A Bigger, Badder Elvis?

Last year, most kids at the HSC knew of Elvis. He was the go-to guy during anatomy. Had a question about the sural nerve? Elvis was your guy. Wanted a tour through the complexities of the male perineum? Elvis, in all his foreign glory, would lead you through the dark and scary crevices of the nether regions. MS1 Elvis also loved calling his friends, "douchebag" and being generally unsympathetic towards people who complained a lot. Elvis was, in short, a Eurotrash version of Simon Cowell (to borrow what the Slayer once said).

This year, Elvis has changed; he still goes to the library a lot, brings his cute little blue lunchbox filled with foreign food, and takes notes aggressively during class. But now, Elvis, the beta version, loves to party with his friends Ashot and B.Bo. He has been to many, many parties this year, and legen-wait for it-dary stories follow him wherever he goes. The day after a party, I always hear some ass tool say things like, "Wow, Elvis, how about that nurse?" Elvis is such a chillaxed individual that he just shrugs and smiles, which I find commendable because I hate douchebags who feel the need to regale their I-was-so-drunk-that-I-threw-up-on-my-mom-and-little-sister stories in minute detail.

This past Monday, apparently Elvis had another legendary night; so much so, that he actually showed up to class at 9:30 (gasp!). Elvis, a chronic class attender, was late. Of course, everyone in the backrow felt the need to gossip about it (and in my case blog about it) since it was such a noteworthy event in our sad, little lives (medical school is truly a soul deadening experience).

The fact that stories about Elvis getting to school late was one of the headlines the minute I got to school just made me have a tragic realization; while the backrow ballers may think of ourselves as American, our forefathers having the foresight to emigrate to the land of opportunity, we are all, at heart, overweight women with a litter of children in the villages in the Home Country gossiping about every, single dumb thing that happens in the day:
"Did you know Ali made eyes at Kareena yesterday?"
"Allah have mercy! Girls and boys fraternizing. In my day, I had not even seen Javaid until the day of our nikkah! The way these young people carry about."

Except in the backrow our conversations go like this:
"OMG, Elvis got really drunk. And why is Mariam sitting there? And why is Shlee sitting there? And why did Elvis sit in Ashot's seat? Elvis must be mad at Farrah, that's why." And so, these are the days of our lives, filled with inane, pointless gossip, and yet we persevere. So I leave you, dear blog reader, merely with a picture of Elvis and the rest of his foreign entourage (excluding Slayer, who has gracefully bowed out in honor of the holy month):

--By Mariam, who is enjoying the PBS documentary on World War II.