Funda Mental

I forgot to post this. On my last trip to the Amerika, I was in Siloam Springs Arkansa desperately trying to find some food that was not deep fried, processed, hydrogenated or caked in sugars when ... alas ... what should I find on the horizon but a health food store? But let me tell you this place was no Capers. It turns out it was a fundamentalist health food store. Jacobs ladder power bars, organic concentrated prune juice, and this fine box of cereal that I procured. Quite tasty actually. Ezekiel must of been a hit in his day.

My Last Night in T-Town ... Finally

I'm trying to stay positive and not be a whiner. America has some pretty cool places and people. I sure am glad I'm leaving here and not living here. I'm trying not to be an American basher but it seems like the lower the IQ and the lower the income level in the States the greater the pride is. It's nice to support your country but to plaster your car with a million flags and "support the troops" stickers is a bit much. Bush wants to spend $2.7 trillion dollars next year on "defense". How about fixing the aftermath of Katrina? I'm not the most political person in the world but I can't help but rant about this. It's Americans like these who have never left their state, never mind their country that claim the United States is the greatest country in the world. They believe the fairy tale. They believe the myth. The problem is the neo-conservative cowboy fairy-tale that America is going to save the world from mostly mythical evil "terrorists" is very costly in lives and dollars.

Want to understand the source of these myths? How this whole cowboy "smoke 'em out" philosophy started? My brother Kurt sent me these links to a three part BBC documentary series on You Tube that is fascinating. The series is aptly titled, "The Power of Nightmares".

Power of Nightmares I

Power of Nightmares II

Power of Nightmares III

Terribilis Est Locus Iste

Apparently the late Abbé Berenger Saunière was recently encased in a three-tonne concrete sarcophagus to protect him from treasure hunters of a literary bent. No not the readers of the facinating, "Holy Blood Holy Grail" written in the 70s', rather, the other camp who have read the mediocre book written by Dan Brown and made into a lame movie by America's whitest director, Ron Howard. But I digress. According to local legend, the village of Rennes-le-Château in southeast France (the abbé’s final resting place) may hold the secret to the Holy Grail. The mysterious Saunière arrived there as the village priest in 1880 and inscribed an odd motto above the church door: Terribilis Est Locus Iste, or This Place is Terrible.

All I can say is this. The south of France is terrible? Dude, you've never been to Tulsa. "Terribilis Est Locus Iste" should appear on Oklahoma license plates.

Graceland in the Ghetto

Elvis had quite the swinging pad. Green shag rug on the ceilings. The crazy jungle room with its trippy Hawaiian wood furniture. The psychotically patterned pool room. The odd tv room complete with a Golem like statue and a fabulous bar. Walls and walls and walls of gold records. I would of like to have been there for his crazy golf cart races in the back yard. Over 600,000 people a year visit the place at anywhere from $22 to $50 a pop that's a cool two or three million a year, not including merchandizing. But as touristy as it is, it still has some kind of charm and you can't help but feeling something as you stand directly in front of his grave. The sad truth about modern Memphis is that once you peel away the famous white history you see a very urban black ghetto. But all the tacky tourist t-shirt shops and a Hard Rock Cafe have still not killed the soul of this city. Everywhere and at all hours there is music being played and most of it live. Before nine am they were playing Elvis by the guitar shaped swimming pool at my Days Inn hotel in Graceland.

Letter from Memphis

Some places truly are special. Sun Studio in Memphis is one of them. The same floor and ceiling tiles still exist from the days when Elvis did his first hit recording. Not to mention most of the classics by Johnny Cash and Roy Orbison and many others. The place felt like being in St.Peter's Basillica in Rome but cooler. For some reason I was getting chills in the place and I'm not even a big fan of these guys. Blinding hot white sun was pouring into the foyer as I spoke with Charly the tour guide. She mentioned that some of the bands leave gear behind. U2 left the drum kit so I got an Aussie tourist to take a snap for me. The microphone by the piano is the original one used in all those recordings. In the evenings the studio is rented out (with an engineer) for the reasonable price of $75 an hour. I bought a Johnny Cash CD of his hits from Sun Studio. I listened to that at night on my drive back. "I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die." Good times Johnny!

Went on a tour of the Gibson guitar factory. It was a little disappointing as they only made the semi-hollow bodied electrics there. All the cool guitars are made in the Nashville factory.

I finally had a decent dinner. On Beale street the night before I ate blackened catfish and spicy seafood gumbo while I watched a live blues quartet. Food with spices! And garlic! And flavour! Not sure it exists in Oklahoma as the only place I can find fruit is at Walmart. Seriously.