How will I fit in five yoga classes a week with my new job?
Will I really get up for a 6 a.m. yoga class?
Am I ready to try hot yoga?
Am I holding myself back if 3/5 of my classes are with the same teacher?
Are all of Zooey Deschanel’s clothes from ModCloth?
Did Siri buy them for her?
How do I dress like that without obviously swagger jacking Zooey Deschanel?
How cool would it be if Jamie Lee Curtis and Rob Reiner were your parents?
Did lots of people buy Ellie Goulding’s record after Nick and Jess sealed the deal?
Will Goodwill take my old knife set?
How do other people sleep?
What if the Grizzlies go to the Western Conference finals?
WHAT IF THEY WIN IT ALL?
Surely I cannot be the only person who thinks that Clara is a regeneration of River Song?
Why don’t we get BBC America in HD?
Why can’t all TV be narrated in a fancy English accent like BBC America?
One of the commentators on last night’s TNT broadcast of the Grizzlies-Clippers game complained about fans chanting “BEAT L.A.” Something about how this isn’t Lakers vs. Celtics. (uh, thank goodness for that…)
Well no. It’s not the most creative. But is “DEE-FENSE!” creative? No. It’s just best to keep things simple when it comes to chanting at a sporting event.
Fans could yell “Chris Paul, one bad flop and you could break your spine and never walk again” but that really just doesn’t roll off the tongue the way “BEAT L.A.” does.
And “No matter what you do you’ll never be the Lakers — even when the Lakers are terrible Billy Crystal is the only ‘famous’ person who comes to your games — oh yeah and Khloe Kardashian too but only because she’s obligated and then again she’s not really famous” is just a mouthful. Also, a run-on sentence.
So, Grizzlies fans, I present to you our new chant: a mantra that’s as Made in Memphis as grit ‘n’ grind and dry rub.
Feel free to post this image all over your internets. Let’s make this a thing.
I like to think we’re pretty good neighbors. We keep to ourselves. We don’t have loud parties. In fact, we rarely have company because most of our friends live in Midtown and don’t want to drive home drunk. (What can I say, I’m a good hostess.) Brian does the best he can to keep the yard looking presentable.
We’re friendly with the woman across the street. Hell, we’re friendly with her even though her daughter — long story — called Brian fat to his face. We adore the family that lives on one side of us. The woman on the other side, however, can’t stand us.
She didn’t like the people who lived here before us. But none of our other neighbors did either so I thought nothing of it.
Until she trashed us to the guys who were doing our landscaping, who also happen to be friends of Brian’s.
“I don’t know why you’re even bothering,” she told them. “They have the worst yard on the street.”
We hadn’t been living here long, and one of the things about owning a home is having to … y’know… WORK to be able to pay for it. We were doing a lot of that. And we were doing a lot of work on the inside of the house. That was our top priority, seeing as we live inside the building and not in the yard.
We’ve Brian and his dad have done a lot of work on the property since then. I thought we were beyond all this. Sure, the lady next door never waves when I see her outside, and I swear sometimes she even gives me the stink-eye. But her opinion of us is pretty close to the bottom of my list of GAFs.
I opened our mail today and there was a letter from Code Enforcement.
It was about our ”junked automobile parts, refrigerators, stoves and other chattels.” Or, if you’re not melodramatic: a tire and a couple boards next to our detached garage, which you can’t see from the street.
It’s not as if Code Enforcement saw it while patrolling the neighborhood. Does anyone actually patrol the neighborhood for code violations? If an old tire and a few boards behind a house are all they found you’d think Forbes magazine would have more nice things to say about this city.
No. One of our neighbors is a trifling bully and called the city on us. And I have my suspicions as to who it is.
You can’t see it from the street. But that’s where it’s going. Today. And it’s going to sit there until trash pickup day … which is Monday.
This morning when I logged in to Facebook I saw that a few of my friends had liked DJ Paul’s barbecue sauce and dry rub. No surprises there. After watching his Youtube cooking channel I was ready to buy a case too.
But it did remind me yet again of a question that has troubled me for the past few years.
How can DJ Paul and Yo Gotti both be the King of Memphis? And what about Tigers point guard Joe Jackson, who has “King of Memphis” tattooed on his chest?
Somebody should write some books about it. Or maybe make a show.
After so many false starts, I feel like I’m tempting fate by declaring it’s finally spring. Saturday, I finally dared to wear a skirt without tights. Tomorrow’s high is 80. If it gets cold again, I’ll start stockpiling animal pelts for a long Westeros winter.
During these spring previews I’ve made a point to dine at the food trucks that congregate at the Ridgeway Center office park. It’s become a Friday tradition for me. Having worked in restaurants where the rain can wash away a day’s business, I have a soft spot for these entrepreneurs who thrive at the weather’s mercy.
Royal Flavors has so much character, from the neon OPEN sign hanging in the window to its plasma TV. When I went, a woman was watching Drumline while waiting for her lunch. (Fun fact: I took my sister to see that movie at the Malco Majestic.)
Their menu includes such Southern indulgences as hot wings, turkey legs, and BBQ anything. I got a smoked sausage and fries for five bucks.
No matter where I eat, I usually end up at Fuel’s truck for a can of San Pelligrino Aranciata Rossa (blood orange sparkling water). I hear their bison tacos are the stuff of legend, but I’ve only had the chicken quesadillas shown here.