Armed Forces was really the first record with which I ever felt an inexplicable connection beyond the attainable beauties of melody and harmony, here was a record that spurred me into figuring out exactly who I was, and why. If only I could work up the gumption to repeat Costello’s lines to him over the phone, wouldn’t that be liberating? On some days, unusually inspired by my repressed anger and resentment, I would contemplate defacing my Army t-shirt (bought and worn with ironic intent) with the words “Don’t Join” emblazoned in black Sharpie on the back, in homage to Costello’s promotional photo where he stood angling a machinegun barrel down his throat. Tell me what it’s like to be like the big boys, how it feels to wear your green shirt with its impeccably shiny buttons. ![]() ![]() Yeah, I’d think to myself, you’ll take me in your office and tell me very carefully the ways that I can benefit from death and disability. I would roll my eyes, politely decline his invitation for the upteenth time, slam the receiver in its cradle and quickly find refuge in Elvis Costello’s Armed Forces. “Hey Zeth,” he’d positively chirp like he was part of Ed McMahon’s prize patrol, boasting an opportunity of unparalleled excellence, “I’m going to be in your neighborhood tomorrow afternoon, so how’s about I swing by to chat? Does 4:00 sound good to you?” Sure, I was ready to entertain any option that would rescue me from the clutches of my claustrophobically small town, but in no way would I give in to the blockheaded parasite who felt compelled to harass me on a routine basis. ![]() As an 11th grade student contemplating an impending post-high school fate, I quickly learned to dread the unsolicited phone calls of the Army recruiter.
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