08.16.04

Twenty-seven years ago today Elvis kicked it. Probably the best thing he could have done for his career.

Years ago, I did a Hound Dog Hadj with some of my cutlery store co-workers. There was a knife show in Knoxville. We figured that as long as we were in Tennessee...

...D'you know how l o n g and skinny Tennessee is? This didn't dawn on my cohorts until we saw the Mississippi River. It's a third of the way across the United States. To top it off, none of my friends had ever been to the Deep South. It's another world. A world that I love--with all its eccentricities, trailers, Southern belles, outlandish family names, black sheep and devastating family secrets. I miss grits, red-eye gravy, chicken-fried steak, chicken-fried anything, hot summer nights, mint juleps, hush puppies, "thankYEW!", "y'all", and all the colourful expressions that pepper conversation. Hell, I even get misty about kudzu. Eep.

Still, it was an interesting experience. Not so much for Graceland itself (though the Jungle Room was something else), but for the people visiting. With hushed reverence and awe we toured the house. A cat-voiced guide who'd taken both Valium and Vicodin led the tour. When the tour ended in the "Meditation Garden" it was all I could do not to laugh. I knew I'd be lynched--and that's no joke south of the youse/y'all line.

Can you imagine your bones slowly rotting away next to a chlorine-laden swimming pool?

On the way back to DC, we had a blow-out. The state trooper who stopped to help us put on white cotton gloves to change our tire. I know it was so he wouldn't get dirty, but it was so lovely, archaic and chivalrous, that I still get giddy thinking about it.

So, here's the Ebbis (who LUBBED his momma)--equal parts sinner and saint. Whose career, launched on the shoulders of black musicians, spanned decades and affected millions.

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