DAY 21

Kids,

Some of you were concerned when you looked at my last message in a bottle and saw it addressed to only 5 or 6 names where there used to be millions.

Be Just And Fear Not. For some reason the G3 I was using that last time wouldn't let me do a group of people. So I had to send it out 8 different times, and only stick a few names on each one.

Now I'm on a real computer and things are looking brighter.

First thing I thought as I rolled into Memphis was: "Good thing Elvis is dead--there'd be nothing to do around here."

Well, it's true. Everything there, the diners, the hotels and motels, the shops, is centered around The King. No matter where you go, there he is. If he had lived, he'd only be about 65 years old right now, and probably doing guest spots on "Touched By An Angel."

As it stands, however, his death really improved Memphis' tourism. I'm sure everyone is eternally grateful.

I stayed at the Days Inn right next to Graceland. The most expensive motel so far ($69.99--no, I don't count the lavish suite I had in N.O. That was a fluke), it had an amazing guitar-shaped ce-ment pond (swimming pool, for you citified folk). Priorities straight, I eagerly looked forward to my tour of The Holy Land.

To paraphrase my friend Ilene, Graceland is exactly what you'd think would happen when a young country boy with absolutely no taste or decorating aplomb has a few million dollars to throw around in the 60s and 70s.

The outside looks nice, pleasant, tasteful even. The inside...?

Elvis' momma liked purple. Her and her husband's bedroom had purple fixtures, a purple bedspread, purple tiles, purple wallpaper, purple curtains.

See?

The pool room (table, not swimming) has fabirc, pleated like drapes, all over the walls. And the ceiling.

The living room has two floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows of peacocks. In the middle of the room.

Get it?

There is forest green shag carpeting in the Jungle Room. On the floor? Sure. On the walls? Yep. On the ceiling? Of course! This is Elvis's house we're talkin' about!

Understand now?

The issues of Elvis' drug problems are neatly sidestepped, as, I guess, they should be. This place is still a tribute to The King, however tacky the whole thing may seem to a jaded cynical California boy. Even though he was a walking pharmacy when he died on the toilet in 1977, he is allowed to "pass away" from a heart attack on the tour recording.

I must say that, when he was younger and just starting out, Elvis was a very handsome young man. He seemed very sincere and grateful for everything that had happened, for all his good fortunes. Humble, even. Those kinds of moments are nice to watch.

Another interesting thing not mentioned is that his middle name, spelled "Aron" on his birth certificate, Social Security card, and many other official documents, is spelled "Aaron" on his gravesite. It appears that Elvis signed it both ways over the course of his lifetime, but the majority of signatures and docs had the single "A." Conspiracists have concluded that this misspelling is positive proof The King is still alive.

Um. Yeah. Right.

In honor of the man (who once wanted his cook to make meatloaf for six straight months--a break, I guess, from the fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches) I ate lunch at Elvis Presley's Chrome Grill. I had the meatloaf platter.

Surprisingly not disgusting.

On a whim (that I accidently hit and splattered all over my headlights) I decided to pass right through St. Louis without stopping (I did wave at the arch--it did nothing in return) and head straight for Hannibal, Missouri, from whence this missile has been shot.

You need to take either Highway 61 or 79 to get to Hannibal, and I chose 79. It was closer, and it hugged the Great Mississippi River all the way up. Check your maps.

Clarkesville, population 2000, is a tiny little community on the way to Hannibal. I didn't stop there. However, 79 runs right through the center of town, and I did notice that, even though it only took me 25 seconds to go from one end of the town to the other, I passed a Baptist church and a Catholic church and a Methodist church AND a First Christ church (which begs the sarcastic, "Was there a second Christ we should know about?"). And these were just the churches that I saw on the main drag.

The view from highway 79 is incredible. I take back what I said about Louisiana being the greenest state so far. Missouri wins. Beautiful rolling hills, huge banks of undisturbed green forest on either side of the road. Little picturesque Grover's Corners-like towns pop up every once in a while, white clapboard buildings on plots of land where the grass, unimpeded by a sidewalk, goes right on up to the asphalt to greet ya. Quaint hand-painted signs implore you to vote for Dan Dildine for Circuit Judge or Jeff Something-Or-Other for Coroner. Hell, I think I'd vote for Dan Dildine just on his name.

I've notice that, throughout the west, things get discarded. Tons of shredded tires dot the roads, a testament to the harsh reality of driving in the SouthWest environment. Sometimes the hunks of rubber and metal mesh are so plentiful you have to slalom your car around them. Cars are discarded on the side of the road, too. Some of them look pretty new, but they all have that big flourescent orange sticker on them :THIS CAR SHALL BE IMPOUNDED...etc.

And, by the way: there is a HELL of a lot of corn being grown out here.

XXXXOOOO,

--U.M.