More Things I Learned in Indiana:
B) Apparently, there is a desperate shortage of early 30 something men in Indianapolis who are neither fat, bald, or saddled with 37 children. Here in NYC, in a sea of the model thin and perfectly coiffed, I'm a drunk slob coasting on Irish charm and Midwestern "Aw shucks" manners...but back there it was like I was Brad Freaking Pitt. Waitresses, clerks, and bar tenders were all over me. One poor cashier at Trader Joe's was basically ready to jump me across the counter.
Look people who know me know that I am not a vain man (intellectual vanity doesn't count)...I'm not a "She was all over me" kinda guy...this shit was just really happening. It was a tremendous ego boast. If I weren't also a principled man (and staying with my grandparents) I might have nailed a swath right through the city of Indianapolis.
Anyway, Allison...what was once the pretty ballad on an angry album has become the prototype for any new music Elvis puts out. Still a great song though.
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