You thought we were done with Elvis tonight, din’cha?

Uh. Well. So did I. But old technology betrayed me this weekend. I’ve been planning on a ‘Petrogypsies’ post for some time, with a bonus chapter for the hungry population. However, it’s looking like I have that chapter only on paper. And on 5-1/4 floppy. I’m going to buy an old floppy drive if that’s what it takes. Maybe by next week.

So, what do I do when I’m desperate for a topic?

Yep. Pull out the trusty Los Blues Guys tapes and spend a few pleasant hours re-mastering them. This one was easy to clean up, only some persistent tape hiss to reduce. It may be be best natural recording we have of any of our songs. But I compressed the hell out of it anyhow, since we like our music loud these days.

According to the label, it’s from a band practice, probably at Brad’s place, on 07/22/90. Scott on lead vocals, with Casey on backup vocals and bass, Brad on drums, me on the Tokai Strat. There may have been other participants, but I can’t hear them on the tape.

This song is a legend. Written by Scott McCullar, it’s a burst of sustained creative brilliance, and was always a crowd-pleaser. Of course, we were always playing for a bunch of science fiction geeks.

It was one of my favorite songs to play, though I frequently screwed it up, of course.

Guitar wankery warning, as if you needed it. I don’t think I ever played this song as well elsewhere. Or as prolifically.

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 Elvis Is Alive [3:59m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

As we all know, Elvis Presley didn’t really die in 1977.

He just realized that he’d reached a place in his life where he needed to start completely over. He couldn’t go anywhere without being mobbed, his divorce from Priscilla had shattered him, and the drugs were taking their toll.

There have been many unconfirmed sightings over the years. Elvis had decided to live a more ‘normal’ life after his feigned death, perhaps as a plumber. Or even a milkman.

But the music and the adulation called to him. Eventually, he surrendered to the call.

He pretended to become a singer named Tortelvis, and formed a Reggae-Elvis-Led Zeppelin tribute band. Nobody ever said that Elvis didn’t have a sense of humor. It was the Purloined Letter technique taken to it’s brilliant ultimate. Elvis pretended to be somebody who was pretending to be him. He and his new band, master musicians all, were an immediate success.

Click the pic for a video of one of their early hits.

It only takes a glance at that distinctive face, a moment’s listening to that inimitable voice to know — the King is still alive!

I’m a bad brain. I shoulda posted on Tuesday, but I was getting over a sprained ankle and broken glasses. And the dog ate my homework (despite the Xanax). And I couldn’t decide whether to write about Boxtops or Girl Scout Cookies.

I’m going with the cookies.

This is YG’s third year selling Girl Scout Cookies, and her second with her current, and really excellent, troop. In fact, it’s a Mega-Troop: our Fearless Leader (and believe me, I mean that) has five sub-troops under her aegis, from Daisy to Senior level, and last year the 90 girls sold 40,000+ boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. Yes, you read that right: 40,000. Last year YG sold 560 boxes. This year she aims for 1000 and the Hall of Fame (which comes with a special patch and many excellent perks and prizes). Naturally, in order to accomplish this feat, she needs support.

That’s me. Ms. Support.

The kid is doing pretty well so far: Thursday she went ’round her father’s office distributing the cookies pre-ordered. She’s a world-class shmoozer: not only chats up people as she’s making change and handing out cookies, but made additional sales as we were walking around the labyrinthine hallways of the company. I was merely the one who handed her the cookies and checked things off the list.

On Saturday we had our first booth sale: table, table-cloths, Mylar balllons, boxes (and boxes!) of cookies, and two cute 11 year old girls chorusing the virtues of Girl Scout Cookies. We sold 108 boxes (and would have sold as much again if we hadn’t run out of Thin Mints and Samoas). Today, we sold three dozen boxes in our sleepy neighborhood “downtown” area between ten and noon; the kid got sunburned and dehydrated, but her heart is strong.

There are many theories of how to sell cookies. Barricade yourself in with 100 cases of cookies and sell like mad (one of the girl’s pals sold 700 boxes yesterday that way. Put all the boxes you can under the table (to keep them out of the sun) and keep a clear selling area. Have the girls sing or chant. Don’t have the girls sing or chant. Thus far, between this and that, the kid has sold about 300 boxes, which isn’t bad. If we can replenish our Thin Mint supply, I think she’ll pull it off. In the meantime it is I who am right behind her, making change, opening bags, providing encouragement when she is tired. No one provides encouragement for me (well, the Spouse does on occasion) and when I get tired and cranky I soldier on.

And what do we get out of it? If YG meets her goal, she gets an iPod (!) and a special Hall of Fame dinner. She learns business skills (all the literature tells me so, and I believe everything I read) and management skills and winds up with a big sense of accomplishment. And I wind up five pounds heavier and with a sense that I’ve supported my child. Name of the game, right? Of course right.

“If you haven’t anything nice to say, sit by me.” Alice Roosevelt

“See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. Never be invited to any parties.” Oscar Wilde

A beautiful young girl from a disadvantaged background takes up with an older, very wealthy, man. Later, she marries a different, very wealthy, man. In the course of this marriage, the man’s family grows to hate the woman and tries to keep her from the family money.

No, it’s not Anna Nicole Smith. It’s Evelyn Nesbit. And it’s not 2007, it’s 1906.

There’s been a lot of hand-wringing lately over the shoddy shape of journalism in this country. Pundits from both sides have been whipping the “tabloid-journalism-is-bad” horse for some time. And while I agree that the obsession with celebrity and pseudo-celebrity has taken a turn for the bizarre and apparently all-consuming – it’s just not the core problem with journalism right now.

Tabloid journalism has always been with us in one form or another. Humans love to gossip. And those of you who say you don’t gossip are either, uhm, not being completely honest — or the gossip you prefer doesn’t fit the usual mold.

Trust me, we love The Gossip.*

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