In The Ghetto

Tonight, my sister and her roomie decide that we'll go to "Country's," a local country bar, to have a couple of drinks. My sister set my expectations really low with adjectives like "dodgy" and "sketchy." I'm figuring that we'd probably be the only ones in the bar.

We arrive at a stand-alone building that's pretty large with a country/western couple painted on the front doors. (Instead of Picasso, think second grader.) As we're walking up to the door, the sounds of karaoke get louder and louder: it's Elvis. As we walk into the bar, my sister says something about Elvis at the bar. "Yeah," I reply thinking that it'd be hard not to recognize Elvis with the volume so stinking loud.

There are probably 12 people in the whole, enormous place. I order a beer and take notice of the surroundings. Honest to goodness, Elvis was at the end of the bar.

"You weren't shitting me, huh?," I asked my sis.

"Nope. He's a taxi driver," she says. "He picks up tourists in his cab dressed as Elvis. It plays only Elvis songs and has an Elvis horn that says things like 'Thank you; thank you very much.' He's always in character."

"Is that his real hair?," I ask.

"Oh yeah."

"It's horrible...but great."

"Isn't it though?"

We have a few beers and listen to terrible, terrible singing. After a while, Elvis actually takes the stage to great applause from the few of us at the bar.

These thumbnails are all I could get at the moment.

Anywho, he gets up there and sings a few songs, like everyone else, at deafening volume. (Honestly, my ears are still ringing as I type this.) He runs through a few Elvis standards and starts on "In the Ghetto," my second favorite Elvis tune. He sings it with a ton of heart, a decent voice, and horribly broken English. It was fantastic, absolutely fantastic.

Here's what I heard:

On a coal and gray Chicago more
another little baby chile was born
in da ghetto

If dere's one ting that she don't need
iss anoder hungry
mou to feed
inna ghetto

Classic. Absolutely classic. Can't wait to go back tomorrow night. Holy crap, I must buy a video camera.

After it was over, he was walking by the bar. I extended my hand and said, "Great set, man, great set."

Without missing a beat, he gives me the Elvis pose, takes my hand, shakes it, and says "Thank you, thank you very much."