I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.
We all have different likes and dislikes.
Take Braunschweiger. Some people won’t even try the stuff. But, man oh man. Give me a little roll of Braunschweiger and some saltine crackers and I’m as happy as those screaming contestants on game shows.
But I’m thinking today more along the lines of pop culture. Or more to the point, entertainment. Take my parents for example. They loved the heck out of Lawrence Welk. They could watch all that polyester and bubbles until our cows came how. (Which would be an extremely long time, as we lived in the city and did not own any cows except for the bit of one in the refrigerator, top shelf, in the gallon container.)
Anyway. As I look at myself and my music choices, I seldom “like” the performers and / or bands who are the most popular. For instance. I’m not a big fan of The Rolling Stones. And, while I do love some of the Beatles’ music, I’m not wild, out of my mind for them.
In more recent years.
Garth Brooks. Big nope.
Michael Jackson. Okay, but I liked him most in the Jackson 5.
Elton John. Yellow Brick Road is where it ends.
Mariah Carey. I’d rather eat Silly Putty.
Bruce Springsteen. Not my boss.
Madonna. As far as I’m concerned, the name was already taken.
So. There it is. My music choices are more obscure, I suppose. The Talking Heads, and Modest Mouse. Or Vampire Weekend. Wild Child. Regina Spektor.
But one of the most popular in all of history was not in my little black book of playlists.
The shaking, wobbling, swinging Elvis. Sideburns and all.
I bet I couldn’t name three of his songs. Maybe not even two.
He came up today because it was on this date, June 7, 1982, when Graceland — Elvis Presley’s home in Memphis, Tennessee — the place where he died in 1977 — was opened for public tours. These days, it is one of the top tourist attractions in the United States. It’s second only to the White House in visitors. Graceland is STILL visited by over 700,000 visitors a year. I guess if you gotta go, you gotta go.
I never got Elvis. Although, I think it is hilarious when a bunch of Elvis look-alikes get together and compete to see who is the most like Elvis.
First of all, he wasn’t that impressive in the way of vocals. To me, he always sounded like when you get out of bed in the morning, and your voice goes way deeper than you ever knew it could, and your words are kind of garbled until you get that first cup of coffee in you? Like that.
And while he could thrust his hips, he wasn’t that great of a dancer. It was classic in Forrest Gump when they showed little Forrest in leg braces teaching Elvis to dance.
But. For as much as I don’t understand the love of Elvis, it is his fans who I never understood. I mentioned earlier about being “as happy as a screaming game show contestant.” Elvis screamers. Same thing.
Never. And I mean never, in my life, I have been so out of my mind for something that I screamed uncontrollably in public. Not for my spot on “The Price Is Right.” Not at the foot of the stage for the likes of Elvis. Not for Big Time Wrestling. I just don’t have that “Screaming Mimi” mentality in me.
I don’t understand what happens to a person when they get like that. Do they act like that all the time? Like when they go into Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream and order a Chunky Monkey? Do they take a bite and start screaming, pounding on the counter, crying, shouting, “Chunky Monkey! Chunky Monkey!”
Or when they are in the supermarket, and Tide is on sale, 2-for-1? Do they go berserk in the aisle, losing all traces of sensibility?
So no. I don’t get Elvis. Or Graceland. That is one place I don’t ever have to see.
Now. If they had a Braunschweiger Museum somewhere? With a gift shop? I’m all in, Polly and her crackers, in tow. Just not screaming about it.
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Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.
— David Thoreau
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Don’t confuse fame with success. Madonna is one; Helen Keller is the other.
— Erma Bombeck
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Worldly fame is but a breath of wind that blows now this way, and now that, and changes name as it changes direction.
— Dante Alighieri
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You ain’t nothin’ but a… I love a good hound dog, really.
