what we once were

Jun 4

the day tammy wynette died

i finally went to graceland too. a much-changed relic of antebellum holly springs, the attraction is a an old plantation home retooled by paul macleod into an elvis shrine. most interesting is that the home is also a shrine to macleod and his family, and his inextricable linkage of his own life to elvis’s. we got there at 2:30, am. the place is open 24/7, with macleod proudly maintaining that he drinks a case of cokes a day and rarely sleeps. appearing to be in his seventies and overtly neurotic, it seems the home may not be open much longer.

macleod took about fifteen minutes to come to the door. we circled the building, painted navy with black windows (because “elvis dyed his hair black”). it is secure, with a high chain-link fence encircling it completely and containing numerous cadillacs of varying quality.(additional security is provided by macleod’s .38 which he displays more than once throughout the tour quite casually. he also has a homemade electric chair).

it doesn’t matter if it’s a gum wrapper or a car, macleod maintains that nearly everything is worth millions. and he has millions of things. wine bottles, newspaper clippings, and stock photos of elvis’s former girlfriends; all this is interrupted with photos of macleod’s own family. his son doesn’t really look like elvis, but he is from nearly the same place, and he has the same hair. it’s easy to lose yourself from one photo to the next and nearly forget the distinctions between the people you see.

the tour itself felt draining, with macleod’s frenetic pacing and insistence on constant attention removing any potentially contemplative moments. the tour is about macleod and his obsession with elvis much more than it is about elvis. this isn’t uninteresting, but i found it striking that a moment of impulsive singing when a new song started (he has an elvis soundtrack) from a member of the group elicited little reaction from paul; he was far more concerned with maintaining control, and with making sure that we understood his connection to elvis.

in the end everyone was frazzled, but we still blared tammy on the way home and shot off two moderately powerful fireworks at sardis while eating powdered donuts. the sun was up when i got home, and my shoes were dirty.

May 1

go get ‘em, tiger

Apr 27

cyclone

one year anniversary. tornadoes. the tornado. there was so much fear and hope and pride and sadness and emotion in the weeks and days following the destruction. and i didn’t even remember that a year had passed. last night i slept in a hammock, and the last thing i thought about was whether or not that raccoon would bite (it didn’t). life goes on, and i guess it has to. it would be different if i were still there, though. i miss the black warrior

Apr 17

gender neutral pronouns

need cleanup according to wikipedia’s quality standards

Apr 10

y’all come see my photos

(via southernstudiesatuofm)

Jan 15

contraband

just paid eight dollars to see contraband. why? i’m on a cleanse and i have to entertain myself somehow without alcohol. honestly, this was a poor decision. it was absolutely terrible beyond imagination, and i say this knowing i was going to see a mark whalberg movie. like many films of the (action) genre, the only female character (played by kate beckinsale, whom one can only assume feels demeaned following her transition from the “underworld” franchise to this) is simultaneously sex object and plot contrivance. both the primary good and evil characters want to fuck her, thus she becomes important. her lines are few and place within the story more or less negligible, other than ostensibly providing whalberg’s motivation to attempt one last smuggle (apparently he’s the world’s best smuggler, but to maintain his character’s morality the flim overtly emphasizes his choice of counterfeit bills over drugs).

basically, beckinsale’s (i can’t even remember her name in the film and it’s been ten minutes since i left the theatre) bro almost got caught by dea agents and had to dump some drogas. next thing you know he’s got a debt to pay and the dudes want their money, or they’ll just kill the dude’s whole family. who knows whether or not that is plausible. what is implausible is the plot following whalberg’s decision to bail out the bro. most terribly: the movie doesn’t even bother to try explaining what happens. he makes out with beckinsale and everything is cool. (spoiler alert? i know no one reading this cares).

i guess the dude in the aeropostale shorts liked it.

Jan 14

bobby braddock is, in my opinion, one of the best nashville sound songwriters.

Dec 30

the video opens to a sepia-tinted pickup lumbering behind the word ALABAMA just so you know it’s really country.

oh, look! randy owen’s driving. and he winks! twice! cut to randy at the sawmill; after work he’s takin’ his jingle and pickin’ up his ladyyy, but why are they in tennessee? (as the lyrics indicate). a question i’ve always had unrelated to the video…

00:47 there’s a magical powerpoint-esque shot segue. also notice the intense amt of jogging people are doing (my favorite moment of which being the jog followed by a slow motion twirl around 1:50). be on the look out for the chicken feeding scenes as well as the drive through town where they wave at everyone on the street. these scenes, as well as randy’s intro indicate the band is intent on maintaining their image as blue collar/working class southerners just trying to earn a dollar to spend on their ladies. as the band still resides in ft. payne, their city of origin, it’s hard to argue with, though heavy handed nonetheless. they don’t work at sawmills and they’re right, but whatever.

around the three minute mark, the band’s destination becomes clear: they’re playing a concert, in a field (of course). yet, the line dancing women (in those weird line dancing costumes) are inside for some reason. (?)

the only other notable aspects are that they’re playing electric guitars in the middle of a field and randy owen is super-creepy in the scene where they catch ppl making out. he watches them make out for an inappropriate duration of time; his smile is terrifying, but i still love him.

watch if: you like the song dixieland delight (who doesn’t — let’s all just ignore the problematic nature of the word dixie for three minutes and forty nine seconds), or you have an interest in early 90’s lumberjack fashion and facial hair.

Dec 6