Paul Dandy looks a little out of his element. It's a few minutes before 6:00 p.m. at the Uptown Bar, and the usual group of youngish semi-bohemians has gathered for drinks. A burly guy whose red lumberjack flannel shirt and navy blue railroad engineer's cap betray not a thread of hipster irony, Dandy orders a merlot with ice and a chocolate milk. For ID, he presents a Tennessee driver's license, and it takes about four seconds before our server realizes that the name on the laminated card reads "Presley, Elvis." Dandy shrugs and presents proper identification, and the barely amused waitress leaves. After lighting a slightly bent Lucky Strike, Dandy mutters, "Sometimes it... More >>>