Old time relijun

We’ve made our way to New Orleans. Primary stops today were the St. Roch Cemetery and the Voodoo Museum.

St. Roch has an area where people pray for healing of hearts and feet and eyes

and such,

show proof of past healings by offering braces and casts that are no longer needed,

and give thanks for the healing.



Pretty straightforward. I didn’t believe it, but it seemed innocuous enough. Throw a battery in the vestibule and maybe you won’t have to recharge your phone as much. Maybe, maybe not. Whatever.

A strange thing happened when I got to the Voodoo Museum, however.

I had a couple of dimes in my hand, ready to toss them someplace as an offering, when I got nervous.

Despite the helpful placards, I realized that I had no idea what any of this stuff really meant.

I knew there were some pretty bad spirits, and I had no idea who was who around here. Furthermore, I heard that the spirits weren’t too keen on penny offerings, so who was to say if a dime was going to be a good thing or a bad thing?

Ultimately, it didn’t seem like a thing I should be messing with if I had so little understanding.

I guess, for all my detached observances on this blog, I really am a superstitious person.

laveauobamaOr maybe I’ve just convinced myself of that because I’m a cheapskate who doesn’t want to throw away twenty cents.


Pharaoh’s tomb

I clearly remember the day Elvis died. I was a little kid playing with my older brother’s friends on our bouncy tree swing in the front yard, and Mike Lowe came over and told us the news. I responded with something to the effect of “I’m happy that old fat man is dead.” By the time I was in high school, I came to the light and finally appreciated him. And now, at this point in my life, I find myself alternately disgusted and heartbroken by him. He seems like the saddest monster America made in the 20th century. Anyway, I found myself in Memphis on this road trip I’m on and really, I found that I couldn’t not go to Elvis’ last home.

Unfortunately, I don’t think I did Graceland right today. All I’ve heard my entire life is how garish and how extreme and how oversized everything is at Graceland, and it didn’t seem that way to me. Maybe I saw this too late – I’m four years older and probably just as fat as Elvis was when he died, bloated and unhappy on a toilet. Maybe I’ve seen too many of his decorating inspirations – for sheer boldness, the Gobbler and Madonna Inn have Graceland beat in a minute. Maybe something happened to me when I came across this place prior to visiting Graceland:

I don’t know. I came out of Graceland with a very different feeling than “this is a garish place.” Here’s what I noticed at Graceland.

Number one, nobody cared what faces Benny or I made on the tour. Everybody on the tour was saddled with headphones and an iPad yoked around their neck.

Next, Gladys Presley was a goddamn underappreciated artist. Here is her bathroom:

Look at the floor tile. Look at the wall tile. Look at that poodle wallpaper. SHE DESIGNED THAT.

Goddamn. Hats off to you, lady. Moving on.

Blown-glass clowns. I would have these if I could find some. Picture is blurry because I think I was mad I do not have these clowns.

I guess I’m going to have to sell a billion records to get those clowns. Oh wait, people don’t do that anymore. Maybe I’ll just have to check out some more estate sales.

Okay, now here is this guy:

Why did they not explain this guy on the tour? I’m only asking because a smaller version of him showed up in the special archives:

Explain the white monkey, John Stamos on my iPad headphone interactive yoke. Oh, I think I forgot to explain: John Stamos narrates most of the iPad tour. It’s weird. I don’t understand the association because I thought he was all Team Mike Love*, and Mike Love seems like the anti-Elvis to me. I know it wasn’t Mike Love on television when Elvis shot his TV set, but it should have been.

The other person speaking on the iPad headphone interactive tour was Lisa Marie Presley, and I’m not sure if this had been done on purpose, but every quote from her seemed to be a terror memory. This terror eventually seeped into the printed signage. Somebody other than me has to have noticed that, nestled amongst the adorable pink striped Jeeps,

there was this placard:

This creepy undercurrent. It was not only in Lisa Marie’s quotes, it was in little corners about the property:

It’s not the boat motor in the corner, it’s the boat motor in the corner with all the hooks in the ceiling. The boat motor and the hooks in the corner of the building that they also used as a shooting range:

And then:

elvisfeathersSOMEBODY EXPLAIN THE FEATHERS. I don’t know. Maybe that’s not sinister, but what is it?

There was more, but I just don’t know how to put it all together. I have some sort of theory brewing that involves the Peabody ducks, but it’s really kind of sketchy at the moment. If I had the fortitude and wallet to go back to Graceland tomorrow, I’d try to flesh this out further. As it stands, I think we need to hit the road and forget all of this.

*Mike Love, not Mike Lowe. I know it can be confusing.


I only understand train station

Well, that was embarrassing. I just had to explain to the head of the international office of my department at work what “flying by the seat of our pants” means. And yes, I did employ pantomime.

He still didn’t really understand, and

I stood there like a watered poodle. That is to say, I was at a loss for words.  That went completely in the pants.

Published in: on February 28, 2012 at 10:37 am  Leave a Comment  
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Fancy notions, stupid ideas

Do you ever get stupid ideas? Stupid ideas like, “Maybe I should move to Japan. They have a cooking show hosted by a poodle named Francis”?

I get stupid ideas like that.

Published in: on April 13, 2009 at 10:29 pm  Comments (1)  
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