For those of you who are members of the UCLA north campus community, you probably know exactly what I mean when I refer to the mental hiatus that is 7^th week (we all know that south campus kids have midterms from second through ninth week, so this hibernation is not applicable). As we laze about between midterms and finals, conversations turn from academic and meaningful to strange and hypothetical. Brain reticence is one of the joys and gifts of the quarter system, I have concluded, and last night I took full advantage of this purgatory to kindle a debate. The discussion began benign, yet escalated into a heated battle royale that I concluded could only be settled via blog:

Who would be more fun to bring home (not so much to Mom, but rather to bed): Chuck Berry or Elvis Prestly?

Roommate #1 voiced her opinion after ruminating briefly. Chuck Berry, whose legend is shrouded in a delicious type of danger (bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks kind of thing), would probably be the better bet. While he did spend some time in jail, this only adds to the attractive edge. Also, he is very tall and knows how to wield a guitar with style and confidence (do what you will with that information). The charming innuendo in his music, usually spat with a sly grin, is enough to make a girl blush with curiosity. It was a well-crafted argument.

Roommate #2 countered in defense of Elvis. Weirdly, her point was best made when she pointed out, “Dude, it’s Elvis!” While this seems insufficient, think about the weight behind it: the man has an entire cult following behind him. Glamour, looks, that sexy sneer, and a boyish southern drawl that licks at your ears… Elvis’s pelvis needn’t even be mentioned, as the mere utterance of his name evokes images of the chaos that seized pop culture in the 1950’s. For the record, let it be known that 7^th week female minds take only 1950’s Elvis into consideration. All of that post-weight-gain disco suit Vegas iconography falls by the wayside in this debate.

Roommate #3 was drunk and making soup. Consequently, she could not be reached for comment.

The apartment boyfriend weighed in confidently: “Oh, Chuck Berry, all the way.” He was able to make this declaration without a shred of consideration. Upon my questioning of this, he explained to me that Elvis didn’t even approach the list of men for whom it would be acceptable to swing (a list that includes but is not limited to David Bowie, Michael Stipe, and Bill Murray, which is just gross). I would have accused him of racial profiling had it not been for Bill Murray. Needless to say, apparently Elvis’ charm isn’t enough to cajole a straight man across the line.

As for me, a lady never tells (her own preference… she just tells on her roommates). However, I would like to know what you think. Gentlemen, throw your two cents in there as well! Let us get to the bottom of this, and also take time to revel in the beauty that is 7th week!

  + Christina Gubala +