Of Snakes Sex Playing In The Rain, Random Thou - Plot & Excerpts
I realize that such heresy, when said aloud, leaves the speaker liable for the same sort of nasty looks reserved for those who ask for the smoking section in restaurants; but I can’t help it. I just never was a big fan of the music—or the person—of Elvis Presley.Oh, I must confess that as a teenager, I listened to his music on the radio and danced to it at the Teen Canteen where, if I was lucky, Sherry French would be untaken for one of The King’s slow ballads. But he really wasn’t “The King” then; he was just Elvis Presley: “Elvis the Pelvis,” a somewhat ridiculous country boy who made silly girls do silly things when he accused them of being “Hound Dogs” and swung his hips in a suggestive manner. I remember Vicki Crossland, big sister of one of my friends, actually wore out her 45-rpm copy of “Love Me Tender” and cried real tears every time she spun that scratchy plastic on her portable phonograph in their garage. (Her father banned Elvis and his music from the house.) Jack, her brother, and I would hide behind the stack of used batteries their father kept in the corner and laugh ourselves comatose while she sighed and swooned all by herself among the greasy cobwebs and broken lawnmowers.By the time I arrived in college, I regarded Elvis as just another of those “older”
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