8:49 p.m. | 2002-03-27


Last week I did something that I have waited half my life to do: I drove cross country.

In truth, we only covered the South, reaching as far as Arkansas, but it touched upon my goal of hitting the open road and seeing America.

I wasn't disappointed.

Our first day was long and filled with anticipation. We got lost for about an hour somewhere in Virginia where the thru roads on our Trip Tix somehow vaporized and we had to find our own alternate routes, asking strangers at gas stations as I prayed that we didn't approach serial killers looking for fresh blood to spill way out in the middle of nowhere. Around Quantico I was sure that we had tapped a psycho but then decided that he would have to be stupid to abduct us in broad daylight so close to FBI HQ. Or maybe just psychotically confident. Frogs felt he wasn't a serial killer due to the pinky ring, but I suspected he lifted it from a former victim.

We locked the doors and sped onward.

One of our first sightseeing stops was the Natural Bridge in Virginia. At this stop, I also suspected rapists and pediphiles lurk, but was able to enjoy the natural wonder amid my suspicions.

Late the first night, we dined in Bristol, in fittingly, "The Brooklyn Grill." The restuarant offered "New York" or "Paris" seating, we sat in the "New York" side, natch. And laughed at the meager bill when it arrived.

After 15 and a half hours of driving and several stops, we bunked for the evening in Knoxville, TN. Some of you may recall this as hometown of Johnny "Jackass" Knoxville. We did not see Johnny. I thought there might be a billboard or something acknowledging this famous local, but there was nothing.

The next morning we ate at Crackel Barrell, which is like a Southern Denny's or Perkins. We're pretty sure that everyone was staring at us, but it could have been because i was wearing orange aviators, a baby shit brown shaft-ish knee-length leather jacket, or because I had to ask the waitress to identify the white gravy she brought me for my biscuit. It also could be because we were the only two women dining together in the establishment. Every other woman was accompanied by a man.

Later that day, we reached our first "destination" stop: Memphis. We headed directly to Graceland.

In the parking lot of Graceland, I changed into a skirt and boots and reapplied my make-up, out of respect for the King. It was the least I could do.

We were not disappointed. Graceland was the most amazing tourist destination I have ever visited. I was totally overwhelmed, but throughout the tour, I was distracted by thoughts of how I could sneak upstairs and see what the bedrooms were like.

I was also thinking about how I *bet* Lisa Marie took Nicholas Cage up there and had sex on Elvis' bed. I know they did. Hell, if I were guy, I would try to talk her into it.

It's Elvis' BED, man. It's the area where he died. It's the ultimate in rock 'n roll.

Immediately after the tour, I wanted to go through again. Frogs and I have decided that MTV Cribs needs to devote an hour to Graceland. It would be so genius. I suggested it to my friend who produces for MTV.

Purchased at Graceland: 1 T-shirt, 2 "Elvis has left the building" ashtrays, 3 Elvis bureau trays, 2 Elvis pens, 1 Graceland viewfinder, 3 packs of Graceland matches, 1 Elvis switchplate, 2 pairs of gold Elvis sunglasses and about 20 postcards.

That night we went to the Rum Boogie Cafe on Beale Street. There, we saw the amazing James Govan and the Rum Boogie Band, whom I've made it my life's mission to follow. I want them booked for my wedding. I want them to play my 30th Birthday. I want them to live with me. I. Am. Obsessed. They sing this song "Superdooper Love" and trust me, you haven't seen anything this brilliant since James Brown in 1971. These cats are it.

After James tossed us an armful of Mardi Gras beads, we headed across the street and stopped in a record store, where I bought a local blues sampler that is outta sight. We also checked out the act at BB Kings, but it was not anywhere near the caliber of Govan.

In a voodoo souvenier shop, I bought picked out a Janis Joplin magnet and a new harmonica. When I walked up to the register, the older guy at the register tilted his head & said in the best southern drawl I've ever heard, "You find anything here that you fell in love with and just live without?" Without missing a beat I asked, "Besides you?" as I slowly looked up and smiled.

"Good answer," he said and scwinted at me as I laughed.

The next morning, I took a long walk along the Mississippi River and marveled at the history of the river, including the not long-ago death of Jeff Buckley in it.

*~*

Saturday we headed off to Nashville. Not an hour in town and we ran into the man who could arguably be the biggest star in Nashville.

There we were, trolling the isles of a local souvenier shop (I just can't resist them). I was examining at the Confederate Flag playing cards and Frogs was checking out the magnet display, when a genuine cowboy sauntered into the store and stood in front of me.

The women went wild. Yelling his name and asking to take photos with him and to kiss him. He was extraordinarily patient, so naturally I thought he was some obscure country star.

I was wrong. I stood back and waited until he left and then approached the counter with my purchases (1 confederate deck of cards for my Civil War obsessed friend and postcards for me) and asked the sales clerk who the man had been. She looked at me like I had just crawled out from under a rock and replied, "Hank Williams Jr."

Duh.

What do I know?

We checked out some cowboy boots, which I was tempted to buy but held back knowing that they were an impulse buy, and headed back to our hotel.

In the hotel, I drank a glass of wine and we watched the crowd rolling in for a black tie dinner. You should have seen the outfits. Genius. All the women either looked like figure skaters: sequined, diagonal cut dresses with tan pantyhose and beige pumps, or former beauty queens: sweetheart-cut, floor length, solid-colored sequin gowns.

We hit Second Avenue that night, eating at the touristy WildHorse and taking in the two-stepping that took over the massive dance floor.

After dinner we hit a bar across the street, with a great Dead Cover band that made us giggle because the drummer looked EXACTLY like Bill Murray. We named them the "Bill Murray Trio" It was here that I met The Man I Am Destined To Marry. He was tall, with long wavy, brown hair and a light beard with the bluest eyes I've ever seen and the sweetest red suede jacket ever made. I spent all night lusting after TMIADTM. Finally, as we were leaving he spoke to us, and I twirled around to say something witty, but was trapped in his cornflower blue eyes and stood tongue-tied in front of him, mouth open but soundless, leaving Frogs to pick up my slack.

Disaster. I am confident I will meet him again, so I'm going to let this incident pass.

The drive home was long - we did it all in one day - but a great chance to stare at the open road and reflect. I can't remember having the time to do that since I traveled alone through Europe years ago.

I imagined myself living in farmhouses or being discovered as a new blues singer. I thought about Elvis and what a short life with bizarre experiences he lived. I saw a man in a camoflauge jumpsuit.

I thought about work and how it is so inconsquential in the grand scheme of Life. I examined fireworks in the country store, then decided not to buy any because I would probably hurt myself trying to set them off.

I thought about who I want to be in life. What I should be doing. I said, "This is the jam," when a song I liked came on the radio.

I played "America" by Simon and Garfunkel each day in the car, each time announcing that it was our anthem, as I sang along. Sometimes we followed that up with "Tiny Dancer" for a rousing sing-a-long.

"We're on Tour! It's Road Trip 2002!" we shouted in the car. We waved to truckers who blew their horns at us and spoke bitterly of Virginia which didn't even have signs welcoming us to the state. We applauded Pennsylvania, which has the biggest Welcome sign, and cheered for Delaware, since it's so little and friendly with no sales tax. And because we felt bad for not remembering their state slogan. We booed Arkansas because it was a piece of poop. Our spirits lifted for Tennessee, mainly because they do have Dollywood, you know. And Loretta Lynn ranches and gift shops.

We ate at Ruby Tuesday's and Wendy's and Dairy Queen and we quietly cheered for each mullet that outdid the previous. We contemplated sneaking photos of the mullet owners.

We marveled at trailor parks and mobile homes on cinderblocks. We discussed the merits of traveling via RV. Next year, we planned.

We talked about what it would be like if we kept going. Getting in the car and driving forward instead of heading back. Seeing how far we could get before being out of money. Calling our offices and saying, "Ahhh, you know what? You can just pack up my stuff and ship it to me, I'm not coming back. Thanks!"

And so with all of this, I came back a little different. I can't quite pinpoint it, but I feel like I understand everything a little bit better. I feel like I have regained control of me. I feel like a part of the world, instead of controlled by the world.

I am motivated by something new; some evolution of what motivated me in the past.

I am overcome by a feeling of Grace. And that's the impetus behind my cry for something "new."

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