my buddy drew got hitched over the weekend, and i told this story to everyone after a couple of g and ts (genorus g and ts--had in the back of an rev 4, but thats another story altogether); drew is a quiet man, kind to a fault but quiet as anything could be, meek, polite, not interuipting, calm--and so he tended to do favours.
he also has a v. old car, a mid 80s dodge omni hatchback, with the windows covered with duct tape and plastic, the thing rattled and looked like it was on its last legs, sometimes i got a ride in this car, a genuine beater but his own--drew believed in private ownership (drew loved superman, something the rest of my friends in comics despised, as sqaure,silly. boring, american--drew had the values of superman, he was steadfast, all american, sqaure, earnest, boring--but he made what would be deficets virtues)
this story began in mid jan., when we were driving the few km from the uni to my house, and we were trying to talk (or i was attempting to outearnest drew, something that was akin to outearnesting superman) and instead of continuing the awkard talk, we turned on the compact disc player.
elvis, the peckerwood, the poor boy from tupelo gone grotesque, the besquined vegas camp magnet, the soilder because what else were you supposed to do, the man who managed to make jesus as sexy as priscilla in white cotton panties--came pouring out of the loud speakers--not any elvis, but jailhouse rock, the one i assumed to be homoerotic (because with those hips, that hair, the fluidness, i needed him to be a little queer), because the most passionite song i heard.
drew sang along, drew curled his lips, drew moved his hand s on the steering weel, drew let in the howl in one deep breath, and drew became unsqaure, he became sexy, his kindness didnt manter, by channelling one idol he forgot the other.
two things here, one--this is why graceland is holy and why elvis is now being spotted at a burger king in biloxi, b/c america needs her home grown diynosus, to help teach drew that even a polite southern boy who loves his mother and god can become filthy under the radar
the other is that (because they left their wedding to a little less conversation, i have hope) i dont want drew to settle down to his wife , his mexican honey moon, his eventual career in the suburbs and put elvis away. one cold night, i want him to do melissa what he he couldnt do to me.
ie fuck her to the rabid junkyard howlings of the orignal holy rock and roller, in a way that the king never managed to.
― anthony, Monday, 28 June 2004 09:21 (twenty-one years ago)