you drive right past graceland on 55. i almost stopped on a whim heading up to hooch’s, but then i realized a) i was in the middle of a nine hour drive with my dog and b) i was driving through on december 25th. so i postponed it for the drive back down. break up the journey a bit, check out memphis, pay my respects to the king (or at least see what the all the fuss is about).

memphis seems pretty fucking cool (although, from what i hear, it’s a pretty good place to get pistol whipped while being robbed). 

beale street has your drink and your grub covered, the grizzly’s stadium is right around the corner from bb king’s place, the gibson guitar factory is right around the corner from that, and the AAA baseball stadium is right in there as well.  my two favorite sports, guitars, blues, beer, dry rubbed ribs.  sorted.  i’ll take my chances with the pistol whippings.

i’ve never been an elvis fan. nothing against elvis, never disliked his music, but i don’t think i have ever directly initiated the playing of his music in any circumstance. never owned an elvis record, never played a song of his on the jukebox. i’ve got a bit of that white liberal guilt, i suppose, where my elvis was always chuck berry. chuck berry was so cool, i never knew why anyone would ever need elvis.

i figured it out pretty quick.

so graceland, without a doubt, is one of the most compelling museums i’ve ever visited. it should be a required pilgrimage for all americans to make at least once during their lives. you shouldn’t be allowed to invest in the stock market or have children or vote until you’ve been to graceland.

i was there on a wednesday at noon. not crowded at all (even though the next day was elvis’ b-day). got the premier tour (including the army years museum, the car museum, the private jets, and the extended wardrobe tour). well worth the extra scratch.

just so we’re clear, here’s a taste of the flavor that this place has been marinating in for the last 35 years or so:

the first thing they do is drive you across the street, through the gates, up to the house.

i was smiling like a fucking idiot the instant i entered the front door.

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it’s hard to explain what the place feels like other than just really fucking good. it’s tastefully garish, comfortably decadent, and really, really homey. they do a really great job of making you feel like you’re actually in someone’s home. phones are still plugged in and sitting on little tables in the corners of rooms. clothes are still in closets. the christmas trees had presents under them. i didn’t want to leave. for all the shit elvis gets for being over the top in his later life, i thought graceland was classy as hell. you just want to waltz up to one of the many bars, grab a cocktail, find a piano and an ashtray and get down to having a great fucking time.

rock-n-roll, baby.

family style.

here’s some planes and automobiles:

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the wardrobes were incredible. blissful. belly laughs, again and again. anybody who could rock these outfits has something special going for them …

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after all this, it was straight to the gift shop for me. i hate gift shops in general, but you just get caught up in it. bought up everything that said “tcb” on it that i could get my hands on. helped an elderly northern european woman (danish?) try on and purchase a black leather jacket. she looked hot.

i never wanted to leave.

if you don’t cry at the meditation garden, you’ve got no heart and no soul and are probably a worthless piece of shit.

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if you’ve never been, gotta go. i’ll go with you.