by Brad

August 17, 2007

A BOWL OF SOUP--ANY KIND

If you see a box of pine
With a name that looks like mine
Just say I drowned in a barrel of wine
When I got to the border

Unlike Elvis, I made it past 42. Oh sure, Elvis can lay claim to allegedly being the King of Rock n Roll (a nice gig, if you can land it), but he can never lay claim to living to be 45. So take that, King. I'm shooting for 46. Don't like to rub that in your face, Elvis, but hey, I have to look at numerous commemorative plates and countless repackaging of your hits, so live with it ... so to speak (I'm of the belief that Elvis is indeed dead). Now your daughter is taking one of my favorite songs by you and turning it into a duet with your dead ass. That little exploitative act by Lisa Marie is compelling me to clean up my act even more, get super-healthy and make it to 50.

It's not that I'm anti-Presley. He was a good singer and I did like
some of his songs. Judging from the list of my favorites--Suspicious Minds, In The Ghetto, Rubberneckin' and Burning Love--I would have voted for the Fat Elvis stamp, if I were the voting type. However, I never got caught up in all the mania before or after he died. I tried a couple times to experience the Elvis sensation, but it never took, and like most people my age, if you say Elvis, my first response is Costello.

When I turned 42, some smart-ass at work cracked I should take care not to end up dead like Elvis. Naturally I laughed. I think I even flipped him off. However, I did become obsessed with not dying during my 42nd year. More specifically, I became obsessed with not dying on the toilet. Whether you're the King of Rock n Roll, or the pawn of paper products, kicking the bucket on the crapper would be a sucky way to die.

So I stopped bringing reading material into the bathroom. I was living alone at the time, so it wasn't like I needed any privacy. The voices inside my head were going to follow me no matter where I went. Another thing I did was to hold out going into the little room until the last possible second (In the spirit of Elvis, think of his song, It's
Now Or Never). Sure, I risked experiencing what today's kids are
calling a treatment effect, but I didn't spend any wasted seconds in that potential death room either.

There were other changes to my lifestyle during my Elvis year. I get migraines. My doctor at the time was very sympathetic to my plight and would write out all kinds of prescriptions to help with some of the intense pain that comes with migraines. A couple of the meds I got were unbelievable in their strength and I suspect their original uses were to bring down rhinos in the wild. Naturally, I pushed the envelope on those a few times. I saw my medicinal experiments as scientific research to help future generations. However, my pharmaceutical trailblazing ceased while I was 42.

My eating habits also improved a little during that, my year of the Elvis. I stopped trying to see how many meals in a row I could order pizza. The logic of stacking as many burgers and slices of cheese between two buns became highly illogical. And while it sounds cool in songs by The Clash and The Replacements, beer for breakfast was leaving me feeling on the sluggish side.

The last thing I did was I added some physical activity to my daily routine. It might be cliche, but it's true: No pain, no gain. And I do believe I gained a few years because of my new healthy lifestyle. Instead of driving the 30 yards to the dumpster, I walked my trash bags over to it. Same for laundry day. The apartment complex's laundromat was 50 yards away from my place, but I sucked it up and started walking instead of driving. The summer months were brutal. I toughed it out and when I turned 43 I still walked my laundry over instead of driving. That's dedication people. Dirty clothes is heavy.

One other thing that might have saved me during my Elvis year I was practically friendless and had no social life. Well, that's not entirely true. I had friends, but circumstances made it that way. I worked nights and most of my friends worked days. I also had friends who lived out of town. So we were out of sync and out of touch. Being poor probably helped too. I imagine if I had a lot money--Elvis money--they would have made more effort to stay up late and/or come into town more often. Chalk one up for being poor and working crappy hours.

Had Elvis not had so many weasly friends hanging around him and giving him everything he wanted, he would be alive today, doing whatever 72-year-old rock stars do. Infomercials? QVC? Waiting for Larry King to call? OK, Presley estate--you win this one.

But call off Lisa Marie.


Write Brad at exit149@gmail.com

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