Elvis Lives… in Brooklyn

Last night Elvis put on pearls and went to the Metropolitan Opera. They were performing La Clemenza di Tito, or the clemency of Titus. Moral of the Mozart story is forgive and forget. The singing was good to someone that knows more about uh-huh-huhs than ah-ha-has, and the stage and theater were as opulent as Elvis had hoped. But Elvis likes minor chords more than Mozart, the staging was very static, the lighting was weird and the costumes were of an unidentifiable time and place. But when a Tolstoy scholar offers to buy you a $20 rush ticket, you do not say no, you get on the 1 train.

On the train ride home, Elvis saw TWO strangers on the L train. He forgot the given name of one of them all the way to Driggs Street. Turns out it was Matt. So Matt and Kat. It’s a small world.

Elvis got a frightening trim in midtown yesterday, then hopped on metro north two minutes before peak to go to Pelham. As much as 55 bankers on blackberrys getting picked up by wives in SUVs is against Elvis’s aesthetics, he does like the leafy green and rolling hills of the Westchest. He wouldn’t take off his blue suedes, but Emma Lee and Miss Lillian got pedicures. First of the season, fancy-fancy:

Then the three of them sat around on a sectional sofa (so much room in suburbs!) Elvis plinked a bit at a set of ivories that belong to Miss Lillian’s great grandmother—out of tune, but lovely. Then the man of the house came home, fired up the grill, and barbequed them all some T-bone steaks. After avocado salad and pretty little cakes from Chelsea, Miss Lillian drove Elvis back to Brooklyn. He and Emma Lee got home by 10, worked until 2 in the morning on the New York Moon..

Was it the devil’s haircut? The lucky train? The big slice of tender, grilled iron? More oxygen out there? Bigger couches? Cupcakes?  Hot pink polish? or baseball on TV? In any case, Elvis went to bed happy as a little lamb, and woke up feeling only a little self indulgent.

Yesterday Elvis worked on the  nonfiction book proposal that is due ASAP. It bores him to tears. Then Elvis worked dinner at Teddy’s and for his efforts (which included taking a shot of whiskey with a creepy old man), he received $50 and a steak salad. Ended with a nightcap at Matchless with ever-lovely KC. Early in the evening, Elvis text-messaged the music lawyer, (looking for counsel, and counsel alone), but he was busy: “on way out for dinner and booze now whll let u know if free up.”

Elvis tried.

No word from Frank the Friendly Ghost. Elvis thinks he scared him away. Elvis tried really hard.

Here’s Elvis on the Stove.

Good day, everyone. All around.

One of Elvis’s oldest and best friends is moving to Chicago in three weeks. Elvis and Emma Lee are devastated, so they took her to John’s Pizza on Bleeker Street for an iconic NYC dinner. It was in the very same room that Elvis broke his five-year vegetarianism in 2006. Last night, Elvis again did good work of a pepperoni pie and a couple pints:

Then there was an existential crisis over IPAs. Elvis, Emma Lee and J. Chicago talked for a couple hours about making stuff in the morning, talking about it at night, and the general emotional support Elvis needs from friends and lovers. Elvis and Emma Lee are living in Brooklyn to make work (otherwise they would be nearer to the ocean and with a dog), but when the people around them seem more interested in booze and butts and looking pretty than in talking about interesting things, it gets hard. When Elvis got home, he got some flack in the electronic mail (”I actually d(on)’t think the whole Elvis thing translate(s) well to our generation.”). And then live Billy Bragg was on the radio. The acoustic guitar was too much—sum total tipped Elvis to tears. 26:

Elvis is too busy to write much today. Worked a double yesterday, and has deadlines up the Yangtze. (They were not affected by the earthquake.)

That, and happy mother’s day.

Elvis and Emma Lee went to a sketching class on the Highline yesterday morning. It was wonderful and incredible. Here is Emma Lee’s first and last picture of the session:

Elvis took this pic up in the railyards section of the park. It’s still up in the air whether it will get torn down for condoland or if it will join its other two thirds as an awesome city park. Elvis thinks you should help the Highline. Give them stuff, like cash and love.

Last night Elvis and Emma Lee ran into one of the oldest, and what turned out to be most unfriendly ghosts at the corner bar. (There is a longer and more funny story about the bar’s two bartenders, both named Kevin. There was a night at a juice party where Emma Lee tried to determine based on oral description which one she had made out with in 2006. Both are tall, play guitar and have shaggy brown hair, possess a particular affect—as such, hard to distinguish. Emma Lee mis-identified the Kevin, and a small piece of chaos ensued.)

At a certain point in their five minute conversation it became clear that Emma Lee remembered much more about the ghost named Kevin than the ghost named Kevin recalled about Emma Lee, and he had very little interest in learning anything further. The other Kevin confirmed that he gets more ladies than anyone. “By like a hundred.”

Embarrassed, Elvis wanted to go home immediately, but their drinking companion had more drinks to drink and more eyelashes to bat at the bartender named Kevin that Emma Lee had not made out with in 2006. After playing wing lady and king of Rock and Roll through two more (albeit free) drinks, Emma Lee and Elvis finally escaped. They did not say goodbye to the ghost.

The music lawyer called, but he was at the garden-bar (see #22). Elvis and Emma Lee decided to eat a muffin, have some milk and go to bed instead. The whole thing made Emma Lee and Elvis want to move to California.

Yesterday afternoon, Elvis and Emma Lee saw what may be the best ride in Brooklyn. From the outside: your typical child molester van. Inside: country cottage, complete with wallpaper and curtains (matching), closet, pantry, full size bed and a white luncheonette. Took country cottage to Diamond, where nice man taught Elvis how to play shuffle board.

At end of really delicious beer, invitation to take country cottage to Rhode Island was extended. Fingers crossed—with those hips of his, Elvis can’t wait to do the quahog shuffle.

Party last night in alphabet. Elvis made out pretty well—he met a nice music lawyer and acquired a toaster for Miss Emma Lee. Those guys can’t wait to brown some bread.

Frank the Friendly Ghost took Elvis, Emma Lee and a small bottle of whiskey to the corner of 3rd and 3rd in Brooklyn. Up the stairs of the Old American Can factory, to the third floor and back: the temporary home of the Issue Project Room. Last night’s lineup was Marc Zegans read from Pillow Talk, his book of erotic haikus. He was joined by his illustrator, Gabrielle Senza, and the pair was backed up by the Ecstatic Quartet. This was the second electronic cello Elvis had seen this week. In all honesty (and with due credit), last Friday’s performance with Ha-Yang Kim was more amazing. But both were good, and last night had an optical theramin, which Elvis thought was neat.

Elvis met the ED, Suzanne, pictured above with the poet. We talked about the awesome soundsystem in the space, and their even more awesome space-to-be: 110 Livingston. Elvis thinks you should give them money. Then Elvis smiled at Steve Buscemi. He considered touching the actor’s arm, but decided that would be inappropriate.

Then Elvis, Emma Lee and Frank the friendly ghost had a heart-to-heart at a picnic table at Macri Park. Don’t be fooled by the park-like name, it’ a bar, and a nice one at that, on Union Street and Metropolitan. There is now a solution to the Union Pool problem (”My friends call it the garden, because you can just pluck up women”). Over a cup of something they talked a couple years’ worth of shit. They couldn’t figure out answers to everything, or even the most important important things, but the three of them snuggled up and sure did try.

And in closing, #22. Elvis and his mom. Don’t forget, kids, to call on Sunday.

Elvis loves puppies.

Nothing happened yesterday. Lots of work. Bye.

PS. Emma Lee’s new favorite quote. “Summer is your time.”

–instead of waiting for his neighbors to turn on their wireless or going to the wifi coffee shop so much he stops wanting coffee all together. That is a sad day, indeed.

Oh, well. Number 20: