Some cities just naturally make stories. Others just make noise. Orderly and predictable are safe, but funky and unique are a lot more fun. New Orleans and Memphis are what they are because of those latter traits.

Despicable behavior isn’t new, people at their worst doing what they do because they can. What’s new is the lack of national outrage, the shrugging of our national shoulders, a coast-to-coast “so what.”

On the 50-mile drive over to Brownsville, Marsha Thompson told us a story.

Historian Jimmy Ogle has an encyclopedic knowledge of Memphis – and he generously shares it with anyone he thinks might want to know. As he prepares to move closer to family, he's leaving us with what he calls his "bicentennial gift": a farewell storytelling series.

Mike Lupfer wore many hats: University of Memphis professor, leader, world traveler – and most of all, friend.

CLAIMING OUR ISLAND. I said I’d start the year with a couple of ideas.

“OF OUTSTANDING UNIVERSAL VALUE.” I thought I’d start this year – our bicentennial year – with a couple of ideas. Seems like a good time for new ideas, and some reminders that this place is special – even if so many of us have forgotten that. It was, in fact, special long before any of us arrived.

A DAISY A DAY. A couple of weeks ago, a friend made a request for one of my former columns ­– like a song request. That’s only appropriate since it was a column about a song, and I think an appropriate column for the end of a year, and particular ends and particular memories for each of us. So this one is for you, Dick. And for me.

CHRISTMAS TIME. Every Christmas I tell this story, and in the telling Christmas comes home. This year, I’m telling it in memory of my big brother, Frank. His pub – or as they say in England, his local – is central to the story.

Every day in the U.S. there are 10 accidental drownings – 3,500 a year – and it’s the second-leading cause of death among children 1 to 14.

OUR FORGOTTEN TENNESSEE. Ray Skinner called me the other day and told me a story. He has a bunch of them.

LET’S SEE IF WE’VE GOT GRAVY. I’ve been part of the breakfast cooking team at my church for decades, and for the first 20 years or so I stood next to Dr. Fred Sage. Fred did sausage gravy. I did eggs, 72 at a time.

LOOK FOR THE WONDER. REPEAT. Every year, no matter what. And it’s happened again. Despite it all.

I’m feeling better, thanks.

I’m taking a breath. The election is over, and however you may feel about the outcome, the sun has managed to come up the last three days regardless. My back hurt before, during, and after the voting, and nobody running helped me get my socks on in the morning. The person who does that got my vote a long time ago, although she may be looking for another candidate.

If you’re not mad, you’re not paying attention.

I was having a pint in the Eagle when I heard them.

UP TO THE WOMEN.

We, my friends, are being had – and we should have none of it.

Coming from Arkansas, it looks like Oz.

Thursday night, Memphis took a bullet.

Really unique is really not. Memphis is.

(This was my first column some 400-plus columns ago. I was looking for a word that most aptly describes Memphis. Just one word …)