Fake Memphis blues and awkward Chicago blues

On this same trip in which I arrived at the Mormon Chili's and died a little inside, I went to Memphis the next night. First we (again, my mother and me) went to Graceland, which is an experience unto itself. Though I'm sure the experience was meant to invoke exactly such feelings, I came away really thinking Elvis was a genuine, down-to-earth guy. A genuine, down-to-earth, very very weird, dead guy.

But anyway, later that evening we went to B.B. King's restaurant (thank God for spellcheck, cause I can never, ever spell that word right. Anyhow.) for some food and blues. Now, just as one would not got to Chili's for sober eating, one ought not go to B.B. King's place for actual southern blues. I kind of figured that out when the house band broke into a rousing rendition of Bonnie Raitt's "Let's Give 'Em Something To Talk About." Yeah. That happened. I somehow feel like that's not what Mr. King had in mind when he opened a blues venue in Memphis.

So, the waitress apparently didn't know the difference between a beer costing a buck fifty and a beer costing eight bucks, which caused us some consternation once we got the bill. The people next to us also were having trouble with the service, and the gentleman and I get to talking about the not-so-great service, and it turns out he plays the blues, and will be playing a mile from my new apartment in Chicago three days hence. So my dad I and I go (he had flown into Chicago to meet my mother and me). This, now, was Sunday.

My dad and I get to the bar early and at catch Charlie Love and the Silky Smooth band, which involved a lot of fancy hats. And then Linsey Alexander, the man I had met in Memphis, takes the stage. Old black man with pants above his belly button starts the show by saying, "I just took seventy-five Viagra, four Cialis, a fifth of Jack, and smoked a bag of weed. Let's start." This was not I expected from the older gentleman who complained to me about poor service just a few nights before.

Most of his set was him walking around the crowd, with a microphone and guitar, playing to the ladies, making faces at them, and being somewhat lewd. Which was pretty damn enjoyable for a good long while. When he sang the song about fucking, though, it got a little uncomfortable. Especially when he came out into the audience and asked people about their "making love" habits. Of course, as he put it, "I've never made love in my life. Not once. I fuck." Cute.

Anyhow, he goes around the audience, and asks people about their love making habits. "When' the last time you made love?" Or, "What's your favorite room in the house to make love in?" And, then, he gets to my dad. And I'm not looking forward to the conversation, though I don't know what is going to be said. Mr. Alexander looks right at my dad and says, "What about you? Do you know how to make love?"

To which my dad replies, "I remember."

That's my dad.