Elvis went to my wedding. He's actually a relative of mine. He's lived in Nebraska for almost all of his life. You didn't know that, did you? I can't believe I'm blogging about him, but he died last night not thirty years ago.

Ok. That's obviously not true, but my mother's cousin DID look like Elvis... an old greasy one. He did die last night. He was fat and dyed his hair black right up until then. I don't usually think too much about my mom's side of the family, but he was an exception. At my wedding I was proud of him and the rest of the fam because they contrasted so highly from that of PA's.

My romantic fairytale story wedding looked like this:
The prodigal son of a wealthy man sowed his wild oats into a lowly peasant's daughter. Her family then tries to climb the social ladder by marrying her off to the wealthy man's son. Oh the shame on the Noble family! Complete it with her friends bringing the kegs of beer and bags of pot, the bride laughing about it being a shotgun wedding, and the awesome brokendown camper with Nebraska plates that chugged onto the Estate Lands that unloaded what seemed to be an unsafe amount of people from its bowels. Elvis was in that throng of travelers from Nebraska. You'd half expect to hear "Shake, Rattle, and Roll" being played as it rolled in. My dad's side would be more"Dueling Banjos".

Ahhhh. The feathers of those little old rich biddies were certainly unruffled that day! As to be expected the sides never got on, but the Noble family did notice the good charateristics and qualities of the peasant's daughter. She became a staple in the family even after the marriage ended.

Now, back to Bernard AKA Elvis...I will remember him fondly for his kindnesses to me and for shaking up those complacent people. I will cherish and respect his determination to abide by a certain aesthetic right upto his death. Cheers, Bernard! You never let that flame die out!