You'll never guess where I was today. Give up? Graceland. Yes, that Graceland. Apparently field trips aren't as lost a cause as I once thought. (Except that the new budget, which features numerous and sundry cutbacks and which goes into effect at midnight, will likely prevent out-of-state travel for the rest of eternity.)

I should probably disclaim this entry by saying that I was born eight years after the man died. My parents weren�t really into Elvis' style of music, so the most exposure I got to the man during my formative years was the house across the street, which a mother-daughter team had converted into a makeshift Elvis museum, complete with a mannequin in the front window. Sure, I've heard the songs on the radio and I've run across the movies more than a few times on cable, but I was never really fascinated or captivated by the man.

I understand, because I'm not a moron, that he had a huge cultural impact on America and the world. I know that he has millions and millions of fans across the globe. I don't dispute that he was talented. I have no problem stipulating that he was (and is) successful and popular. I'm just saying that I don't have the same appreciation of him, which is why I was sort of indifferent to the Graceland experience.

We showed up, paid our admission and received our headsets (these things were really cool; they were like having your own personal tour guide that you could fast-forward, rewind, pause, and tell to shut up. Best of all, unlike human tour guides, when you said it, they listened.), which took us through the entire house.

Allow me to hit the highlights: the living room, Elvis' parents' bedroom, the dining room, the kitchen, the basement, which included the TV room (three TVs! Elvis knew how to watch television) and the pool room, the jungle room (feel free to email me and explain the big whoop about the jungle room. I thought it looked cool but I apparently am too dense to understand its significance.), various exhibit rooms containing awards, records, and other miscellany, the offices out back, the horses' pasture, a game room, the Elvis comeback room, and finally the memorial garden where The King is buried.

I'll admit that I am very curious about what was upstairs that was so private, and I'll give you that the d�cor was stunning and impressive. I'll even say that I was moved to see a few of the pilgrims (is that even the right word for this?) weeping openly and profusely at the grave site.

But after the tour was over, they took us back across the street to the gift shop, where I almost bought a new journal before I discovered that it cost $35. As I picked through shot glasses, bowling shirts, and tons of other overpriced 'memorabilia' on which Presley's name and/or likeness had been emblazoned, I came to a realization or three.

I know, I know, he's an American legend. Just ask half the working actors in Vegas. His music was, is, and ever shall be popular throughout the world. He should be, and is, remembered fondly by fans everywhere. And the man was a total saint to his parents and his grandmother.

But. At the end of the day, it's just a house. It's not even a spectacularly large house by today's standards. It sits on an awful lot of land, sure, and there were plenty of outbuildings to take some of the pressure off, but when you strip away all the commercialism (the very same commercialism, I might add, that has ruined Arbor Day and countless other holidays), it's a house in Memphis, TN, where an incredibly famous man once lived.

I don't disagree that it's a national treasure. I think it's great that the place is listed in the register of historic places. Really. And I suppose I'd have a hard time taking a pass on the tremendous tourism/merchandising opportunity were the empire under my control; even if it is somewhat emotionally manipulative to price-gouge these fans, we live in a capitalist society.

I guess I just have trouble with the fundamental principle that if you charge x for a given product, someone (and in many cases, lots of people) will pay x, regardless of how ridiculously inflated x is. It is the job of the knick-knack industry to jack up the prices on basically useless junk, but why isn't it the job of the consumer to know better than to give in? Bottom line: the girl who showed me her Elvis Magic Stick when we got back on the bus didn't really do much for my faith in humanity.

***

There is an obscure law stating that no one can visit Memphis without having some barbecue, so after the tour we headed down to Beale Street for lunch. After checking with my financial consultant, I determined that I was budgeted for exactly one barbecue sandwich, which was delicious. Check out the King's Palace if you're in that neck of the woods.

Beale Street is in the process of being paved. It used to be a brick road, but they�re ripping out the masonry in favor of good, new-fashioned pavement. The construction workers were uprooting bricks as we were walking back to the bus, and they were nice enough to provide us with free souvenirs of our trip. I am now the proud owner of a paperweight which was once an actual piece of Beale Street. And it didn't cost me a penny. How cool is that?

Someone got here by searching for: i miss someone all the time it hurts Reading: The Accidental Tourist, but I've barely cracked it, so it'll be occupying this space for awhile, I'm sure. Listening to: Elvis music, duh. Watching: Passions. Drowning! Lesbian kissing! Catfights! Hot shirtless boys! Cheating with your sister-in-law and then lying about it! This show has it all. (And who knew they had big screen TVs in heaven?) I don't get it. How is Graceland a school-related field trip? Something about it being a pop culture paradise. Since our freshman comp text is a collection of essays on popcult, this fit the bill. So did you go to that frat party the other night? No, but today one of them invited me to another one. Those boys just don't give up.