“For reasons I can easily explain, there’s no part of me wants to see Graceland” – not Paul Simon.
I thought about it. Oh, believe me I did. There’s a very realistic chance that I will never be in Memphis, Tennessee ever again. So Graceland… I’ve got to see it. No, I really don’t. If I want to spend an hour with a bunch of midwesterners who make me look positively svelte while we gawk at goo-gaws and knick-knacks, I’ll just wait a couple of days and do it in D.C. And there, the goo-gaws will have belonged to a founding father, and the knick-knacks will have been to the Moon.
But I did drive past it. So here. (Click to embiggen, as usual.)
And then I got back on the freeway.
Today, I drove across the length of Tennessee. I saw a nice mix of Bible verse billboards, giant confederate flags, and Obama bumper stickers. Most of it looked like this:
Either that or woods. And for the first time, I had to put the top up due to actual, real, torrents of rain!
Jenny got more rain on her today than she has in the previous year in L.A.
On the plus side, the rain washed most of the bug carcasses off the front of the car.
As I drove through Knoxville, I caught site of the Fabulous Sunsphere Wigsphere.
I think it’s great that they repaired it after what that kid did to it…
I am now in the tiny offramp burg of Wytheville, Virginia. My friend John informs me that this is part of Real Virginia, and that I should try not to get hillbilly raped. Good advice.