Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing

I dreamed of my mother last night. 

My sister and I pulled up to a pump at a gas station/restaurant, like the ones we stopped at when we made those epic journeys across the southeast in the 80s and 90s. The passenger side door of the car at the pump in front of us swings open. “We already have gas in the car, Joe. We don’t need anymore,” the woman says. She has light brown hair with glints of auburn. It’s almost to her shoulders, in spiral curls that are half perm, half natural. She’s slim, in seersucker shorts that show off amazing calves tucked into white Keds. She turns and smiles at me. 

My heart stops. I run to her and try to hug her, but I can’t. My eyes start to burn and my lip quivers. “Don’t cry.,” she says in the voice I would recognize across time and space. “I know you love me.” She looks over my shoulder at Emily. “Be careful what you say. You’re the only one who can see me.” We walk, side by side, into the diner. 

Then I woke up. 

Some people say grief is like a series of tidal waves, crashing over you, then the waves soften,  eventually becoming still. I have found grief is more like a lazy river, slowly eroding the ground beneath me until I suddenly plummet into a deep, dark pool that seems to have no light and no bottom. The pressure pushes me further down, a weight so unbearable I feel as if I’ll never breathe again.

Then I hear my mother’s voice and my head breaks above the surface and I can breathe.  

Time as an abstract

It’s a hazy time in my memory - the early 80s. My parents were splitting up - and getting back together - and splitting up again. I spent a lot of time with my head in a book, sitting on the green carpet of the bedroom I shared with my sister, leaning against the twin bedspread my mother made for me. Green gingham with white eyelet trim, a cursive “A” lovingly stitched on the side; it’s doppelganger across the room emblazoned with an “E” for Emily. The white shutters my mother painted and installed on our windows let in beams of Louisiana sun that hit the matching pillow shams in rigid lines. The desk that matched the white bedroom suite my mother bought in installments from Dixie Furniture sat under the window that faced Mr. Poole’s house. Its drawers held stationary we used to write letters to Grandmama Butler in Oak Grove, home of magical rolls, biscuits, and tomatoes. Everything was very organized - everything had its place. A small, brown radio sat in its place on the upper left corner of the desk, a gift from our Auntie and Uncle B. Auntie, our Grandmama’s baby sister, had recently died a horrific death from cancer. A death so traumatic Mama wouldn’t let us visit her in the hospital, even though we loved Auntie almost as much as we loved Grandmama. Everytime I turned on the radio, I thought of Auntie.

It was an A.M. radio - so the only “good” station was KMLB. Every Saturday, I tuned in to hear Casey Kasem’s American Top 40. One Saturday, I was laying on that ugly green carpet, trying to ignore my life and family tearing itself apart, watching the dust drift through the sunbeams, and Casey mentioned a new band with an interesting name that was getting noticed. They weren’t on the charts yet - but look out for them. Then he played “Radio Free Europe.” I sat up and turned up the radio as loud as it would go. I may have blown the speaker.I waited, and waited, to hear that song again. I called and requested it. Nope. I guess it was too weird for Monroe, Louisiana, in 1981.

Fast forward and I’m living in Georgia in the mid-80s, not too far from Athens, actually. I knew R.E.M. was from the area but still didnt’ hear them on the radio. I just assumed they never made it. Then, someone’s brother who was a freshman at UGA forgot a mixtape one weekend which found its way to the high school. There they were. R.E.M. Bolt of lightning. Most of the songs were off Life’s Rich Pageant, which some consider a delineator in R.E.M.’s discography - the boundary between “good” R.E.M. and “new” R.E.M. I just thought it was awesome. My senior year, R.E.M. finally broke out of the college radio scene and hit the mainstream with The One I Love. That Chistams, December, 1987, Melissa gave me a cassette of Document. I still have it somewhere.

The closest I’ve ever had to an epiphany moment with music was on that lazy Saturday afternoon in 1981, hiding from the world in my room, with my radio. R.E.M.’s sound was different, so new compared to everything else at that time. I found solace and inspiration in their music. They were my Beatles, in a way, the soundtrack to my adolescence and young adulthood, when my world was turning inside out. They were nostalgic, poetic, intellectual. They reveled in ambiguity and were unabashedly political. It’s hard to pick a favorite song by R.E.M., but this is in my top five. And I do believe the poles are shifting. And change is what I believe in.

Provided to YouTube by Universal Music Group I Believe · R.E.M. Life's Rich Pageant ℗ 1986 Capitol Records, LLC Released on: 1986-01-01 Producer, Associated ...

We can't wait for June

It was the summer of the turtle. 1986. My siblings and I were staying at our Mimi and Papa’s because there wasn’t enough room for all of us at Daddy’s house.  My sister had just gotten her license. Daddy would sometimes let us borrow his truck – which was really just a conveyance for fish, fishing supplies, and newspaper crossword puzzles – to go cruising. We’d hit all the hot spots – Pecanland Mall. Forsythe Park, the Cracker Barrell at the corner of 18^th and Forsythe to replenish our Diet Cokes. We had one cassette for the tape deck which we blasted with windows down (Daddy was still too cheap to get AC in a vehicle at this point – I think he finally caved in 2002.)

I turned Sweet 16 that summer at Mimi and Papa’s – it was a beautiful beginning to one of the best years of my life. Every time I hear the Beach Boys, I remember cruising in that Mazda truck with Emily, watching out for the kooks, and enjoying being young and free.

Been A Long Time Coming

As I was walking through my neighborhood this afternoon, some one had written "This too shall pass" is vibrant chalk on their retaining wall. As I read it, the opening strains of Bob Dylan's "Times They are A Changin'" streamed through my earphones. It was an uplifting moment.
Which got me thinking on what song I would post today. I love music so there are a lot of options but the one I decided upon has special significance to me.
My parents loved Same Cooke. I mean LOVED Sam Cooke. "Their" song was "You Send Me." I grew up thinking all people loved Sam Cooke as much as my parents. Shockingly, some people don't know who he is.
He was more than a suave crooner who served as background music for my parents courtship. He was a groundbreaking force in the music industry. Cooke wanted all black artists, including himself, to reap the benefits of their work and artistry. He created his own record label, a daring move for a black man in Jim Crow America, and soon followed up with a publishing company and management arm. He set a precedent that helped others successfully navigate a complicated and often exploitative business.
He used his celebrity and acceptance in white circles as a platform to advance the civil rights movement. He funneled money to causes; he mentored other artists, encouraging them to do the same. He embraced all voices including Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali.
What Cooke would have accomplished, where he would have led, had he lived we'll never know. But in this time of crisis, his swan song is more poignant and piercing than ever. A Change Is Gonna Come.

Seeing Things Real

In an effort to not be a Cassandra 24/7, I'm going to start sharing songs and artists that always make me smile or have other special significance to me. I'm going to start with the song Brian and I danced to at our wedding.
A little backstory - when Brian and I started dating, I was obsessed with a song called Blow Me Up by Will and the Bushmen. Brian had a bootleg of the album and "lent" it to me. I loved that cassette. Brian kept telling me he knew the band and I kept telling him he was a liar. When he introduced me to Will a few months later at The Dock in Jackson, it was one of the few times I've ever been speechless.
Fast forward a couple of years and Brian and I are getting married. Will graciously agreed to play our reception. When he asked what he should play for our dance, I insisted on this song. He didn't get it - but he did it. So here it is, the oddest wedding song ever. Like Laughing by Will and the Bushmen.

"We need in every community a group of angelic troublemakers."

Today is the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington - a seminal moment in not just the civil rights movement, but modern American history. Its images and soaring oratory, seared into the American consciousness and consciences, are synonymous with the movement. King's speech that day is justifiably lauded as magisterial, the cadence of his delivery building to an emotional breaking point that changed the course of history. But there was so much more to that march; so many others who made the march "a moment."

A. Phillip Randolph, president of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, arguably the most well financed and well connected of all African American organizations active in the movement, the man who confronted and shamed FDR into addressing racism in the armed services at the height of WWII - spoke that day. Labor leaders, politicians, entertainers - all took their turn at the podium. The official program is a running list of the nation's most prominent leaders and activists. But one name is missing.

He spoke that day - introducing King by reading the demands of the marchers which were to be given to President Kennedy later that day, at a meeting to which he was not welcome. He organized the march, orchestrating buses, lunches, latrines, first aid. Served as a mediator between rival factions within the movement, ensured nothing was left to chance, literally writing a how-to manual for marchers pouring in from around the country. The March on Washington, perhaps America's defining moment of the 20th century, would not have happened without him - his skill, his passion, his intellect. But ask an average american who was responsible for for the march and they say, with certainty, Martin Luther King. Few would say Bayard Rustin. Which is a shame.

There are many reasons Rustin was pushed to the shadows - his atheism, his Communist ties, his sexuality - all inconvenient truths to the movement and the society it was attempting to transform. So Rustin remained behind the scenes, making phone calls, counting heads, coordinating delivery of Port-A-Potties - while King, Parks, Carmichal, Lewis became the faces of the movement.

As I read and researched the movement in grad school, I was immediately drawn to Rustin, humbled by his humility, inspired by his tenacity. I wonder if I would have been selfless enough to allow others to take credit for my work, to sublimate the very essence of my self for the greater goal. I like to think I would.

I also saw in Rustin a bit of a man I knew well. My father was not in Washington fifty years ago today. No, he was in Monroe, Louisiana, sweating his way to another tuition payment, bagging groceries and mowing lawns. He was idealistic - a Kennedy man through and through - ready to embrace the challenge laid out in 1961, to give to his country, to be the change he sought. He was handsome and strong, one of those liberal intellectuals the Delta spits out under the noses of the John Birchers and Klansmen. But he didn't seek the stage, the movement writ large. He chose another path - local action in an unassuming, non-threatening, charmingly rogue package. He found a kindred spirit in a feisty, petite brunette and together they would change their world, their small corner of north Louisiana, one student at a time.

They tried. But life is funny - it rarely unfolds the way you imagine. The dreams of 23 fade into mortgage payments, car notes, shoes for the children, and swing shifts at the MoPac. Regrets subsumed into a fog of Pall Malls and Benson and Hedges, paths diverging in a forest of fig trees and pines.

Today, on the anniversary of the march, I'll be thinking of my dad, the lessons his patient life-time commitment to education and equality taught me, and how he would agree that the job is unfinished; the work must continue to achieve the America he and my mother believed was possible in August, 1963. And I'll also be thinking of Bayard Rustin, the architect of those iconic moments, and remind myself to be an angelic troublemaker. It's what they both would want.

I Tremble with Shame in the Face of Their Bravery

I see the moment we are witnessing as a civil rights movement rather than a push to topple the regime. If Rosa Park was the American "mother of the civil rights movement," the young woman who was killed point blank in the course of a demonstration, Neda Agha-Soltan, might very well emerge as its Iranian granddaughter.

If I am correct in this reading, we should not expect an imminent collapse of the regime. These young Iranians are not out in the streets seeking to topple the regime for they lack any military wherewithal to do so, and they are alien to any militant ideology that may push them in that direction.

It seems to me that these brave young men and women have picked up their hand-held cameras to shoot those shaky shots, looking in their streets and alleys for their Martin Luther King. They are well aware of Mir Hossein Moussavi's flaws, past and present. But like the color of green, the very figure of Moussavi has become, it seems to me, a collective construction of their desires for a peaceful, nonviolent attainment of civil and women's rights. They are facing an army of firearms and fanaticism with chanting poetry and waving their green bandannas. I thought my generation had courage to take up arms against tyranny. Now I tremble with shame in the face of their bravery.

From "Looking for Their Martin Luther King Jr." by Hamid Dabashi

THIS is "pro-life"?

Doctor who performed abortions shot to death

I don't think so.

Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus

and this is his work:
Blog 'miracle' saves Christmas for hard-luck family

and this:
Shuttered bakery reopens, rehires workers

To me Christmas is not just about Jesus, it's about all of us - finding, and embracing, in ourselves that innate desire to help others, to live in peace with each other, and to make this world a better place one small gift or gesture at a time.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

Caroline Kennedy: "No Drama" Before "No Drama" Was Cool

I relish the idea of Caroline in the Senate. This guy really sums up the rationale behind it. (hat tip to Dangerblond) I particularly like this bit about the differences between the Kennedy and Clinton camps of the party.

I'm not saying that these superficial contradictions make for anything hypocritical: to the contrary, the critics of a possible appointment of Attorney Kennedy to the US Senate are essentially correct in perceiving that something much bigger than symbolism would occur through it. The Kennedy and Clinton tendencies in the Democratic Party have embodied two distinct magnetic poles each trying to pull the party in different directions for the past 16 years, and before that between Kennedy and Carter tendencies.

This was very much at play with Senator and Attorney Kennedy's endorsement of Obama early in the primaries, and intentionally signaled as such. The Kennedy organization was not happy - many of us were not - with the change in direction that the Clinton administration brought to the party, toward a blatant acquiescence to corporate interests, away from the New Deal and the Great Society. And while both families have had their share of public personal scandal, for the Kennedys that hasn't bled much at all into the political or policy realms: we just have never seen Ted Kennedy, for example, go to Malaysia and collect $200,000 for a speech from a corporate power broker, lavishing his benefactor's company with praise, as occurred yesterday with Bill Clinton, now getting a few last international paydays in before his ethics agreement with the Obama administration kicks in to prevent future such embarrassments.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love me some Brother Bill, but Tio Teddy has always been a political hero of mine. His very subtle, quiet, unobtrusive way of pushing progressive causes for the last 46 years is what I think public service is about. Don't worry about getting credit, worry about getting it passed. Results rather than personal aggrandizement, country before self, just like his brother asked. I'm positive the daughter will continue the brothers' work.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

awwww - the poor pitiful private school parents are gonna' have to slum.
http://www.commercialappeal.com/news/2008/dec/08/private-school-dilemma/

The upshot is - with those white (let's be honest now) students back in the system, standardized test score averages for the respective schools will rise dramatically. The b/w ratio will be more in balance and the security issues will lessen. But that's more class related than anything else, really. The idea that the public schools are struggling to meet standards is related to race is asinine. It's completely linked to flight of middle class families from the system(s), of all races. Economically disadvantaged families (aka "poor") generally do not have the means or wherewithal to support their children with homework and projects, much less the greater school community.

Along that line, I've really been frustrated with Snowden recently - My gripe is this - how is a child whose parents work the 3rd shift at Kellogg's or FedEx for $8/hr supposed to compete with the children of architects and professors? I'm not talking innate intellectual ability, I'm talking stuff wise. Not everyone has a computer at home with on demand Internet access. We have the means to do research at home on say, the Aztecs. (Seriously, Liz had a project on the Aztecs. It was so unfair to the rest of the 4th grade - her partner, yeah, well, her mother is an artist. Who do you think had the most well-researched, historically accurate, aesthetically pleasing triorama?) Anywhoo, back to the middle class guilt - We also can go to the craft store at will and pick up tubes of native American figures, fast-drying clay and glitter. We have color copier/printers at home. The students were supposed to "work on the project at school" in an effort to even this out, but seriously - that's unrealistic as well. So the kids of middle class parents bring their superior supplies to school. How does that make it more equitable?

Now I know some will say nothing will ever be completely equal; inequality is built into nature. There are some that are smarter, stronger, faster. True. (One of my favorite short stories is Harrison Bergeron by Vonnegut.) But that doesn't mean the system should be stacked to favor those already gifted/privileged. And that's what I think many of these projects do - favor those who already have the tools to succeed and further penalize those who do not. I go to awards ceremonies and hear the same names called time after time* and look at the faces of those kids that work their butts off, making do with piecemeal supplies and government cheese, and my heart shatters into a million Catholic, middle-class guilt ridden pieces. Those kids' names will never be called, not because they haven't tried, not because they aren't good enough, but because they're poor.

So, I'm really having trouble finding any sympathy for the whiney-ass SUV-driving, bleach blonde entitled soccer moms and their spawn. Let me try again . . . . nope. Nothin'

*Yes yes, the names are those my children and their friends and I'm proud of their accomplishments but still . . .

It feels so wrong, but yet . .

Jack Black as Jesus feels so very right (in a twisted borderline sacrilegious sort of way!)

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Hobos, lava, and lakes of moonshine

I hate to bump Obama, but this bit is hysterical - as long as you're a history dork, which, I am. (and it's narrated by the PC dude! I must get his new book!)

YES WE DID!

Sorry I didn't post any great musings about the election - I JUST got over the hangover. So yeah - we won. Whoot!

Of course, some people are already attacking the man for things he hasn't even had an opportunity to do - as if he ever would. The right wing wackos are calling Obama a Marxist, comparing him to Hitler (apparently incapable of distinguishing between liberal, fascist and Marxist), throwing the race card, and blaming him for the downturn in the stock market.

The best is "well, America is a center-right country," implying that the majority of the moderates lean more towards conservatism than liberalism. Oh contraire mon frere. America was founded on liberal principles - I refer you to John Locke and Montesquieu as well as Thomas Paine, Thomas Jefferson, and James Madison. And, if history and philosophy bores you (philistine that you are), here's a quick read that should make it pretty clear in modern terms: The Center Left Nation.

Hail to the Chief!

Preach it, brothers and sisters!

just sayin' . . .

Props to http://digg.com/comedy/Sarah_Palin_s_Pregnancy_Decision_Map_PIC

Milque toast and the convention part 2

New Orleans! I forgot freakin' New Orleans........ they need to have everyone from the 9th ward there..... All of them, everyone should tell about how they got fucked over.... Oh wait, get someone from the Corps to tell about how they knew this would happen - that they had been warning about.... and how the Corp had been trying to get money for it......and money was cut. And how the Corp and Fema got to be the scapegoats for something that should never have happened.... Something that the administration had been warned was a HUGE FREAKIN" DANGER...... Then bring out the people who lost everything, who got screwed over by the insurance companies, then had the fema trailers yanked out from under them.... All for something that didn't have to happen... becuase Shrub was too busy inspecting his navel lint or something during a briefing. Pictures... lots of Pictures of New Orleans and Gulf Coast......

Marky Mark and the Good Fight

The latest brouhaha here in the Bluff City concerns First Amendment rights to free speech and fascist attempts at squelching said rights. To wit:

• Police director sues for critical bloggers' names


• Director Godwin's Looking For Him -- and We Found Him: MPD Enforcer's Dirk Diggler!


• Mayor says blog case is not about 'whistleblowers'


• Matthews files motion to see blogger papers

Over at Biddies in My Brain, my friend has written a couple of good posts about the whole fiasco. No need to reinvent the wheel when you can link to it!

Aside from the serious constitutional issues this raises, my main complaint is this: WHY, for the love of all that is fried and musical in this city, are our leaders wasting time and energy on this? They will lose this case - it seems pretty darn cut and dried. Why are they not out there trying to clean up the drugs in Binghampton? Why are they not doing something about the aggressive panhandlers or the rampant vandalism and graffiti down the Sam Cooper corridoror? BTW - why have we never heard any more about the Sam Cooper Sniper?

Oh wait - some of them are too busy hurling racist and anti-semitic smears at Congressmen or suing the school board who is (SURPRISE!) upset because their budget was slashed with no warning and now hundreds of millions of dollars of state monies are in jeopardy and school starts in two freakin' weeks.

This city has so much to offer - a world-class zoo, the Mississippi River, trees that would make even my hippie tree-hugger brother gasp, museums, culture, theater, food (other than BBQ even) nationally and internationally recognized colleges and universities, Steve Cohen, unique architecture and neighborhoods, Greg Cravens, cutting edge cancer research hospitals, Fed-Ex, Shelby Farms, Overton Park, Autozone, the Redbirds at Autozone Park (all baseball fans - you really need to visit that place!), Sun Studios, Graceland, Issac Hayes, Al Green, Justin Timberlake, independent movie moguls, The Shell at Overton Park, 3-6 Mafia, the Civil Rights Museum, Gibson Guitar Factory, Huey's, and that's just what I can think of off the top of my head with only one glass of tea in me!

Why do our leaders, elected and otherwise, squander all this with useless, inane, asinine bullshit lawsuits and infighting? They cry and moan about the flight to the 'burbs and flail around for "solutions" and form task forces and advisory panels. Hey - guys - the problem is YOU! Get your heads out of your collective butts and get busy fixing the mess you made or get out of the way and let people like "Dirk Diggler" at MPD Enforcer 2.0 and Smart City Memphis get busy.

Sly Fox

The sly fox
Cyclops
We locked
In the idiot box
The video slots
Broadcast
The Waco Davidian plots
They own YouTube, Myspace
When this ignorant shit gon' stop?
They monopolizing news
Your views
And the channel you choose
Propaganda
Visual cancer
The eye
In the sky
Number five
On the dial
secret agenda
Frequency antenna
Doctor mind bender
Remote control
soul
Controller
Your brain holder
Slave culture
Game's over
What's a Fox characteristic?
Slick shit
Sensin'
Misinformation
Pimp the station
Over stimulation
Reception
Deception
Comcast digital Satan
The Fox has a bushy tail
And Bush tells
Lies and Foxtrots
So I don't know what's real

[Chorus]

Watch what you watchin'
Fox keeps feeding us toxins
Stop sleeping
Start thinking
Outside of the box and
Unplug from The Matrix doctrine
But watch what you say Big Brother is watchin'

Watch what you watchin'
Fox keeps feeding us toxins
Stop sleeping
Start thinking
Outside of the box and
Unplug from The Matrix doctrine
But watch what you say Fox 5 is watchin'

[Verse 2:NaS]

The Fear Factor got you all rattled up
O' Reilly
Oh really?
No rally needed
I'll tie you up
Network for child predators, settin' 'em up
Myspace pimps, hoes, and sluts
Ya'll exploit rap culture, then ya'll flip on us
And you own the post, and ya'll shit on us
What is they net worth?
They gon' try to censor my next verse?
Throw 'em off the roof neck first
While I'm clicking my cursor
Reading blogs about the pressure they put on Universal
It gets worse while I'm clicking my mouse
While they kickin' my house
They figured us out
Why a nigga go south
It's either he caught a body, no sleep they watchin'!
I watch CBS
And I See B.S.!
Tryin' to track us down with GPS
Make a nigga wanna invest in PBS

[Chorus]

Watch what you watchin'
Fox keeps feeding us toxins
Stop sleeping
Start thinking
Outside of the box and
Unplug from The Matrix doctrine
But watch what you say Big Brother is watchin'

Watch what you watchin'
Fox keeps feeding us toxins
Stop sleeping
Start thinking
Outside of the box and
Unplug from The Matrix doctrine
But watch what you say Fox 5 is watchin'

[Verse 3:NaS]

They say I'm all about murder-murder and kill-kill
But what about Grindhouse and Kill Bill?
What about Cheney and Halliburton? (Halliburton?)
The backdoor deals
On oil fields
How's NaS the most violent person?
Ya'll don't know talent if it hit you
Bringin' up my criminal possession charges with a pistol (pistol)
I use Viacom
As my firearm
And let the lyrics split you
Who do you rely upon?
They shoot shells at Leviathan
I'm dealing with the higher form
F**k if you care how I write a poem?
Only Fox that I love was the red one
Only black man that Fox loves is in jail or a dead one!
Red rum
Political bedlam
Don't let the hype into your eyes and ear drum
Murdoch on Fox
Not 18 with Barracas
And he hate Barack cause
He march with the marchers

[Outro]

I pledge allegiance to the fair and balanced truth.
Not the biased truth
Not the liar's truth
But the highest truth
I will not be deceived
nor will I believe
In the Propaganda
I will not fall for the Okey-Doke
I am tuned-in

[NaS]

Watch, cause they're watching
Watch what you're watching

Better watch, cause they're watching
Watch what you're watching

Me-Me-Media
Misleading ya

Watch what you're watching

In the interest of brotherly love, peace, friendship, mutual prosperity, citywide self promotion, political grandstanding and all that

For your reading pleasure:

PROCLAMATION

WHEREAS, it has come to pass that the heavens are shut up and a drought of Biblical proportions has been visited upon the Southern United States, and

WHEREAS, the parched and dry conditions have weighed heavily upon the State of Georgia and sorely afflicted those who inhabit the Great City of Atlanta, and

WHEREAS, the leaders of Georgia have assembled like the Children of Israel in the desert, grumbled among themselves and have begun to cast longing eyes toward the north, coveting their neighbor’s assets, and

WHEREAS, the lack of water has led some misguided souls to seek more potent refreshment or for other reasons has resulted in irrational and outrageous actions seeking to move a long established and peaceful boundary, and

WHEREAS, it is deemed better to light a candle than curse the darkness, and better to offer a cool, wet kiss of friendship rather than face a hot and angry legislator gone mad from thirst, and

Whereas, it is feared that if today they come for our river, tomorrow they might come for our Jack Daniels or George Dickel,

NOW THEREFORE, In the interest of brotherly love, peace, friendship, mutual prosperity, citywide self promotion, political grandstanding and all that

I Ron Littlefield, Mayor of the City of Chattanooga, Tennessee,

Do hereby Proclaim that Wednesday, February 27, 2008 shall be known as

“Give Our Georgia Friends a Drink Day”

http://www.chattanoogan.com/articles/article_122772.asp