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by Tim Sampson

thursday, january 22

It is Sunday, and I’ve just read The Commercial Appeal’s account of the KKK rally downtown Saturday (and the very day before RuPaul was to perform). What a colossal mess. Of course, I could go on and on about how humiliating it is for Memphis to have been the spot for a police-escorted and protected rally (screw the free-speech thing; only certain people should have that right and we all know that but just won’t say it), but enough pundits will be arguing all that for weeks to come. All I have to say about the KKK is: Why are they all so fat? They whine and yell about their country being taken over by whatever it is they’re so paranoid of, but it sure doesn’t look like they’ve ever missed a meal. Or a six-pack. And why do their outfits look like the fake designer ensembles Ricky and Fred had made from horse-feeding bags and sackcloth on the episode in which the foursome were in Paris? Not to mention the fact that the little hoods they wear to hide their fat faces bear a striking resemblance to the dunce cap? Too bad they garnered front-page news, when much more important things were happening, like the president having to give a deposition about whether or not he asked Paula Jones for oral sex almost a decade ago. (Again, the president’s penis in the news. When is the madness going to stop?) That story, too, made the front page, but it wasn’t until the continuation pages later that the most revelatory news was printed: that Jones had her Los Angeles hair dresser on hand in Washington, and that he was reshaping her look at no charge. Now that, however misguided in political terms, is charity. But if she thinks changing the color of and straightening out that cascading Brillo pad sprouting from her towhead is going to make her glamorous, she might as well put in a bid on the Brooklyn Bridge. Has anyone noticed that the newly revived Volkswagen Beetle is shaped identically like Jones’ nose? Coincidence? I’m just not sure. What I am sure of is that they should have taken care of that deposition here on Saturday at the courthouse. Not only would her face have scared all humans and animals away from the turmoil, but they could have loaded her schnoz with that tear gas and had her sneeze, thereby lifting the entire crowd – and the courthouse – off the ground and scattering them in different directions for hundreds of miles. But alas, it didn’t happen that way. Maybe someday, someone will find justification for the existence of both the KKK and Paula Jones’ nose, and all this nonsense can be put to rest. And one more thing I’d like to know. If all he allegedly did was pull down his pants and ask, but didn’t do anything else, what’s the big deal. If I had known that was grounds for a multimillion-dollar lawsuit, I could have made enough money at Mardi Gras (during my youth) to own a car that was manufactured during this decade and at least a few items of clothing from somewhere other than Target. But alas, it didn’t happen that way, and I’ll probably always drive a car that has to be opened by using a special device made from a coat hanger. In the meantime, here’s a brief look at what’s going on around town this week. As for tonight, it looks like Tunica might be your best bet, especially if you’re a blues fan, because the Robert Cray Band, Tracy Nelson, Marcia Ball, and Koko Taylor are taking the Bluesville stage at Horseshoe Casino.

friday, january 23

Today looks a little better. Walt Love’s Power ’98 gospel show brings many of the genre’s greats, including Vickie Winans, to the Mid-South Coliseum today. Country legend George Jones is in concert at Sam’s Town Casino, while Huey Lewis & the News open a two-night gig back on the Bluesville stage at Horseshoe Casino. Also opening for a two-night performance is Opera Memphis’ Don Giovanni, at The Orpheum. For basketball with a little twist, the Harlem Globetrotters are in town tonight to play the New York Nationals at The Pyramid. As for clubland, Preston Shannon is at B.B. King’s tonight; the Billygoats are at Young Avenue Deli; and, well, there are a lot more bands playing around town but I really don’t have the time or space to go into it, so check for yourselves.

saturday, january 24

And there’s yet more live-music events today. One is a Fund-Raising Concert for Tiffany Scott, who was critically injured not long ago while trying to help some people who’d been in an auto accident; the event is at the Hard Luck Cafe, and live music is by First Class and the Enticers. Another is the Make-A-Wish Magical Ball, with dinner, cocktails, a silent auction, and entertainment by the Bob Westbrook Trio, Dan Kamin, and Ronnie Prophet. And there’s a fund-raiser in the world of theatre; Theatreworks Takes Care of Its Own is a benefit show for the Emerald Theatre Company, which will perform with other resident companies Our Own Voice, Project Motion, and Memphis Black Repertory Theatre. If you’re downtown looking for live music, it won’t be difficult. The Eric Gales Band is playing at the Hard Rock Cafe; Campfire Boys with Brenda Patterson are doing an unplugged show at The Map Room; and last but certainly not least, at Barristers it’s an all-out rock-and-roll bash with ’68 Comeback, the Neckbones, and the Reatards.

sunday, january 25

Oh, I just don’t know. Just go to Old Zinnie’s and watch the Superbowl.

monday, january 26

Oh, I don’t know. Just go have a Martini Monday martini at Sidestreet Grill or a Margarita Monday margarita at Molly’s. Or go help out a longtime Memphis actor and all-round nice guy who’s been in bad health with A Tribute To Jim Ostrander at Theatre Memphis, where local thespians will perform and where, more importantly, there will be a cash bar.

tuesday, january 27

Oh, I just don’t know. Spend all the money you won on the Superbowl on a nice dinner somewhere, or go to your favorite watering hole and cry in your Absolut about the money you lost.

wednesday, january 28

Oh, I just don’t know. Go see if you have any functioning brain cells left at Kudzus’ Wednesday-Night Pub Quiz, or just sit home and wonder why Celine Dion was born. Actually, I really don’t care what you do, because I don’t even know you, and unless you can assure me that the reinvestigation into J. Edgar Hoover’s death turns up the fact that he was wearing a tube top and a prairie skirt when he croaked, then I’m sure I don’t ever want to meet you. Besides, it’s time for me to blow off this endless rambling and go finally clean up my yard. I wonder if Paula Jones likes to snort leaves and cigarette butts? n


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