Its Friday and the end of week two in the blog flogging. I'm not sure that anyone is reading this so to future generations, I have this bit of wisdom to share; There might not be any new frontiers left to storm, other than space, "The final Frontier" as stated by Captain James Tiberius Kirk, commander of the Starship Enterprise. The internet is making sure of that. Google maps appears to have found Atlantis, Noah's Ark, the island where Elvis and numerous other rich (but not deceased) celebrities are supposedly hiding out. Urban legendry at it's finest.

I remember so well when Elvis passed away. Rumor was he was so doped up and full of deep fried banana and peanut butter sandwiches he couldn't remember his own name. And that he died taking a dump. Now that would definitely be a bad way to be remembered but Elvis fans by the millions don't care. A former best friend's (mentioned earlier) mother was an original Elvis fan from the fifties and would make two visits a year with her patient husband in tow to see him in Las Vegas. Every time I'd come over to visit, and that was a lot, Elvis would be playing on the RCA Victor Console stereo like a sound track to our friendship. When his Mom and dad would return from their trips, she'd have a scarf with "The King's" sweat on it and a picture where he bent over to hand it to her with a smooch. She was quite the looker back then, and I'm sure her beauty attracted Elvis like a fly to a light bulb. She was a true fan. I remember the day I heard Elvis died and then going by my buddies house after school. His mom was in the floor, crying, in front of her giant Elvis poster hung inside her utility closet. She had all her memorabilia with her and she just sobbed for weeks.

I remember the first time I was officially in Memphis. Me and a few of my buddies went there to attend the NMCA (Nation Muscle Car Association) race-off for street cars. It was an interesting trip and one we'd all not forget. We had decided one day to find us some Memphis bar-b-que and to go by to see Graceland while we were in town, International home to the King, Elvis Aaron Presley himself. We rode around for a while thinking that all roads in Memphis eventually led back to Graceland, if you rode around long enough. We finally decided, unlike most dudes, to ask for directions. I was riding shotgun (front seat, passenger side for you Yankees) and I spotted a gentleman sitting at a bus stop, so I instructed my driving friend to whip it over and I'd ask how to get to the white folks' Rock and Roll Mecca.

I asked him, "Excuse me sir, I am not from here and I am trying to get to Graceland, could you give me directions?". The black gentleman said, "Yes, for a dollar..." I handed him a dollar and he said " It would be much better if it were in 'case' quarters", I'm guessing for the bus ride he was waiting on. It's a term I've heard all my life used by black folks, and it simply means one silver quarter. Not two dimes and a nickle, one dime/ three nickles, twenty five pennies...you get it. Just a plain old quarter. So we obliged him and here's what he said: " Awwrite, from here you do a U-ie and go right on the Biddy Gram Parkway go fo mies and then you get off on Eddie Preddie Bood-e-bard and Gray-lan will be on yo leff". Now again, this was when GPS, cell phones, and other devices of that nature we just "ain't no damn way" rumors.

We all had our windows down listening, and I said "Thanks Dude, we appreciate it." as we drove away. My three passengers all said simultaneously "What in the hell did he say?" with looks of confusion painted across their faces. I said, being the lone Jive speaker in the car with my "West-end" Atlanta origins coming in to play as the last white kid to leave the now notorious crime ridden area, and knowing it (Jive) as well as Mrs. Cleaver in "Airplane". It was my second language.

"Don't worry boys, I speak Jive".

He said, "Do a U-turn, then go right on the Billy Graham Parkway, go four miles then get off at Elvis Presley Boulevard, and Graceland will be on your left."

We followed his direction as interpreted by yours truly, and would have missed Graceland if not for the daily throngs of people standing outside the gates, leaving flowers and notes like Elvis might come out for a visit. I was shocked by three things. One, how rural an area Graceland was located in. Two, how many people were there, and according to a local, it was like that every day. And finally, how dang small the gates to Graceland actually are. If not for the thousand or so folks, we'd have missed it. Ida been wanting my four case quarters back.

The day will come when a generation doesn't know who Elvis is. I'm not sure when that generation will get here. It appears that Mr. Presley is worth considerably more dead than he ever was alive. I guess the internet has helped a great deal, and my generation still seems to have a love for him. I did notice this, however, the last time I was through Louisiana. The convenience stores were not stocking "Velvet" Elvis' any longer. That's a painting of Elvis at any stage in his career painted on Black Velvet. It was a staple of my generation, along with eight track tape players and double knit everything. Leisure suits in every color and High Karate cologne by the gallon. Maybe it's a sign.

Maybe it's a sign that Elvis has truly left the building.