Sarah E. Moffett

On this final week of book tour, I was afforded a rare, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  Something people around the world people dream of experiencing. 

You know what it is.

The Running of the Elvises. 

Just think of it.  Over fifty people dressed up to look like Elvis, ranging from full on white, flared, studded costumes, to pairs of massive gold shades with some stick on sideburns the size of Rhode Island.  The masterminds behind this Elvisfest were the marketing gurus of the Minnesota state lottery, who were launching their Vegas-ota Scratch Tour.  (Apparently Vegas is better represented by Elvis than Sinatra, or, atleast, the costumes are way cooler.)  What better way to awake the buying Minnesotan populace to their need for scratch lotto tickets than to offer downtown Minneapolis a Friday afternoon of professional Elvis impersonators singing Viva Las Vegas, a hip shaking contest of terrifying proportions, and free Cokes and fried banana sandwiches?

The things people will do for a friend banana sandwich are remarkable.

In honor of this fantastic display of American creativity juxtaposed against mindless entertainment as backed by corporate exploitation, I’m posting my favorite moment of the whole escapade.  The genius in the yellow cape, who wisely came in dead last, was easily everybody’s camera favorite.

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