In the pages of last week’s Jacksonville, Fla. Times-Union newspaper, columnist Laura Capitano — who, in her words, loves “Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, soul music and I have a Big Star tattoo” — described Memphis as “Nashville’s dirty, drunken cousin.”

Capitano continues: The Memphis vibe is downtrodden, man. Broken. Cab drivers curse the long-standing mayor, Willie Herenton. The hotel desk clerks warn not to carry purses on Beale Street (the Memphis “strip”). The city’s wild with graffiti: on chairs, benches, lampshades, even on the gates of Graceland. And the major tourist attractions stand among blight and fast- food chains, and are rather inaccessible to tourists.

I guess she doesn’t understand the whole point of Graceland’s graffiti, which has been photographed by everyone from a tourist named Peppy to world-renowned artist William Eggleston.

She also complains about Isaac Hayes’ funeral.

Laura, if you don’t like it, stay in your Disney World-lovin’ state.

Sure, there’s a perpetual SNAFU-vibe hanging over Memphis — see this story I wrote about Memphis music for London’s Guardian newspaper for more — but without the juxtaposition of rich and poor, old and new, Baptists and Beale Streeters, I doubt Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, or Big Star frontman Alex Chilton would’ve had anything to sing about.

Time for a quick prayer:

Lord Jesus, please don’t ever turn Memphis into Nashville!

Amen.