I have fond enough memories of Tennessee. My Club (capo di tutti) met there frequently and the first time I visited it was Memphis. I highly recommend Mud Island, a concrete representation of the Mississippi River from Minneapolis to the Gulf you can easily stride across like some Gulliver in the Northern sections terminating in a bilious green cess pool representing the Gulf that our more inebriated could not resist bathing in despite strict signage to the contrary and disapproval of the staff.
I understand there are also some jazz and blues venues.
For me the highlight was scamming my way into Graceland, pretending to be an accredited member of the press. Not only did I get to go through the Big Gate (the one you see in all the pictures, peon tourists go through a smaller door at the side) I was able to see the fatal toilet and lie on Elvis’ grave and think about death.
You may have a different definition of fun.
Later we had a visitor from my Club who was temporarily assigned to a local business HQ and didn’t have anything to do in his spare time. So we showed him around Stars Hollow including Luke’s and Miss Patty’s. Of course we took him to Teriyaki Joe’s, he was from Tennessee and had probably never seen Sashimi before.
I think he enjoyed himself. When I later visited Chattanooga I was visiting the Tennessee Hospitality Suite where the price for a Jack and Coke was a story. Well, you know me-
They didn’t bury him–they planted one end, and let him stand up, same as a monument. And they nailed a sign on it and put–put on–put on it–sacred to–the m-e-m-o-r-y–of fourteen y-a-r-d-s–of three-ply–car–-pet–containing all that was–m-o-r-t-a-l–of–of–W-i-l-l-i-a-m–W-h-e–”
I of course didn’t recognize him at all until he in turn told me of his stay in the Nutmeg State but it was all good and I was served doubles for the duration.
Chattanooga was quirky like that. I got bumped from a normal room to the “haunted” suite. I watched ducks tromp through the lobby to the central fountain. I introduced my buddy Ben to the niceties of Scotch and Cigars in the convenient Scotch and Cigar lounge (later I covered for him when he stole the National logo off the stage and stashed it in my room, “Ben would never do something like that,” said I who had accompanied him on dozens of early morning raids- to be fair, at the time I had no idea). I enjoyed Graves Grain Slurpies in a tacky shop next to the Fire Engine Museum.
In all the time I’ve been in Tennessee I was never once been served the meal I ordered even when I’ve sent it back for correction, but they’re very pleasant about it. They don’t make bourbon which is aged only in new charred Oak casks in the State of Kentucky, but they do make some nice sippin’ whiskey. They also have a fascinating Aquarium that details the various habitats and ecosystems along the Tennessee River that is well worth the 3 or 4 hour visit.
So, Tennessee. Red necked, bigoted, misogynous, and racist but not in an ‘in your face’ kind of way.
Let’s talk about the Patsies. I lived in Baahsten for a while and though it’s a wonderful place there is no denying that it has a certain kind of edgy inferiority vibe that comes from generations of comparison to The City (C’mon, you know what I’m talking about). The Great God Citgo is better, the pizza is better (umm… not better than Pepe’s), the Baseball is better despite that annoying record of futility…
I’ll tell you what’s better- The Constitution, it’s skinnier than Connecticut so it takes less time to figure out you’re hopelessly lost, and soon they will allow you to buy 2 ounces of recreational weed.
Oh, and Rachel Maddow and Charlie Pierce live there. Arlo Guthrie wrote a song about it, you remember Alice, and the Restaurant.
What’s not better is the lying, cheating Patsies. They lied to Hartford about moving the team. They cheat every chance they get, not limited to underinflated balls. Tom Brady is over rated and old and Bill Belichick hasn’t had an original idea in decades, instead coasting on Brady’s fading arm.
Yeah, that’s who I hate.