Blending into Memphis
Cuddles and I, and a good friend (who we will refer to as Rich, because, well, that’s his name), took a jaunty vacation in Memphis. For those unfamiliar, Memphis is home to Elvis Presley, Stax Records, Sun Studios, Beale Street, and poverty.
Why Memphis? For starters, it is not New Orleans, our original destination, which was obliterated by Hurricanes Katrina and Cheney. Our plans changed rapidly to somewhere more inwardly, still warm, and with some history. In a close vote, Memphis beat out Athens, Rome, and Wal-Mart.
Flying in on a Thursday, arriving fresh off of a two-hour layover in Chicago and 10 AM cocktails, Memphis was wonderfully hot. We quickly drove to the famous Beale Street and camped out on a patio with more cocktails. We slipped a few Super Sunday Hamster Blender flyers among the tables, and gave one to our waitress.
It was a shy beginning to the Hamster promotion.
Unbeknownst to any of us, we were adding the many ingredients that would lead to the exploitive and shameless marketing of our tidy little band. Those many ingredients, in Cuddles’ case, were beer and more beer.
The exploitive and shameless marketing were not out of place, as Elvis and Graceland epitomize that to hell and beyond.
Anyway, Cuddles went on a multi-night rampage in handing out our flyers. It did not matter that our cute-and-sweet l’il hamster n’ heart logo betrayed Cuddles shaved head and assassin eyes, he approached everyone and anyone, distributing like a crack dealer on crack. Clueless tourists, swaggering drunks, and other political figures gobbled them up.
Cuddles was Elvis. Cuddles was Jerry Lee Lewis. Or at least Jerry Lewis.
Cuddles was hammered.
Let me retract the ‘Cuddles was Elvis’ assertion. That is not fair to Cuddles. After my visit to Graceland, I walked away feeling dirty and ashamed. Just like Elvis, when he slumped over dead on the bowl while shotgunning cocaine and Twinkies. I don’t know, maybe it was because so many people bought into his shtick, his sleepy eyes, and his wiggles without thinking it through. Too much pomposity for me, too much hair-focus for me, and way too much carpeting on the walls and ceiling.
If I learned one thing, it’s that Elvis had the worst decorating sense of all-time. His house looked exactly how he dressed in the mid-1970’s, gaudy and mismatched and filled with the flaunt of someone about to flatulate through his mouth.
I found it fascinating that even his gravestone had a copyright notice. That was thoughtful and meaningful.
But possibly the most meaningful gesture of all was when Cuddles handed a flyer to a random girl in a random group, and she randomly and promptly ate it. Casually walking away, she dropped her pants, as if to say “Super Sunday Hamster Blender are awesome!”
Or that’s how I like to interpret it anyway.
(The band's nesting area is at http://www.supersundayhamsterblender.com/)
Why Memphis? For starters, it is not New Orleans, our original destination, which was obliterated by Hurricanes Katrina and Cheney. Our plans changed rapidly to somewhere more inwardly, still warm, and with some history. In a close vote, Memphis beat out Athens, Rome, and Wal-Mart.
Flying in on a Thursday, arriving fresh off of a two-hour layover in Chicago and 10 AM cocktails, Memphis was wonderfully hot. We quickly drove to the famous Beale Street and camped out on a patio with more cocktails. We slipped a few Super Sunday Hamster Blender flyers among the tables, and gave one to our waitress.
It was a shy beginning to the Hamster promotion.
Unbeknownst to any of us, we were adding the many ingredients that would lead to the exploitive and shameless marketing of our tidy little band. Those many ingredients, in Cuddles’ case, were beer and more beer.
The exploitive and shameless marketing were not out of place, as Elvis and Graceland epitomize that to hell and beyond.
Anyway, Cuddles went on a multi-night rampage in handing out our flyers. It did not matter that our cute-and-sweet l’il hamster n’ heart logo betrayed Cuddles shaved head and assassin eyes, he approached everyone and anyone, distributing like a crack dealer on crack. Clueless tourists, swaggering drunks, and other political figures gobbled them up.
Cuddles was Elvis. Cuddles was Jerry Lee Lewis. Or at least Jerry Lewis.
Cuddles was hammered.
Let me retract the ‘Cuddles was Elvis’ assertion. That is not fair to Cuddles. After my visit to Graceland, I walked away feeling dirty and ashamed. Just like Elvis, when he slumped over dead on the bowl while shotgunning cocaine and Twinkies. I don’t know, maybe it was because so many people bought into his shtick, his sleepy eyes, and his wiggles without thinking it through. Too much pomposity for me, too much hair-focus for me, and way too much carpeting on the walls and ceiling.
If I learned one thing, it’s that Elvis had the worst decorating sense of all-time. His house looked exactly how he dressed in the mid-1970’s, gaudy and mismatched and filled with the flaunt of someone about to flatulate through his mouth.
I found it fascinating that even his gravestone had a copyright notice. That was thoughtful and meaningful.
But possibly the most meaningful gesture of all was when Cuddles handed a flyer to a random girl in a random group, and she randomly and promptly ate it. Casually walking away, she dropped her pants, as if to say “Super Sunday Hamster Blender are awesome!”
Or that’s how I like to interpret it anyway.
(The band's nesting area is at http://www.supersundayhamsterblender.com/)
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