Your definitive resource. That's all, just your definitive resource.
26 January 2009
You can't go upstairs at Graceland. Elvis said so. Instead, you can only peek up the three different staircases that lead upstairs and wonder where Elvis really is and, if you did in fact jump the velvet rope and run up there, would you meet him, or a 70s-decorated bedroom? Or maybe they're using the upstairs for storage. We may never know.
Anyhoodle, you have to take a shuttle to Graceland, which makes sense since the house itself is right across the street from where the shuttles leave. It's always best to drive a short distance. That way you don't do anything weird, like exercise.
Maybe you think Elvis is the fat guy who sang in Vegas. Or the nutter who wore beaded jumpsuits. Maybe when you think of him, you think of peanut butter and banana sandwiches and lots of fried food. Maybe I thought this, too.
Except he's not. Or, he wasn't. Like, maybe the house itself is a little wacky--I mean, a lemon yellow TV room, a pool room with walls covered in wild-patterned fabric that makes your eyeballs go cross-eyed, THE JUNGLE ROOM WITH WATERFALL. Perhaps that's wacky. But it was the 70s. In case you didn't already know, Alert Power Love Reader, the 70s were wacky. No one should've been decorating anything back then. Avocado is a food item, not a color, m'kay?
Graceland is small, for a mansion. There's a lot of land. There's space for a horse. I thought this horse was hanging out having a rest, but after staring at him for about 3 hours, it occurred to me that maybe he wasn't really alive. Maybe he was just a stuffed horse, there for show. Or maybe he was just taking a really, really long rest. Who knows. Anyway, I got a picture because in 3 hours, I fell in love with that horse.
There are a bunch of other buildings on the Graceland's land. But not really buildings like office buildings, more like buildings like, garages. There was a business room with file cabinets, and the raquetball court/exercise building that was turned into the trophy room, and another building with all kinds of newspapers articles framed on the walls and all the costumes Elvis wore in all his movies.
And then there was the meditation garden. With graves. And a pool, which was tiny. But still, it's a pool. I don't have a pool, so any pool works for me. And then you can stand there in the meditation garden, and see that Elvis's mom died when he was in his early 20s, and he died before his dad and grandma, and you know what you realize? Elvis was not a fat Vegas singer, he was not a caricature, he was not a punch line to a joke. He was a man who worked his ass off all his life. And he was a son and a husband. And a dad. And that made touring Graceland less a kitschy Americana joke trip, and more a walk through someone else's home. And that made me realize how easy it is to judge others. And that made me shut up.
21 January 2009
FREAKERS AND WACKADOODLES
So then we were followed by a Memphisan ketchup bottle. He was cute, but kinda needy. Like, every picture we took, he stuck his head in it. It was like, "Dude. I'm trying to take a picture of the hamburger." And the ketchup bottle was like, "I know, but I go with hamburgers, so lemme in." And it's like, what're ya gonna do? Deny the ketchup bottle his place in the sun? No. No you are not.
So then we had this server. He had black hair and was kinda bulky. In that manly man way. And hotshitohmygodmykneesaremelting--his voice. I am a dead-gone sucker for a man with a soft southern accent. Really. And this guy had one. And also, HE SERVED ME BEER. So, obviously, he was Jesus.
Me: May I have another Heineken?
JServe: Sure. (Wink.) You bet. (Head nod.)
Me: Giggle, giggle (dumb giggle, too, which: EMBARRASSING.)(But not really.)
Here's another sample of the convo me and GMo had with Jesus the Server:
JServe: Here's your apple dumpling dessert, ladies. Careful. It's hot.
GMo: It's what?
Me: Can you say that in my other ear?
Me: Can you say that in my other other ear?
JServe: What the fuck is your problem?
Me: Hot? Say hot again, in that accent. Just say it.
JServe: Get out.
Me: JUST SAY HOT AGAIN, SHIT, IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?
So that went well.
What kind of sauce is the ketchup posing with? HOT sauce.
19 January 2009
This weekend, me and GMo went to Memphis. This is us. While in Memphis, we went to Beale Street. Beale Street is like Mardi Gras, but without the beads. And there was no Mardi. Also, no Gras. So basically, it wasn't anything like Mardi Gras.
However, the street was blocked off, so there were no cars and you could walk on the sidewalk or the street, which really tested our power of choice making. Also, it was 45 degrees outside, which for Memphisers is cold, but for us was like, "Holy shit, I forgot my shorts!" What I noticed is that not a lot of peeps walking around Beale Street had that soft southern accent, so I don't know that a lot of them were true Memphisers. I think they may have been "tourists."
GMo and me were also tourists. We are also starting a band. Pork With Attitude. That's our band name. It just so happens there is a place on Beale Street with this same name. It is now our official practice space and performance space. You should make friends with us right now because we are going to be very big very soon. You cannot deny the power of Pork With Attitude.
17 January 2009
As you know, I've been loving you for decades. However, things are not going so well right now. Sometimes when the wind blows, I realize you are maybe not the light of my life I think you are. So, I need to take some time off. It's not you. It's me. Really. I'm gonna go down to Memphis, wear my cowboy hat, eat "grits," and see if I can regroup. I'll call you when I get back. No! Don't call me. I'm, um, well...I'll call you.
07 January 2009
OMG! Like, totally. It’s 2009. I know this because I keep writing the year incorrectly and everyone keeps telling me, “It’s not 2008.” Since I know time moves forward, I’m guessing it’s 2009. I could be wrong, though. Perhaps time moves in any direction it damn well wants. Which would explain why I’m constantly feeling like the protagonist in an episode of “The Twilight Zone.”
Speaking of, remember that episode where the dude is a total book geek and the whole world disappears except him and all kinds of books and then his glasses fall of his face and he steps on them? That sucked.
Anyway, as we do every year, although we didn’t do it last year for some reason, I suspect a government conspiracy, we here at Power Love HQ like to open our mailbag of tricks and answer reader mail. And boy, do we get mail! It’s astronomical the amount of mail we get.
Did I kill your blog?
(from the comments section)
Like overzealous faith or a Doritos habit, Power Love can never be killed. Also, yes, we can go shopping. Also, what are you doing reading a dumb blog when you should be training?
Team Power Love
Can I have a red tricycle for Christmas?
Dear Team Power Love,
If one were to take an empty mayonnaise jar, bury it three feet in red earth, wait 10 days, then unearth it, what treasures would one behold?
A. Hippy Madness
Stop following me.
alfred e newman
OK. There you go. In addition, there were excellent festivities on the New Year’s Eve night, specifically of the 2nd Story sort, which are always giant hooplas. However, because I promised myself I would “live in the moment,” I did not take any pictures and therefore, have no stories to tell. As you know, Alert Power Love Reader, you are nothing if it’s not documented in some sort of imageric form. In addition, I’m lucky I survived the night still in possession of my glasses.
Resolutions for the new year:
1. Decide on a life soundtrack
2. Hire band to play life soundtrack
3. Hire band to follow you around all day everyday while playing life soundtrack
4. Tell band it’s in their best interest to let me name them and then spend the year coming up with hysterical puns that no one laughs at/gets
5. Remind yourself you are a genius; ignore melting frontal lobe
What are your resolutions?
Really? Are you serious?