in which i make my triumphant return****

have you ever noticed how, when trying to catch your connecting flight, the distance between your arriving and departing gates is inversely proportional to the amount of time you have to cover that distance?

coming back from arizona recently, i found myself at the memphis airport with a hair over two hours to kill. in some airports (atlanta, salt lake city- i'm looking at you), this would be ideal, as my flights are inevitably separated by the greatest number of gates within the terminal, if not the greatest possible number of terminals themselves.

memphis, however, really isn't that big. (not that all of my favorite airports are big ones, mind you. while i like having plenty to look at in the event of a long layover, my favorite airport thus far is the one in west yellowstone, mt, where the baggage claim and the front sidewalk are one and the same.) in fact, when one has over two hours to make their connecting flight, which is located one gate over from their arriving flight, there is only one rational thing to do in memphis.

okay- make that two rational things to do, but i'm just not a huge fan of barbeque.

yes, dear reader, i spent the better part of my layover looking for the king.

the last time i came through memphis, there he was, in all of his denim and rhinestone glory. (you'll have to take my word for it, because i was in such a rush to rifle through my backpack, dig out my camera and snap a photo of him before he boarded the shuttle to the other terminal that instead of a hunka hunka burning love, i got all shook up and wound up with a hound dog.....and a blurry one, at that.)

there would not be a repeat of that debacle. i was in it to win it. 

i had the camera ready.

i was ready to do that sneering lip thing, perfected by both him and billy idol*.

i was willing to accept him in whichever form i could get: old, young, thin, fat, hunchbacked, lazy-eyed, or even a little confused. (sure, they're not as famous, but i'm sure the elvis costello impersonators are out there, too.)

i would've settled for someone wearing blue suede shoes, for goodness sakes. 

however, as i wandered down the last hallway for the last time, i realized it just wasn't meant to be.

you see, i clearly recall there being a shuttle and a statue of a flying pig- neither of which were present at the memphis airport. (trust me, i was thorough.)

both, however, can be found at the cincinnati airport.**

so, when this realization settled in after an hour and a half of wandering, i did the next logical thing. 

(no, not barbeque. haven't we been over this already?)

i wandered over to the elvis shop and bought postcards with pictures of elvis and his favorite recipes on them, which i spent the next half hour scribbling out for my friends and relations under the watchful eye of my new elvis-impersonating bear.

his name is costello.

*no chance of seeing the latter in the memphis airport. i'm a realist.***

**what was elvis doing in cincinnati and not memphis? i do not know. discounting the possibility that he was being interviewed on wkrp that weekend, it doesn't make much sense to me, either. 

***and i'd already checked the tour dates on his website.

****okay- i'm a little rusty. however, the return part is the more important part, isn't it?