I went to the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, which is at the Lorraine Motel, where MLK was shot. You can actually walk into Room 306 and see what Dr. King saw the night his life ended. The furniture, at least. Maybe the dream.

I enjoyed this museum so much that it’s maybe my favorite ever. And I have the attention span of a fruit fly and made a rule after the Louvre that it’s OK (and actually smart) to leave museums after an hour. And yet, after visiting this place and taking the audio tour, I felt like I had my own memories of the 1960s.

Embarrassingly, this museum hammered home how much I didn’t know about civil rights in my own country: how many, many people were killed besides MLK and Malcolm X. That Dr. King had told his handlers to stop telling him about death threats because he was tired of them. That he gave The Mountaintop speech (in which he says “I may not get there with you”) literally the night before he died. Or that his message in Memphis was about income equality—oh, wasn’t he ahead of his time?

It also hammered home how much I never want to be the person who defiantly picks the wrong side of history. I’m still struck by the video of a waitress who proudly insists to the local news that it’s a violation of her civil rights to be forced to serve black people. She may still be alive today. Does she hate what is happening in our country? Is she horrified at her youthful self? Did she ever change her mind?

I wonder what issues will seem so obvious to us in 60 years that are controversial today? 

Elvis was styyyyylin!!!

I feel all disco just looking at this amazing lounge. It makes me want to put on my finest pantsuit, make myself a mimosa, and dance on the carpet while Elvis jams on the piano. 

I’m not sure what I like better: the stained glass peacocks or the 14-foot party couch??? The best detail, however, is sadly outside the frame, on the right wall. It’s an oil painting of Elvis’s father, Vernon Presley, which Vernon gave Elvis as a gift. I’d love if my dad commissioned a portrait of himself and gave it to me.

But I think the real point is: we all have a lot to learn from the Presleys. 

Yesterday we went to the Peabody Hotel in Memphis to watch “The Marching of the Ducks.” This is a real thing—every day at 5pm the ducks march out of a marble fountain in the lobby, into an elevator that whisks them to the “Duck Palace” on the roof of the building. (More to come on this.) Not surprisingly, there is an amazing stash of duck paraphernalia in the hotel gift shop. Guess which one of these fowlbulous items I actually bought? (Hint: I’m always trying to make people smile when I do yoga.) (I mean, no I’m not, but I think this will help you guess correctly.)