I Want to Be a Matcha Man

I keep promising that there will be updates here, and there never are. This time, however, I have an excuse. Last week, I spent most of the week at a conference related to my work. This week, however, was spring break, and I had a previous plan to take my magical girl to Branson, Missouri, also known as The Most Expensive Place on Earthâ„¢. For some reason, the hotel I stayed in did not have a reliable internet connection, so I was cut off during this short vacation.

We toured caves, wandered in and out of shops, and found a few other amusements. I took a lot of photos in the caves.

Inside of Talking Rocks Cavern

Since we were there during Saint Patrick’s Day, after Sunday Mass, we headed over to Waxy O’Shea’s, which claims to be the city’s one Irish pub, where we drank whiskey and Guinness, ate corned beef and hash, and listened to whatever Irish punk band was playing in the tavern that day. It was crowded, of course, but considerably less crowded than I had expected. Customarily, I don’t drink during Lent, but I usually make St. Patrick’s Day the one exception.

I should probably add that I drank whiskey and Guinness. My magical girl doesn’t care for either. She also selected a hamburger instead of the corned beef, but what can ya do?

While I was there frittering away my hard-earned money in a futile attempt to please the mercurial interests of the fairer sex, I came upon one thing that made the whole trip worth it. After we left the pub, we walked around downtown and explored the shops. We laughed together over the CBD store that sold bracelets which claimed to improve health by harmonizing the spinning of the body’s protons, regretted that the ice cream shop was closed, and then stumbled into a spice store where I found this:

Packet of matcha tea

It was at a decent price, too, considering. I have wanted for years to try matcha. This is a shade-grown green tea ground into a fine, silt-like powder. It is used in the tea ceremony, and if you’ve ever watched anime characters whisking some green liquid in a cup, this is what they’re making. It’s not steeped or strained, but is instead whipped into the water. It doesn’t exactly dissolve, so it really is kind of like drinking water with a lot of silt in it. It’s high in caffeine for a green tea, and it’s pretty strong, and you should not get too far away from a bathroom after drinking it. Just sayin’.

I cannot, admittedly, prepare it exactly the correct fashion as I don’t have a proper whisk, so I’m stuck with stirring it vigorously and hoping for the best.

Anyway, I also give up coffee for Lent, so this is getting me through the hard times.

And I got home to an email from my editor that she’s already started in on my second book (she says it’s very funny). So it’s been a good week.

On the other hand, my tax returns just got rejected, so that evens it out to a mediocre week.

I haven’t been posting enough lately because I was on a spiritual pilgrimage

I had a four-day weekend, so I took the time to do something I should have done a long time ago: I made the journey to the golden city to pay my respects to the King.

The grave of Elvis Presley

That’s right. I was at Graceland, baby. Thank you. Thank you very much.

And while it’s important to pay homage to the king, it is also necessary to pay proper respects to the gods. Thus, I made sure to visit the Temple of Bass Pro:

Pyramid-shaped Bass Pro shop in Memphis

In addition to this grand, central temple that dominates the city’s skyline so as to lift men’s minds to higher things, I also visited this humble streetside temple, which is, I believe, dedicated to the trickster god Coyote:

Coyote Ugly on Beale Street

And I did not fail to see the King’s impressive holdings of animals in his magnificent stables:

Entryway of the Memphis Zoo

Most spectacular, of course, were the giant pandas:

Panda Ye Ye eating bamboo

I must also note something else about this journey to the great city. Here I am standing along a row of temples in the downtown area:

The author standing on Beale Street

Although I now work as a librarian rather than an archaeologist, I still habitually dress for the field. Thus, my right hand there is resting on the utility knife I usually carry on my pocket. I note that I was able to enter all of the places I went on this trip, even the King’s residence, with this knife visible on my person.

By contrast, about a year ago, I visited a presidential library where a security guard told me I would have to turn in my knife at the front desk and then retrieve it again when I left. Instead, when he wasn’t looking, I slipped the knife into the inside pocket of my bomber jacket as a small, humble way of raging against the machine and sticking it to the man.

So I can carry a knife while visiting the King, but not while visiting a president. And that is why monarchy > democracy.