The same I did to them, baby,
I can do to you.
‘Cause I’m a Fujiyama Mama
And I’m about to blow my top.
This is The King, back before he was The King. Back before Vegas, Kabbala, and the Nixon affiliation…when he was just a crazed rockin’ polecat makin’ hot amor with the five elements in the guts of Tennessee. This photo is the epitome of whiteboy badness. (If you happen to be a whiteboy ISO The Badness, study this photo and adjust your life accordingly.) This photo, btw, comes to you courtesy of the local library…
Boy howdy, do I luv the jee-dee Iowa City Public Library. Coming in from a soultry midday bike ride, it’s like a socialist utopia in there. The a.c. pumps rich n’ even, culminating in a hermetic, soothing environ, where everyone – staff, gutterpunks, & collegefolk alike - is glad n’ irie, free-loading on: the printed word, internet vibrations, audio-visuals, and even toys & wall art…’cept they ain’t freeloadin’. They’re gettin’ somethin’ back for what they put in…which is that tasty moment where socialism shines in the eye of Thomas Jefferson. I think libraries, along with writing programs, should be the epicenter of the apocalypse. They’re that worthy of total honor, love, and ar-ee-ess-pee-ee-see-tee.
If the apocalypse happens while I’m checking out Dave Eggers’ latest fiasco, some Buddy Guy discs, and a little Borge thrown in the mix, you won’t hear me complain. I’ll ride that thermonuclear bullet into the Heart of Darkness, happy to have watched “King Corn” on DVD, courtesy of the I.C. Public library. (They also have a badass children’s section as well.)
Right now Janelle’s putting EB down & I’m listening to Rhino Records’ “Rockin’ Bones: 1950’s Punk & Rockabilly.” Certain cuts off this 4-c.d. box set have captured my heart and soul. And if you’re part of my posse, sooner or later you’ll get a mix tape from me that utilizes a track ‘r two from this dee-lightful edition. Perhaps it will include “Fujiyama Mama” by Wanda Jackson, followed by a snippet from an original broadcast by Iva D’Aquino (a.k.a. “Tokyo Rose,” an AmerAsian scapegoat into whom all Japan-loathing blames were driven just a few years before white girl rocker Wanda Jackson was stepping to the mic).
This just in: If the apocalypse happens while I’m making you a mix tape, we’ll all go to the Pure Land/Heaven and stack dominoes while Roy Orbison and Borges play shuffleboard under the moonlight. Yipee!