occasion, plus 10 percent who enjoy reading other blogs, plus 6 percent who have their own blogs and post often equals ... 50%. 50% -- well that's definitely not a majority. But doesn't that also mean that the percentage that doesn't bother to read is also 50% -- definitely not a majority either! So the opening line "the majority of an online survey participants don't bother to read blogs" is incorrect. Readership is split down the middle. Avid readership is pretty low but they didn't say "bother to read regularly", they said "bother to read."

Why such a slant?

Perhaps a clear defeat of a pale young pajama-wearing whippersnapper upstart reads more entertaining than a split decision. I appreciate this explanation because I don't want my avid-to-occasional readers falling asleep in their Wheaties either.

But could it be something else?

This is absolutely not a story unique to Memphis, but the continuous, public, no-barriers-to-entry conversations and debates created and nurtured by this and this and this and this and this and all of these are with few precedents in Memphis' history.

50%, 10%, 1% -- all improvements over silence.

Update/Apology: I had copied and pasted the text above from the MBJ article. Little did I know I also copied their HTML, which included a reference to an ad (I must have that adblocked on my other computer). It's gone now.

As a consequence of this mistake, I've changed the title of the post. You win this time, Memphis Business Journal!

posted by gatesofmemphis

From: at home she feels like a tourist

What should fill those empty buildings?

Since I live in downtown Memphis, I watch the developments and changes in that part of Memphis with particular interest. Sometimes I actually feel vaguely guilty about this; I realize that downtown is where the money is, where the expensive condos are, where the tourists are, where the boutiques and upscale restaurants and shiny beautiful people are. And the reflexively guttersnipe part of me (the Clash once sang that the truth is only known by guttersnipes, after all) wants to scoff at much of this, at this shiny veneer that Memphis hopes to present to its tourists while ignoring the desperation, despair, and decrepitude of its less desirable zip codes. Nonetheless, earlier today, yet again I found myself giddily excited over the latest addition announced to downtown: a pastry and coffee shop in the core of downtown.

So if I may be allowed to indulge my downtown-ism for a minute: for all the talk of revitalization, much of downtown Memphis remains abandoned and empty. The overgrown lots and warehouses testify to nature's inevitable revenge against everything artificial and manmade in her midst. While I find urban decay oddly beautiful in its own right, particularly when armed with a camera, my desire for bustling streets and welcoming storefronts typically outweighs my romanticization of decay. But still, I worry that our eagerness for something, anything to occupy those buildings will overwhelm our critical reception of new developments.

For example: the development of downtown, apart from residential development, has consisted predominantly of new restaurants and bars; retail lags behind. Does this mean we should dream of Gaps and Banana Republics and Hot Topics and Blockbusters and Foot Lockers filling the streets of downtown Memphis? When I pose the question like this, the answer seems so obvious: of course not. Naturally I favor independent businesses and local entrepreneurs and establishments with some genuine connection to the city and the neighborhood. Yet given the vastness of decay and abandonment, and the achingly slow development of retail in downtown, would I necessarily oppose the arrival of some predictable but reliably popular chain store in downtown Memphis? That is a tougher question to answer. In SF, I certainly would have opposed almost any chain store that set its sights on a well-travelled corner in one of my favorite old neighborhoods. But one can easily afford the luxury of opposing chain stores in a place like SF with a thriving street life and a thriving independent business culture. Can we afford the same luxury in a struggling and scarred city like Memphis?

Apart from Peabody Place, the world's most useless mall, with all 3.2 of its shops, and the American Apparel down in South Main, downtown Memphis does retain a certain independent charm. No doubt this is the independence of necessity rather than the independence of a defiant anti-chain spirit, but all the same, when I walk from one end of downtown Memphis to the other, I pass very few of the Usual Suspects, and that helps downtown Memphis to maintain a distinctive sense of place. Can a genuinely revitalized downtown Memphis maintain that independence? Can we support retail coming to downtown Memphis without homogenizing it via the Usual Suspects? What should - and what shouldn't - fill all those empty buildings?

posted by fearlessvk

From: The Daily Diversion

WAITING...

(I actually wrote this down last night while I was laying in bed, unable to sleep)

Yeah, I like the movie, but when it comes to fruition in real life, well, that's another story.

We weren't even back in Memphis for two hours before the first calamity took place. Being that is was nearly 80 degrees when we made it home, we decided to it would be a perfect evening to take a walk, followed by a nice dinner out.

We walked south down Main Street to the Orpheum and had pretty much decided that we were going to eat outside at the Majestic, but we wanted to stroll a little longer, since we'd been cramped up in a car for about five hours (speaking of which, I'll get to another story about some adventures in driving a little later).

So, we walked over by the FedEx Forum to see how the construction was going on the new hotel, then back north up 3rd Street toward Peabody. I remembered there was a Crepe place that opened up not too long ago that we hadn't tried yet, so we stopped by, just to check out the menu.

Unfortunately, they didn't have their menu posted on door, like most places here in Memphis, but no sooner than we turned to walk away did one of the chefs come out and greet us with a smile, a friendly face, and an offer of one of their "to go" menus. He also said "We'll delivery too, if necessary."

Knowing what we know now (several hours later), we should've just walked in and placed an order. We didn't though. We just took the menu and headed back up toward the corner of Peabody and Main, where the Majestic resides. All the while, Adrianne is focused on the menu we received at the Crepe place.

So, we get to Majestic and step inside, planning on eating outside on Main Street. No problem there. We're quickly seated and a couple of waiters pass us by, paying us no mind. This actually doesn't bother me much, as I assume they are handling other tables and one of them would probably be with us shortly.

A few minutes pass when our server approaches our table. He promptly asks if we would like something to drink. We oblige and place our drink orders. This, in and of itself, shouldn't be difficult, right?

Well, somewhere in between us speaking English and him bringing us our beverages there was a serious lapse in communication.

Now, rewind for a moment... About five minutes after we were seated, a family of six or seven people were seated at a table just behind us.

Back to the present... About five minutes after placing our drink order, the family seated behind us received their drinks, while we sat with two sets of silverware, neatly rolled in a cloth napkin, and two menus, closed, at the edge of the table (as we had long since decided on what we were having for dinner).

I really can understand taking a few minutes to retrieve drinks from the bar, especially when someone orders a rare port or single-malt scotch (where you actually have to go to the cellar to see if you have it in stock), but when the order is a Sprite and a water, with lemon, I kind of lose my understanding. I guess the lemon part was too difficult? Or could it be that the lemon's weren't ripe enough to serve?

Either way, after waiting 15 minutes for our drink order, which never came, we got up and left. Our server (if you actually want to call him that, since he didn't actually serve anything) was standing nearby when we exited the restaurant.

Now, I understand that this happens occasionally to tourists, and it's not that big a deal, since they probably won't be coming back anyway, but it really sucks when it happens to residents of downtown, who really want to spend their money down here, supporting downtown businesses. After all, I live, work, and enjoy playing downtown, and want to keep it that way.

The worst part of it isn't that this is first time this has happened at this restaurant. This is the fourth time I've eaten there, and not once have I been pleased with the service. If it wasn't for the food, I would've never given this place a second chance. I can assure you they will not get a fifth.

I know they probably don't care either, and that's fine with me. All of the waiters whom we saw outside were more worried about chatting with and catering to the two ladies sitting at the tables next to us anyway. I hope they were big tippers!

However, if I were an "undercover" restaurant reviewer, this would not look so good.

I love supporting downtown businesses, and it breaks my heart when one of them goes out of business. That being said, I sincerely hope that I am the exception to the rule at the Majestic, and not the norm when it come to service, other wise they won't be in business much longer.

Now, we did end up having a nice meal though, so don't think this story ends on a down note. We walked back down the street to the Crepe place and there was that smiling face, waiting to see us again. That was really a nice change of pace from what we had encountered only minutes prior to this.

We split a delicious chicken Caesar crepe and followed it with a "Triple Threat" dessert. The entree was wonderful, but the dessert was outstanding! This is the way the night should've gone to begin with. Now we know! Here is the restaurant: Crepe Makers

See, fate always finds a way to step in and make things right!

Now, let me tell you a little story about having some fun while driving. Better yet, read this short story from the Commercial Appeal...

I-40 pileup kills at least 1, shuts down eastbound lanes

By Associated
Press
March 9, 2007

DICKSON, Tenn. — At least one person was killed Friday night in a pileup on
Interstate 40 in Dickson County involving at least seven tractor-trailers and
six cars.
The chain-reaction crash started about 7:20 p.m. and shut down
eastbound lanes near mile marker 165 and backed up westbound traffic for miles,
according to the Tennessee Highway Patrol. The area is about 42 miles west of
Nashville.

At least one tractor-trailer overturned. The cause of the wreck was being
investigated.
Lanes were not expected to be clear until 2 a.m. Saturday.
Eastbound traffic was diverted to State Highway 48.

Yeah, well we left Memphis at 5:15 pm on Friday night, and at about 7:30 came upon a parking lot on I40. I'm guessing we were only about 10 to 12 miles from being involved in this accident, which is a relief. However, we were stuck in the aftermath for more than two hours because of this. After we had already finished watching "Anchorman" and started watching "BASEketbal" a TDOT truck came by telling us to cross the median and go to the closest exit, so we could be rerouted back to the interstate.

Well, we went a little different route. I decided, since I kind of knew where we were, to take an alternate route to Owensboro, thus avoiding the slow moving traffic that would be involved with getting back on I40. Needless to say, this was not a shorter route by any means.

Around 1:40 am we pulled into the driveway. In case you didn't know, it's a five hour drive from Memphis to Owensboro, pretty much any way you go. To say that we were exhausted when we finally go there would be a slight understatement.

I actually slept while a vehicle was in motion for the first time since I was a child, on Saturday, while we were heading to Lexington. That, alone, should speak volumes.

Inflicted on you by John

From: Fertile Ground

Lamplighter Column--Getting Schooled

For those of you who haven't picked up a copy of this month's Lamplighter...

GETTING SCHOOLED
Education choices in Memphis lacking

I was a proponent of the Memphis Public School system before I had kids. “I went to public schools and I turned out fine,” I would say (loudly in bars while having hypothetical holier-than-thou arguments). When I actually got pregnant and started thinking about reality versus winning an argument, I realized that “fine” wasn’t what I wanted for my future offspring.

For the first year of Satchel’s life I plotted ways for Warren or I to stay home full-time, but (ironically, due to needing two salaries to cover our student loans) nothing panned out. Our precious baby went to a home-based daycare and we went to work. When Satchel was eighteen-months-old and showing signs of sponge-like learning abilities, I started looking for a school to enroll him in. I called around and didn’t find too many options for his age group. At the time, the best choice was Threshold Montessori. Not only did they take the kids young, they were open from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. — a working parent’s dream. At the school, children did art twice a day, played outside a lot, and had freedom to choose what “work” they wanted to do when they wanted to do it. Best of all, I liked the diversity. Threshold had a pretty even mix of white kids and black kids in addition to a smattering of kids with other ethnicities.

Satchel thrived at Threshold. He was well-liked by the teachers and students and quickly adapted to the Montessori style of learning. He paved the way for Jiro to be accepted at fifteen months of age, and soon he was thriving too. By the time Jiro enrolled, I no longer got upset by the amount of television they watched or the junk food they witnessed their friends eating. In fact, I looked forward to the third Thursday of each month when they had fast food or pizza because that was one less day that I had to make lunches. I was secure in the knowledge that they were both well cared for and intellectually stimulated. I gave glowing accounts of the school to my friends and never spent a moment worrying about either of my boys once I dropped them off in the morning.

Despite this, I did have a small inferiority complex in conversations with friends who sent their kids to the “fancy” Maria Montessori downtown. With its gardening program, high parent involvement, and no TV and no plastic toys, it seemed to me like it belonged more in California than in Memphis. I had called Maria Montessori when I was initially looking for a place to send Satchel, but upon discovering that they were only open until 2:30 p.m., closed in the summer, and that Satchel would have to be “invited” to attend a full day session after proving himself part-time, I couldn’t quite figure out how a family with two working parents could logistically send their child to Maria Montessori (even if they could afford it).

As much as I liked Threshold, I had to think ahead. Threshold only goes through kindergarten and Satchel is almost five. Warren and I had a come-to-Jesus talk where we discussed sending Satchel to Idlewild Elementary, the public school in our zone at the time. Idlewild was close by, it’s an optional school, and it has a pretty decent reputation.

We decided to do an Idlewild drive-by in August. I immediately noticed the “Open House Next Thursday Night” sign out front and the boys immediately noticed the cool playground behind the teachers’ parking lot. That Saturday we went to the playground and started talking about the time when Satchel would go to his “big school.” He was very excited and immediately started talking about his “big school” on a regular basis.

At the Open House, Satchel was amazed by the sheer number of people in attendance and was very interested to see the inside of the school. We walked by a few classrooms and ventured into the library, and of course, the restrooms. He seemed smitten, but inexplicably, by the time we got home, Satchel said he no longer wanted to go to the “big school.”

“Why?” I asked, perplexed.

“There’s too many people. Too many brown people,” he said.

“Whaaa, huh?” I was totally taken off guard.

But truthfully, I noticed too. According to the school’s racial breakdown, in a class of twenty-four, there might be three or four non-African American students. Satchel had plenty of black friends at Threshold, but I didn’t know how he’d feel being in the minority at Idlewild. When I went to Newberry Elementary, the racial breakdown of the classrooms was pretty much the same and I don’t remember feeling out of place. However, I would really like to have Satchel in a classroom that more accurately reflects the diversity of Midtown.

Recently, a crunchy friend of mine enrolled her daughter at Evergreen Montessori. “You should see it,” she said. “They have all of the traditional Montessori materials, they make lunch there, there’s a huge backyard with no sand and lots of animals, and there are all kinds of extras like yoga, soccer, and Tae Kwan Do.”

“Really?” I said trying to figure out why I hadn’t sent Satchel there in the first place. “What time do they close?”

“Six-thirty,” she said.

“Isn’t it expensive?”

“A little bit, but you would save some money not making lunches.”

“Don’t they close when the City Schools close?

“Yes, but they do stay open extra days for working parents.”

Warren and I set up an appointment to take Satchel and Jiro on a tour of Evergreen. We were greeted at the door by one of Satchel’s old Threshold classmates who immediately took him by the hand and ran off to show him everything. There were lots of other familiar faces too — from the playground, from Mothersville, from the grocery store, etc. The director told us that there were three other students with a Japanese parent and/or grandparent, which we thought was pretty cool. Once we saw all of the amenities at Evergreen, we were very impressed. It had all that Threshold had and more — all the way to the eighth grade. We were sold.

Looking over the enrollment packet, I was worried if we’d be able to afford Evergreen. It wasn’t as much as Maria Montessori, but it was definitely more than Threshold — especially if we needed before and after care, which we did. However, Warren and I were committed to making it work. And thanks to the understanding of Evergreen’s director, we did.

The boys have been at Evergreen for two months now and are fitting right in. They love yoga and Tae Kwan Do and can’t wait for soccer. Warren and I like seeing our friends at drop offs, pick ups, and parent meetings. I don’t miss making lunches one bit. The school definitely reflects Midtown and has a very neighborly feel.

It is easy for me to imagine the boys staying at Evergreen indefinitely, but not without feeling a little guilty about it. It was a no-brainer for us to buy a house (twice now) in a transitional neighborhood — the realtor actually said something along the lines of, “This neighborhood needs people like you” — but taking the leap into the public school system is much scarier.

I saw a high-school friend last fall at a Rock-n-Romp. As we sat and talked for over an hour, he told me how much he wanted to move back to Memphis.

“What’s stopping you?” I asked.

“The schools,” he said. In North Carolina, he told me, they have great schools. All kinds of schools. Even public Montessori schools.

I want to live in Memphis. In Midtown. I want to be a part of the solution, not the problem. But, I also want my kids to get a great (and not necessarily traditional) education. I don’t want a third of my income to go to private school, especially when a third of it already goes toward student loans.

I want better choices.

There's already been a record breaking THREE letters to the editor...one of which clears up a few facts about Maria Montessori that I got wrong, one basically says I am a racist, and one that simply says I am a whiner/poor journalist.

What do you think?

posted by Stacey Greenberg

From: Urf!

Why Bother?

I believe nature abhors a vacuum but loves irony. I think I have that right. I get a kick out of irony, I know that, whether in fiction or real life. But I don’t care so much for it when it kicks me in the solar plexus. Such is the case tonight, or this morning, whichever it is now. Fresh on the heels of the previous post, Robbin’ & Stealin’, wherein I poke fun at S and a friend’s daughter for stealing things, my business was broken into. Again. This makes five times in roughly seven years. I haven’t written much about what I do, but I own a small retail business in downtown Memphis. I’m sitting here, having spent two hours boarding up a window, picking up merchandise and sweeping up glass. And all I can do now is sit and type and wonder Why Bother? Why try to keep a small business going when there are animals out there? And that’s what they are – animals – a class of citizens in this city that wanders around and simply takes what they like with no regard at all for anyone else. They are no better than a pack of wild, roving animals and should be treated as such. Why bother trying to raise a family in a city that is increasingly becoming a cesspool of crime? Why bother being an entrepreneur at all? Why not work for a corporation and let all of this be someone else’s problem? Let them try to find money in the budget for a new 8-foot window.

Perhaps I’m just tired. I’ve got a full day now, once I go back home to get The Quartet dressed, fed and out the door for school, of cleaning, securing and buying glass. Or perhaps I’m just tired of everything.

Birthed by RJA

From: Secret Agent Mom

Our Happy Home In Memphis, Tennessee

With RJA's recent unexpected store guests added to the tally, that makes three fingerprint-garnering crimes inflicted on our small circle of friends since the beginning of the year. It's frightening, infuriating, and deeply demoralizing. Seeing headlines flick by on the news is depressing enough, but it's even harder to feel much hope about the place where you live when you watch your friends going through the cycles of anger and fear that being a crime victim entails. As Memphians, and (semi- to actual)Midtowners in partcular, we're constantly asking ourselves why we stay, why we put up with the problems we know are here, why we're raising our kids in a city that often resembles an Old West free-for-all rather than a stable metropolis.

In the new issue of Fertile Ground, a number of Memphis parents/writers address this issue both directly and indirectly (including all three of the lawfully infringed parties referenced above). There are a lot of positive things mentioned about Memphis, from the culture to the sense of community, but I think the most basic reason we're here is because ... this is where we are. This is our home, whether we've been here all our lives or have transplanted by choice. And sure, I guess there are those folks who pack up and move when the floors get creaky or the basement walls crack, but for those who crave stability and are slow to uproot, it just feels natural to work through the problems. Or better yet, follow the true Midtowner-homeowner path and ignore them.

And of course, pure stubbornness comes into play. Some chickenshit burglar or cracked-out, theoretically-armed robber thinks he's going to get the better of us? Some sackless douchebag is going to make us fear for the safety of our kids? The fuck he is!

(Ahem. Sorry, Mom. Did I mention the anger part of being a crime victim?)

Point is, we've made choices and sacrifices and commitments to this place. We've built careers and families and friendships here. As a native and 14th-generation Minnesotan, I never expected Memphis to feel like home to me, but now I can't deny the pull. Call it insanity or inertia, but it's become very hard for me to imagine myself having as full a life anywhere else. It's both the good and bad that make this town unique, and one night of having the crap scared out of me doesn't outweigh the countless park dates, shared meals, and hours of laughter that occurred before and since. Plus, of course, the nightly poker games at the saloon/brothel.

Briefed by S.A.M.

From: One of Each

Ode to S.A.M.

Of late, I feel I've really been on the same wavelength as S.A.M. It's time to quit ignoring it and just go ahead and write my love letter.

For awhile now, I've been fascinated by my internet friendships. I know people join dating services and meet people online, but this is different. I have developed real connections with people I've only met a handful of times, and all because we read each other's blogs. If I were still working on my sociology degree (I'm still just a paper away from that Master's!) I thinkI would delve into this topic. Sadly I'm not clever enough to write about it without academic prodding, but fortunately S.A.M. tackled the subject for me in the latest issue of Fertile Ground. I did much head-nodding while reading her essay, glad I wasn't the only one who thought this phenomenon was noteworthy.

Today S.A.M. has a blog post about why we stay in Memphis, even though we all know it is a cesspool. And it's the same thing I've always said. I'm a person who likes stability, likes to put down roots. When we were in our twenties, with no responsibilities and the whole world at our feet, I would shoot down the thought of leaving Memphis. My reasons were mainly that if I moved somewhere else, I'd live the same life- I'd find a few restaurants/bars/hangouts that I liked, and I'd frequent them. I'd get the same type of job, and go to it every day. The only thing that would be different is that I wouldn't have my friends and family with me, and what's the point in that to a person like me? Yes, sometimes Memphis seems to suck. But when it does, I imagine myself in a different city without the people I love, and I just work through it.

So I was already feeling the S.A.M. love when I received this email today: "Does anyone have any interest in joining Team S.A.M at the Riverkings game tonight?" She thought it was a longshot that any of her friends would want to go to a minor league hockey game. What she didn't know was that earlier this week, while watching hockey highlights on SportsCenter, Connor turned to me and said, "Can you take me to a hockey game?" I had already checked the Riverkings schedule to find a suitable night when we could take Connor down south. We had decided on March 10 (Hockey Mr. Potato Head giveaway night), but tonight suddenly seems like a much better option. I think we'll even listen to Sign O' The Times on the way to the rink, just to make the experience complete.

Then tomorrow we'll deal with the restraining order.

From: Urf!

Why We Bother

I feel like I need to expand on my earlier post, Why Bother?, written a week ago and only hours after my business had been broken into, and perhaps answer my own question. Why bother, I wondered, to live in a city with an increasing crime rate and leaders who are impotent to fight it? Why bother to work six days a week for eight years to build a business only to have some piece of crap break into it and take what he likes? Why bother to live within the law when so many seem to have no respect whatsoever for it? These are the questions I had that early morning on only a few hours of sleep. And most of this is still a dilemma for me, let me make that clear. However, since that day, some of those questions have been answered for me. They’ve been answered by friends and family who live in this city, or have lived here. Some of them have been victims of crime recently and are entrepreneurs themselves.

Both S.A.M. and StephChockley, in response to my question, waxed more eloquently than I can on why it is we live where we live. They touched on friends more than anything, friends who have become family. Their posts meant more than many of you realize because they have both been victims of crime recently as well, one in her family’s home and one a victim of armed robbery at her place of business. Yet they are able to see past this all to recount the good in this city and her people. I should take a page from their book, or blog, if these are pages, and look for the positives in my fellow Memphians. But it’s difficult for me. It’s difficult because this was my fifth break-in, because of the garbage I witness harassing the good people downtown every day and because the newspapers are full of the irresponsibility, incompetence and egos of the leaders of our city. But this is where we are. This is where I grew up, bought a business and am raising four children. If I were to suggest to Big Mama tonight that we pack up the kids and our favorite books into the Volvo 740 turbo wagon and move away from here, she would do it, such is her disdain for the city, but we both know that’s not possible. We’re entrenched here … for now. And as long as we’re entrenched, we’re lucky to be so with some really good people, true friends and family.

My other question had to do with owning a small business. Why bother? I heard from an old friend living in Oklahoma who reminded me that she reads about the four reasons why I do the work I do on this very blog all the time. And there’s truth in that. One of the reasons I wanted to own my own business, to be my own boss, was to show my kids that it was possible. That they could make their own way, just as my father-in-law and step-father had shown me. I’m not sure how good a job I’m doing of teaching them, but as long as they don’t have access to the books yet then I’m still the king. When something happens like a break-in, however, I keep it from them because they don’t need to know that things they see on the news or in television shows is happening to their father. And just the fact that some stranger has affected me in such a way that is out of my control, and that I have to keep it from my kids, makes me angry.

Other friends have stepped up, too. One has a blog devoted to the entrepreneurial spirit. He’s a zealot and it is worth a read. S.A.M. owns a couple of businesses, too, and tells me to repeat the word “cubicle” over and over when times become distressing. Even my mother, who called just to talk about the original post – no, wait, she called to talk about The Godfather III – laughed at my considering corporate work, saying I should go to work for Enron.

What stands out to me more than what these people said is that they said it at all, or wrote, or called at all. Friends understood, they sympathized and they empathized. I bother because of all of them. I bother because I owe it to my family to bother. Memphis is our home, we’ve made friends here and we have family here. And this city is ours as much as, if not more, than those who wish to sully it. So we’ll stay here for now with our fellow Memphians and we’ll visit Peabody Park and travel to each others’ houses, we’ll eat pork and go to work and school, and we won’t let the bastards get us down.

Birthed by RJA

From: Sassy Molassy

Ok, I'll talk

Everyone in our circle of friends seems to be blogging about why Memphis is still a good place to live even though it's not. Or even though three of us have been victims of crimes in the past month, to be more specific. It seems I have been cast in the role of hater in this little love-for-our-home fest, so I thought I would talk about why I want to leave.

Yes, Memphis has been my home for all but about two years of my life. Yes, my parents and friends are here, and leaving them would be sad and difficult. But it's not like moving a few hours away means we'd never see or hear from any of you again. I know that we would miss the weekend hangouts and watching our kids grow up together, and yes, I'm tearing up as I write that. Still, I have to believe that in another city we could not replace, but add to our circle of friends, and make a life for ourselves just like we've done here. Just with less crime and prettier scenery.

The crime is bad but it's not the main problem for me. Ok yes, yesterday the librarian here at school mentioned that she had seen my address on some paperwork and realized we are neighbors on the same block. In the course of the conversation, she told me that last year she came home and surprised a robber, who kept her in the house for two hours, lying face-down on the floor, while he went through her stuff and took what he could find. When I said I had heard about that from another neighbor but thought it happened in a nearby cove, she replied in a low voice "No, that was the rape. That was terrible." And we live in a pretty good area, in what we jokingly call the servants' quarters of one of the city's oldest and most expensive neighborhoods. Why don't the crack heads steal from the rich people in the million-dollar mansions and leave us alone? I have to ask if I'm just biding my time until I come home with my kids one day to see the door kicked in, or how I will help them recover from the fear after we all get carjacked. We are just, today, two full months into the year and there have been 23 murders in Memphis so far. The big story in the local news is that the bloated monopoly of a utility has been giving certain political figures a free ride on utility bills registering in the several thousands, for who knows how long, under the guise of a program designed to protect the elderly and disabled poor from unexpected cut-offs. The separate-but-not-equal dual school systems are still zoning for overcrowded schools along racial lines and still trying to say they are not doing any such thing. I won't even get into the disgustingly inept and corrupt city council, mayor, et al. It's too depressing.

I feel like it's time for a serious risk/benefits analysis. When I spend time thinking about whether it is better to try to talk an armed attacker into letting me live, or saying nothing so I won't anger him, I think it's time to go. I realize there is no utopia, and that every community has crime and problems. I just can't believe there isn't a better place than this in which to raise my family. I can't help but think what a big world this is, and what a short life, and that I could live someplace beautiful, but instead I live here. Consistency is always easiest, but I'm not afraid to leave my comfort zone. And even though I do love and thrive on change, I'm not advocating change for its own sake. There are just so many reasons to leave, and just too few to stay.