here we are again. the biggest day in the biggest week of the elvis year. the day the king of rock keeled over on the toilet. an event so momentous it has been commemorated for 29 years. it means nothing to most of you people, but us memphians, it's our heritage. because elvis is our homeboy. so we light a candle. we turn up are you lonesome tonight? we stare at the chairs in our parlor, empty and bare. we pour some wine. we kneel before a silver platter of fried peanut butter and bananna sandwiches and jellied doughnuts. and we pray: e.p., phone home.
(incidentally, i think Dead Week has cast a wee bit of a pall and that is why recent times have been so tumultuous for friendships and shoes. Birth Week should be calmer.)