by Tamar Wilner
I wanted to have a swan song; some sign that I'd spent enough time in Knoxville, at Metro Pulse, to wave a great big teary goodbye. Kind of like Jesse Fox Mayshark. But then, I'm no Jesse Fox Mayshark. Just a smart-ass kid who waltzed in one day to type letters and update Annual Manual listings, and through some grave miscalculation, was permitted to actually write.
So I can't take this space to schmaltz on about how great it's been working with Victor and Mike and Mike; I never met the guys. I can say I've worked and talked and drank with some terrific people who wield considerably less direct power, but still show impressive capacity to determine the fate of their city. And while I still don't completely understand The City of Almost, I appreciate that this town's firm grounding in reality has given my know-it-all Yankeeness a bit of a deserved beating.
But if there's one thing I've done well as calendar editor, it's collect a lot of crap. PR crap. Completely unnecessary crap. Stuff sent to me by event organizers, film studios, record companies. Money can't buy you love, but if you're 20th Century Fox, it can buy you a thousand solid steel cases in which to place CD-ROMs of Minority Report stills, and incidentally keep contributing to the good 'ole American landfill.
Therefore, upon the staff of Metro Pulse and the people of Knoxville, I, Tamar Shulamit Wilner, hereby bequeath:
 A pair of utensils, fork and knife on one end, chopsticks on the other, thus exemplifying the movie Shanghai Knights' theme of "East Meets West Again."
A series of postcards, depicting very dirty and clearly distressed children, announcing the introduction of a musical artist named "Poverty."
From the National Pork Board, a fine collection of recipes and what I fondly refer to as "food porn": glossy color photos of roasts scantily clad in wisps of lemon peel, lounging on beds of rosemary and winter squash. Also a postcard asking me to nominate my favorite example of a new pork product in the marketplace.
The book Holy Mother! Seriously Weird Sightings of the Virgin Mary.
A press kit for Brooks & Dunn's "Neon Circus & Wild West Show" (not coming to a Knoxville near you). It's a book, actually, with lots of color photos of the boys golfing, getting haircuts, and playing football. My favorite testimonial: "The only major country tour of the year—The Minneapolis Star Tribune."
A teeny-tiny pillowcase that contained the Maid in Manhattan press kit
A garter that was wrapped around a videotape of the Just Married trailer (what, you think we have a TV?)
A postcard for the book Dogwalker by Arthur Bradford. "Arthur Bradford is not a professional dogwalker. The title merely refers to someone who walks his dog a lot."
A variety pack of incense. I don't know where it came from.
An email from a band named Bellini. "Bellini is a supermodel that will read Tolstoy to you while bludgeoning your head and slicing it off."
Bells, a Santa hat and a little copper locomotive key chain from the City of Knoxville Christmas events package. Thanks, Vic!
A CD from Tamara Walker, who not only is coming dangerously close to infringing on my name, but also looks strangely like a ferret
A 122-page catalog and disc of JPEGs from TopdeQ—"European Design for the American Office." We could get a Mr. Cactus Paper Clip Holder for $15, a drink cart for $365, or a "shoe cabinet" for $119. And you wonder how we keep this rag free.
A letter from Geffen Records' Janett Baxa. Its entirety: "FIRST YOU SAY WHOA, THEN YOU SAY YEAH, GET YOUR HANDS UP, THROW YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR... Is it stuck in your head yet? Have you heard this a million times? Call me."
A press release from Aline P. Zoldbrod, Ph.D. "For Immediate Release: Gummi Worms Can Save Your Sex Life!"
The Authentic Hendrix catalog: get your Jimi Taleidoscope (like a Kaleidoscope, but not) to "enhance your imagination and inspire a little nostalgia with ChromaVision� images of Jimi and flowers." Far out, man.
A brochure for the Eighth International Conference on Business and Consciousness. My personal favorite presenter is Matt Weinstein, who appears in a King Tut-style headdress. Yours for $795.
So it seems I have given this city something after all: the gift of Knoxville Found prizes for years to come. Enjoy.
January 30, 2003 * Vol. 13, No. 5
© 2003 Metro Pulse
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