You Know I Wore My Rhinestone Jeans

We're gonna start the blog a little differently today.  With a picture.  The best picture I've taken this trip.

This is where the "Welcome to Mississippi" sign was supposed to be.  I was a little late.

Now that I've shared my masterpiece, we can get to business.  As you may recall, on the last episode of Masterpiece Theater, we were still in Nashville, Tennessee.  Today was a relatively short trip down to Memphis.  For those of you who are geographically challenged, Memphis is not in Mississippi.  It's still in Tennessee.  More on the MI thing later.  

So we hopped in the car and drove.  Well, Mom did.  I played--you guessed it--ArtPuzzles.  Speaking of which, I still need to complete the puzzle.  Oh, and I played some Angry Birds, too.  Today we didn't have any stops en route to Memphis, because all of the stops were in Memphis itself.  Herself?  How do you refer to a city?  I suppose I shouldn't choose to gender a city.  Memphis is an itself.  

Our very first stop was at Uncle Lou's, a dive just outside Memphis (or maybe inside, I wasn't paying a lot of attention) that's been featured on Food Network's "Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives."  You may have noticed that Food Network has a significant impact on our food life.  That sentence isn't leading anywhere, I was just wondering if you had noticed.  Anyway, we walked into Lou's and decided that we needed to order a 7-piece to share.  It came with two sides and biscuits; we chose onion rings and coleslaw.  For those who are truly interested in our diet this trip, we also chose the mild marinade.  Mom and I kind of stared at each other across the table as we waited.  We were both tired.

Then the food came.  And I swear, it was like glitter in your mouth.  Which is uncomfortable in real life, but in the land of Becca's similes is a fabulous thing.  This was the best chicken we had ever tasted.  It was moist, almost fell off the bone, had perfectly crispy skin and just the right amount of kick in a robust and flavorful marinade.  The biscuits were fluffy and you could taste the butter; they were cooked to a perfect golden brown and had just a hint of sweetness.  As you might have guessed, we gushed about it.  The server kind of laughed at us.  Hey, buddy, we're from New England.  We don't get biscuits like this up there.  So if you're ever in Memphis, look up Lou's.  Here's a visual to help you out.

Look, there's Guy Fieri.  It's like he's been there or something.

After our delicious and filling lunch (we waddled to the car) we headed to the place Mom had been talking about for the last day and a half.

GRACELAND.

And that's where the title of this post comes in.  I specifically wore my rhinestone-studded jeans for this beautiful occasion.  I knew Elvis would appreciate it.  There are quite a few pictures from Graceland.  You get to see them later.  Once I edit them and make them prettier.  They'll also be on Facebook, because I cannot abide the load time for the photos on this blog.  It makes me crazy.  And guys, I'm already trapped in a car for a majority of eleven days.  I don't need to be any crazier.  So you get one picture.  Now, some of you may expect the front of Graceland itself.  Nope.

The Pink Cadillac.  My favorite part.  Which is weird, since I don't like pink.

Graceland was the perfect mix of myth and legend, a place where you could reach out and almost grasp that insubstantial sort of energy that runs through the air of similar areas.  There's so much excitement and an underlying sense of respect that blends together to form a place that's different.  It's a house.  But it's not.  It's Elvis's house.  It doesn't matter that it's been years.  It's still his place, and there's so much of him with it.  It's like glancing at fame in your peripheral vision.  

Now that I'm done waxing poetic, I'll talk a bit about what we did see.  We were on a bit of a time limit so we could see the other attraction of the day (more on that later, obviously) so we jumped right onto the bus to Graceland itself.  We toured through the house (lots of pretty chandeliers), saw the hall that housed his gold/platinum records (it's really long), and also saw Elvis's (and his family's) graves outside the house.  Which is a little creepy.  I think.

Next, we hopped the bus back over to the plaza and hit up the car museum.  Because old cars are goddamn amazing.  The pink Caddy was pretty spectacular, but there were a few other prizewinners that you get to be in suspense about until we update our Facebooks.  The last place we hit up--aside from the gift shop, naturally--was the tour of Elvis' jet, "Lisa Marie."  It was pretty cool.  But we needed to make another engagement.  So off we went to the National Civil Rights museum.

As some of you may know, the National Civil Rights museum is housed in the Lorraine Motel.  The first thing you see upon getting to the museum is this:

The wreath that hangs right on the balcony at room 306, marking the spot where Martin Luther King Jr. was shot on April 4th, 1968.  

It's rather arresting to see in person.  Most people I saw (myself included) took a picture and then stood there for a moment, just looking up.  After a few more pictures, we went into the museum itself.  There are no pictures from that since no photos are allowed, but I will tell you that it is an absolute must-see if you are in the area.  It's informative, gut-wrenching, eye-opening, sickening, and beautiful all at once.  You ask yourself a thousand times how people can possibly treat other people in such ways; then you remind yourself that the world still has a long way to go.  You read about people--men, women, and children alike--making a stand that could easily cost them everything, including their lives.  This is the point where I usually make some sort of flippant comment.  Instead, I'm going to only say this: go to this museum.  I learned things I never knew, things that should have been taught in school but were glossed over.  

After we walked through the museum, we headed across the street, which houses the second part of the museum--the place the shot was fired from.  We went a little quickly, since we were both tired and the museum was closing relatively soon.  

I can't say there's much more news after this.  We made our way to the hotel, just a few streets over from Beale Street (which, I'm told, is the most hoppin' place in Memphis.  This might explain the earplugs in our hotel room.)  We haven't eaten dinner yet, so I can't really report on that.

OH.  I can update you on the theme song.  We did not yodel.  Instead, we realized that there really only is one answer to "do you have a theme song to this trip?"  And the answer is another question.  Do you know the way to San Jose?

I thought those last few lines were clever.  Feel free to disagree.

Here comes the end of the post, in the form of the usual tally.

Mileage today:  212 (according to Google Maps; forgot to check the odometer again)

Total mileage: Whatever last post's was plus 212.  I'm too lazy to look it up and then do the math.  

(...fine, it's 1455.  Except we drove out of our way into Mississippi so I could get another state, so it's actually around 1500.)

Total Angry Birds levels defeated:  59.

What?  You guys want more?  

Fine. 

Have another picture from Graceland.

(My rhinestones were better.)

Postscript:  We've been to dinner now.  We walked down the street to Beale and hit up the Blues City Cafe, where we were promised good ribs and fantastic tamales.  Sadly, neither was delivered.  The tamales simply couldn't live up to the homemade ones we got that one year in Santa Fe, and though the ribs had a good rub, they were a little dry.  You can't have two tens in one day, though.  It'd ruin you.  So since we had a ten at Uncle Lou's, we were destined for not-as-greatness.  We did make a few friends at the bar, though.  Always interesting.

The only other new bit of news is that Mom won't let me unleash my inner Cinderella and ride around Memphis in a twinkle-light festooned horse-drawn carriage.  Sigh.

Another postscript, this time from Gretchen: Becca had thought she had evened the score with her father yesterday, when she got to hold Mickey Mantle's bat (evening out the fact that she did not get to see the Boss with Corey and I in 2009), but the score went back out of alignment today when I reminded her at Graceland that Corey had actually seen Elvis perform in Las Vegas. Curses, said Becca. We're having a great time. Arkansas and another Civil Chief visit tomorrow!