"I wouldnt call any
art bad, though theres a lot of it I dont
get. I like Realism
-Elvis Presley My friend Eric called me to invite me to his wedding in Nashville, Tennessee. My first Question: "How far a drive is it to Graceland?" My second: "Whats your fiancées name?"
Eric understood my priorities. Like Fox Mulder, I pursue my own private "X-Files" of absurdity. The X-files
investigates paranormal activity in search for proof of
Alien existence
I watch late-night infomercials in a
quest to understand the mindset of the average
Abdominizer consumer. In the Tennessee airport, I was overcome by the feeling, "Toto, were not, not in Kansas anymore." And I guess I should get it all out right now. Tennessee is hot and wet. A row of beaded sweat lines everyones brow Everyones face is flushed. All day long people look like they just finished masturbating. I have no overt aversion to sweating. It's just that I prefer certain designated "sweating" and "non-sweating" activities. For example, exercising, sexual activity and dancing are all sweating activities. In Tennessee, reading a map in the shade is considered a "sweating" activity. I told my host straight-up, "Im probably not going to come back (to Tennessee) until you guys fix this humidity problem." After the wedding I made the 4 hour trek(each way ) to Memphis. I was so close. I could feel "The Call of The King" in my bones.
Graceland: Graceland is a lot like Disneyland: There are lots of trailer-park refugees and Japanese culture-whores waddling through roped off lines. But at the end of the wait, theres nothing fun to do at Graceland except maybe browse the souvenirs. I found a beautiful Elvis collectible Spoon and a snazzy Elvis nightlight. I guess when youre in a moment of Darkness, who better to light your path, but the King? -The crowds of Patrons were your basic white-bread tourist-trap fodder. They looked like they certainly had an Abdominizer or two in their closet back home, but they lacked the fanaticism I was hoping to find. The wall outside of Graceland is covered in scrawled messages of love and adoration. This is where I would find the loonies. It's one thing to buy a ticket and tour the Graceland Mansion. It's an entirely different thing to sit out in the Tennessee sun and write "I cant cry enough for you since you left. Come back to us!" on the wall of a dead guys house. I caught one woman writing in nail polish on the wall. I approached her, but like so many quasi-believers, she was writing only her name. I was discouraged, but hidden between the fabric of "Gary was here" graffiti are messages from the true Chosen people.
"Ill see you in Heaven, Elvis." By the way, I got lost and missed Erics wedding. I was pretty upset that I had traveled all that way until something put it all in perspective for me: More people watched Elvis "Aloha from Hawaii" television special than Mans first walk on the Moon "Ill see you in Heaven, Elvis."
Copyright © 1997 Prehensile Tales. |