[Well, My Daddy Taught Me How to Sing, and That’s Why This Voice Means Everything]

I’ve loved Elvis since I was six years old. I didn’t realize that’s who I was loving, but god, did I love him.

I almost wish I had some wonderful story about sitting in the car with my daddy while he played me Elvis. And that I was an enlightened enough child that I realized how great rockabilly was right from the start, so that while all my little friends were listening to Hanson, I was listening to Elvis and Johnny.

But of course, that’s a lie. The earliest thing I remember my daddy really introducing me to that I adored was The Proclaimers.

No, no. The one who introduced me to Elvis was Don Bluth with Rock-a-Doodle. You might not think loving an Elvis-like rooster really counts as a proper introduction to Elvis, but you'd be wrong. It was a fabulous introduction to rockabilly. Also, the kid totally turned into a kitty in that movie, and I really wanted to do that. It was a win-win sort of deal.



Seriously, just watch like 10 seconds and tell me that's not Elvis. Eventually, of course, I (technically) grew up and came to love Elvis for his actual awesomeness, not just that represented in a cartoon with farm animals.

The first thing we did when we got to Memphis was tour Graceland. I didn't exactly have high hopes for the place. I mostly had it pegged as a giant tourist trap. Which is pretty much what it was. Though it was cool to see Elvis' home. It just very definitely had that staged sort of feeling to it.

But today totally made up for it.

Today, we toured Sun Studios, very arguably the birthplace of rock and roll. Home of the Million Dollar Quartet: Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Johnny Cash. We heard the original recordings done by them and other pioneers of rock, including the very first song Elvis ever recorded. Cute story, actually. He just came in to use the studio because he wanted to record the song for his mother for her birthday. The secretary was just so charmed by him that she passed a copy of it along to Sam Phillips, the owner.

I'm not one who's usually genuinely awed, but today definitely hit me. I stood where Elvis stood and held the mic he sang into. Sun Studios is the only recording studio in the country that's a historic landmark, and everything about it is exactly as it was back then. Gotta say, I felt infinitely closer to the King there than I did standing in front of his grave at Graceland.

Without those boys doing what they did, none of the music I love would exist. So thank you, guys. Thank you very much.

[You're Not Your Fucking Khakis]

If only I'd listened to Tyler, this all could've been avoided.

I like to think that I take some of his lessons to heart. I've accepted that I'm not a beautiful or unique snowflake. I almost never fire a gun at my imaginary friend. And I'm a big fan of soap.

But the things I own most definitely own me. And I'm ok with that.

Packed up in my wonderful little Clementine right now are pretty much all my worldly goods. Things that I know I probably shouldn't be as attached to as I am, but who the hell am I kidding? If someone broke into my car tonight and took my Wii, there'd be tears. My DVD collection? Serious tears. Don't even make me say what would happen if someone took my sprinkle collection.

How does one get a sprinkle collection? Well, one attends a college that charges $8 for an all-you-can-eat cafeteria meal. One should also be picky beyond all reason, so that the go-to dinner is a grilled cheese sandwich with fries. Something good, but hardly worth eight freaking dollars. One must also have a shockingly rebellious soul. Enough so that the only logical way to make up for being overcharged for an artery-clogging meal is by stealing a cup of rainbow sprinkles every day. These sprinkles should then be stored in something awesome, like a giant plastic Coca-Cola bottle that's supposed to be used as a bank.



Most people aren't that rebellious. Really. I'm a damn rare breed.

Anyway, today's mission was pretty simple: get to Memphis. Birthplace of rock & roll, home of Elvis, attractor of mildly creepy tourists. What's not to love? Memphis is about a six hour hike (read: high-speed drive) from Knoxville, so we set out early. [Sidenote: There is way more Tennessee than I think there really needs to be. Like, seriously, we could've cut this damn thing in half, and I would've been just fine with it.] Somewhere along one of the two-lane sections of Tennessee, there's a faithful little orange sign. Nothing too big or flashy, but it does the trick: Road Work Ahead - Lane Closed 1500 Ft.

Apparently, in Tennessee, this means something a little closer to this: ZOMBIE FEEDING GROUND AHEAD. STOP NOW IF YOU WANT TO LIVE. SERIOUSLY. But that's too long, so they shorten it to the road work bit.

Accordingly, all the trucks slammed on their brakes and swerved into our lane. Being the good driver that he is, Dad managed to stop before we ran into I ♥ Sloppy Kisses. This bumper sticker had a picture of a possibly retarded dog on it, but I think it's a lot funnier without the dog.

The few seconds that followed stretched into those weird slow-motion deals. Not the cool Matrix bullet-dodging or Inception car-slowly-falling-off-a-bridge (HOW AWESOME WAS THAT, by the way?) sort, but more the fuck-I'm-gonna-die kind. But for once, my paranoid brain didn't picture my body splatted across the highway. A nice change, by the way, but it was replaced by an equally stressful panic attack.

If that guy rear-ends us, he's going to crush my trunk. If he crushes my trunk... HE'LL BREAK MY SPRINKLE BANK.

This was then followed by visions of multi-colored carnage all over the interstate.

I'm aware that it doesn't make a lot of sense to be more concerned about my sprinkles than my life. But it took me like two years to get all those sprinkles. And I somehow doubt AFI has a place I can steal them from. I'm not sure if you ever noticed, but sprinkles are expensive. And I'm about to be a broke grad student. I can't afford to replace my sprinkles.

That is the kind of dedication it takes to become a Sprinkle Ninja. You thought you had what it takes? Think again, my friend. Think again.

Oh, I also saw Elvis' grave today. Which probably would've been a lot sadder if it weren't covered in those damn rubber bands in odd shapes. That just made it sad for a whole different reason.