Tag Archives: Frank the Friendly Ghost

twenty-seven. Elvis is cookin’

Yesterday Elvis worked on theĀ  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.

22. Issues, Projects, and Rooms

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.