http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhfQ5Cm_rs0
It’s 7:00 am on a hot, summer, Colorado morning. The car is loaded with snacks, costumes, a variety of microphones and a lame collection of 80’s music for the drive. Shelvis and I are off to South Dakota for the Miss Wheelchair America competition, where Shelvis is the headline act for the night.
Shelvis is actually an entertainer named Lori Marie Muha. She is somewhat of a local celebrity in Denver, Colorado. As you might ascertain from her moniker, she is an Elvis impersonator. And while performing Elvis is how she got her start in show biz, at the tender age of 9 years old, her act is much bigger than crooning like the King.
Lori begins her show dressed as Buddy Holly. She sings (yes, sings… not lip syncs) a variety of music from 1950’s legends like Ricky Nelson, Dion and Buddy Holly. Then, right before the audience’s eyes, she changes jackets and shirts (she layers them) and becomes John Travolta, aka Danny, from Grease. Undoubtedly her best character, Lori strikes an uncanny resemblance to Travolta and has his mannerisms down to a science. She sings songs from Grease, involving the audience throughout. Every show has a Sandy-wannabe who eagerly comes up to help with “Summer Nights”. Lori moves into her other characters in a similar fashion, changing shirts or jackets to become Neil Diamond, Tom Jones, and, of course, Elvis. The highlight of the show is at the end when she strips down to her final costume revealing her womanly features and long black hair while Shania Twain sings “Feels Like a Woman” in the background. The crowd is always amazed, and often confused, to learn that this good looking man who was flirting with the women in the room is actually a woman. Ironically, unless Shelvis is playing for a gay audience, the crowd rarely makes the connection that Lori is a Lesbian.
I’ve been to more Shelvis shows in the three years we’ve been together than I can count. I’m often asked if I tire of seeing the show over and over again, but the answer is emphatically no. Every show is different. Every audience is different. Shelvis performs at the VFW Hall and at Pridefest to equally enthusiastic audiences. I knew this show would be different. I just didn’t know how different.
As we made our way across Colorado, Wyoming, and Nebraska, Lori’s excitement for the show grew exponentially with each mile. This show is different for Lori. It’s very personal. Santina Muha, her niece, is competing in the contest as Miss Wheelchair New Jersey. Santina has no idea that her aunt is coming, let alone performing. It’s a surprise Lori has been plotting for two months. Santina is very dear to Lori and they have both had a tough year, losing Lori’s mother (Santina’s grandmother) to cancer about a year ago. Santina also lost her other grandmother a few months ago. Both Santina and Lori are in desperate need of some healing from these losses.
We arrived in South Dakota seven hours later, tired yet excited. Although Lori’s intention was to surprise Santina at the event when she performed, she couldn’t postpone seeing her niece another second. She sought her out immediately and found her in an interview session. Santina was, of course, shocked and thrilled to see her.
As we milled around the hotel in the hours before the show we began to realize the significance of the contest. The contestants, 27 in all, represent their states, but they also represent vast differences in their disabilities. We saw beautiful young women in their early 20’s are who are recently disabled from an accident or tragic event. These women compete side-by-side with women who were born with Cerebral Palsy and have lived with their disabilities their entire lives. There were as many different versions of disability as there were women. Some had arms, some didn’t. Some were in their 20’s, some were in their 30’s. Some could perform most functions on their own, others needed a constant companion. But all were accomplished in their own way. And all were there to compete for, and win, the Ms. Wheelchair America crown and sash.
Since 1972 the mission of Ms. Wheelchair America has been to “provide an opportunity for women of achievement, who happen to be wheelchair users, to successfully educate and advocate for the more than 52 million Americans living with disabilities.” It is a competition based on “advocacy, achievement, communication and presentation to select the most accomplished and articulate spokesperson for individuals with disabilities.”
The contest itself lasts for over four days. The events leading up to the crowning include dozens of interviews and who knows what else. We are there for the first night of the contest and the theme is 50’s night. The contestants are properly dressed in poodle skirts and pony tails for the event. Shelvis is the entertainment for the evening, which Santina is unaware of. She has seen her aunt perform in relative’s living rooms, but has never seen her entire act. Shelvis paces nervously outside of the banquet room, awaiting her introduction. When she is finally introduced, Santina screams with delight and with contagious energy, her fellow contestants follow suit. Shelvis performs the show of her life, singing and dancing with the girls, including everyone in the act. The love and pride between Santina and Shelvis was evident throughout the evening.
At one point in the show, Lori asks for volunteers in the audience to come up and be her “greasers” for the Grease Lightening portion of the show. Every single girl came up and circled Shelvis in their chairs. They all danced in their own way and laughed and sang and cheered. It was an amazing sight.
And then, at the end of the show, when Shelvis reveals herself as a woman, the irony came full circle. Just as Shelvis reveals the person underneath the costumes, these girls were revealing to the world that they are not women in wheelchairs. They are accomplished, beautiful, intelligent women with so much more to show to the world than what the world sees at first glance. The delightful surprise of finding beauty and talent in unsuspecting places is the lesson these girls are here to teach us. What a wonderful world it is for those of us willing to open our minds and take a second look.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A Vision and Talent are a very powerful combination
Shelvis told me that her dream was to perform on a large stage with an amazing light show. Just once, she said, would she want to do that.
That will probably happen to her because she happens to have that winning combination of vision and talent. She can describe to me in detail what this dream-come-true would be like. She would be on stage as Shelvis, the lights would come up, an announcer would announce her, the crowd would roar and the light show would dance in perfect synchronicity with her talent. I have no doubt that she will create this for herself because she has the vision, the talent, and the belief that this can come true. I can't wait.
I had a vision that I would be a nationally-ranked figure skater and that all those people who called me chubby in junior high would be in awe, wishing they could call me their friend. The vision was there. It was crystal clear. Unfortunately, the talent was conspicuously absent. I couldn't even do a simple jump, let alone a triple cow-toe or camel-toe or whatever... See, I don't even know what I couldn't do. A serious problem for want-a-be nationally-ranked figure skaters.
My cousin Scott is an amazing musician. I mean, amazing. He dreams songs in his sleep and then wakes up and writes them down. Now that's a gift. I think he perhaps has the vision too. I'm hoping he falls into the same category as Shelvis... that winning talent/vision combo that makes dreams come true. I worry that his vision isn't as crystal clear, though, and that would be a serious sadness for society who would be robbed of his talent.
Shelvis has received several calls from America's Got Talent. They like her show and they want her to do a private audition for them in Austin. Once again, that winning combo of talent and vision are coming into play. The hard part is getting Shelvis to hold on to that vision. When you do what she does for so long, with only limited success, I guess it's hard to put complete faith in the fact that you really might be discovered afterall. That's when that very dangerous thing called doubt can swoop in and destroy that vision, those dreams that really could come true. We are fighting doubt, but it is a strong adversary to say the least.
So, at age (almost) 50, I'm pretty certain the my hopes to be a nationally-ranked figure skater are dashed. I have other hopes though, and I actually have a bit of talent, and maybe that will be a winning combo for me. But, without a doubt, I am enjoying watching Shelvis as potential success comes raining from the sky like a gift from God. The best part... she truly is humble about it all. Perhaps that is the key that will bring it all together.
That will probably happen to her because she happens to have that winning combination of vision and talent. She can describe to me in detail what this dream-come-true would be like. She would be on stage as Shelvis, the lights would come up, an announcer would announce her, the crowd would roar and the light show would dance in perfect synchronicity with her talent. I have no doubt that she will create this for herself because she has the vision, the talent, and the belief that this can come true. I can't wait.
I had a vision that I would be a nationally-ranked figure skater and that all those people who called me chubby in junior high would be in awe, wishing they could call me their friend. The vision was there. It was crystal clear. Unfortunately, the talent was conspicuously absent. I couldn't even do a simple jump, let alone a triple cow-toe or camel-toe or whatever... See, I don't even know what I couldn't do. A serious problem for want-a-be nationally-ranked figure skaters.
My cousin Scott is an amazing musician. I mean, amazing. He dreams songs in his sleep and then wakes up and writes them down. Now that's a gift. I think he perhaps has the vision too. I'm hoping he falls into the same category as Shelvis... that winning talent/vision combo that makes dreams come true. I worry that his vision isn't as crystal clear, though, and that would be a serious sadness for society who would be robbed of his talent.
Shelvis has received several calls from America's Got Talent. They like her show and they want her to do a private audition for them in Austin. Once again, that winning combo of talent and vision are coming into play. The hard part is getting Shelvis to hold on to that vision. When you do what she does for so long, with only limited success, I guess it's hard to put complete faith in the fact that you really might be discovered afterall. That's when that very dangerous thing called doubt can swoop in and destroy that vision, those dreams that really could come true. We are fighting doubt, but it is a strong adversary to say the least.
So, at age (almost) 50, I'm pretty certain the my hopes to be a nationally-ranked figure skater are dashed. I have other hopes though, and I actually have a bit of talent, and maybe that will be a winning combo for me. But, without a doubt, I am enjoying watching Shelvis as potential success comes raining from the sky like a gift from God. The best part... she truly is humble about it all. Perhaps that is the key that will bring it all together.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Shelvis, part two
Three years ago I had never been in a VFW Hall. Or an Elks Lodge.
Today, I can walk into the VFW Hall in Arvada and feel like Norm... everyone knows my name (or rather knows that I'm with Shelvis) and they buy me a drink. At the Elks Lodge in Denver, I have participated in the 11th hour ritual, holding hands with complete strangers, in a circle, in the bar, honoring those Elks and Elkettes who have passed on to the big pasture in the sky.
Shelvis has certainly taken me places I've never been before. And I've met people I would most certainly never have an opportunity to meet otherwise. Who would have thought that a man who is respected as "Commander Dave" at the VFW Hall would be someone I would call a friend?
Shelvis performs a lot at VFW Halls and Elks' Lodges. That is definitely a niche for her. It's always a delight to the Veterens to watch the faces of any newly inducted Vet's as they enjoy what they think is a damn good impersonator of Elvis, John Travolta, Buddy Holly, Tom Jones and Neil Diamond strip of most of her outfits and end up impersonating Shania Twain in chaps and a sexy shirt. Once, a moderately drunk guest at the VFW hall actually took off her panties and threw them on Shelvis during her Tom Jones set, only to be completely mortified when Shelvis revealed herself as a woman. It still makes me laugh to recall the look on her face.
Today, I can walk into the VFW Hall in Arvada and feel like Norm... everyone knows my name (or rather knows that I'm with Shelvis) and they buy me a drink. At the Elks Lodge in Denver, I have participated in the 11th hour ritual, holding hands with complete strangers, in a circle, in the bar, honoring those Elks and Elkettes who have passed on to the big pasture in the sky.
Shelvis has certainly taken me places I've never been before. And I've met people I would most certainly never have an opportunity to meet otherwise. Who would have thought that a man who is respected as "Commander Dave" at the VFW Hall would be someone I would call a friend?
Shelvis performs a lot at VFW Halls and Elks' Lodges. That is definitely a niche for her. It's always a delight to the Veterens to watch the faces of any newly inducted Vet's as they enjoy what they think is a damn good impersonator of Elvis, John Travolta, Buddy Holly, Tom Jones and Neil Diamond strip of most of her outfits and end up impersonating Shania Twain in chaps and a sexy shirt. Once, a moderately drunk guest at the VFW hall actually took off her panties and threw them on Shelvis during her Tom Jones set, only to be completely mortified when Shelvis revealed herself as a woman. It still makes me laugh to recall the look on her face.
Monday, December 29, 2008
The adventures of an Elvis Impersonator roadie-part one
Okay, so roadie might be an exaggeration of sorts.
Afterall, it's not like I get paid. And, at my age, I mostly flirt with guys in the parking lot to get them to help us because carrying heavy equipment doesn't do much for my back. My main job is schlepping costumes and standing in the wings while Shelvis entertains the crowds.
Okay, so crowds might be an exaggeration. Most of her (yes her) gigs are private birthday parties and VFW events. Once a year she puts on a big one-woman show, which does indeed bring in a crowd of 250-300. But the typical show is for a more intimate group.
Shelvis is a local celebrity. Just ask the Elvis Connection. Yes, there is a fan club. A very loyal fan club. And while they are fans of all the local Elvis impersonators, and really, just about anything that has to do with Elvis, they do love Shelvis best.
Perhaps you've run into the Elvis Connection. If you happen to be eating at a Fuddruckers on a Sunday afternoon and you see about 50 people wearing Elvis ties and carrying Elvis purses that would be them. The leader is a very bubbly, pretty blond named Susie. The members vary from Senior Citizens to 22-year old Lesbians. Some day I will figure out how this vastly different group of Elvis lovers all found each other. But for now, I just know them as this intriguing group of people who have a passion for Elvis and who will travel come sleet or snow to see Shelvis perform those ageless songs and timeless hip gyrations.
And there I stand, in the wings, handing Shelvis scarves and guitars and sometimes getting free drinks.
I've never been an Elvis fan. I'm still not. In fact, as an avid Beatles' fan, it seems sacrilegious to even profess to know the words to Jailhouse Rock. I don't so much as own a single Elvis recording and if you catch me humming along, well, I guess I just got caught up in the moment.
There is something about that man, Elvis. It's a mystery to me, but his attraction is more powerful today than when he was alive. Who knew there was this subculture of Denverites who gather to celebrate his music at least once a month? Who knew there were more than a dozen people in this town who make a fairly decent second income performing as Elvis at retirement parties and summer picnics?
So, what's in it for me? Stay tuned...
Afterall, it's not like I get paid. And, at my age, I mostly flirt with guys in the parking lot to get them to help us because carrying heavy equipment doesn't do much for my back. My main job is schlepping costumes and standing in the wings while Shelvis entertains the crowds.
Okay, so crowds might be an exaggeration. Most of her (yes her) gigs are private birthday parties and VFW events. Once a year she puts on a big one-woman show, which does indeed bring in a crowd of 250-300. But the typical show is for a more intimate group.
Shelvis is a local celebrity. Just ask the Elvis Connection. Yes, there is a fan club. A very loyal fan club. And while they are fans of all the local Elvis impersonators, and really, just about anything that has to do with Elvis, they do love Shelvis best.
Perhaps you've run into the Elvis Connection. If you happen to be eating at a Fuddruckers on a Sunday afternoon and you see about 50 people wearing Elvis ties and carrying Elvis purses that would be them. The leader is a very bubbly, pretty blond named Susie. The members vary from Senior Citizens to 22-year old Lesbians. Some day I will figure out how this vastly different group of Elvis lovers all found each other. But for now, I just know them as this intriguing group of people who have a passion for Elvis and who will travel come sleet or snow to see Shelvis perform those ageless songs and timeless hip gyrations.
And there I stand, in the wings, handing Shelvis scarves and guitars and sometimes getting free drinks.
I've never been an Elvis fan. I'm still not. In fact, as an avid Beatles' fan, it seems sacrilegious to even profess to know the words to Jailhouse Rock. I don't so much as own a single Elvis recording and if you catch me humming along, well, I guess I just got caught up in the moment.
There is something about that man, Elvis. It's a mystery to me, but his attraction is more powerful today than when he was alive. Who knew there was this subculture of Denverites who gather to celebrate his music at least once a month? Who knew there were more than a dozen people in this town who make a fairly decent second income performing as Elvis at retirement parties and summer picnics?
So, what's in it for me? Stay tuned...
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Cocktail hour and the demise of the American Family
Americans today teeter between tee-totalling and all-out party animals. You are either the flashy clubber, hopping from martini to martini or you are the nice, stay at home type who prefers to spend evenings watching HGTV and discussing the next paint color for the dining room.
Drinking as a family event has disappeared from the typical suburban routine. The cocktail hour as a common aspect of family life has died. An important thread in the fabric of a well-connected family, it has unraveled and been replaced with harried family members moving through the end of their day and dinner time to get on to the next event.
I grew up in the sixties and seventies. We had a traditional family of a working dad, a stay-at home mom, two kids and a cat. And we had routines. These routines were not unlike the routines other suburban families of the time. We ate meals together. We watched TV together. We took Sunday drives together. But most importantly, we had a time at the end of every work or school day to share what happened during the day. That was the cocktail hour.
Upon reflection, I always took for granted the daily cocktail hour. My dad would return from work at 5:30 and we were required to present ourselves in the living room where my parents would have a "high ball" and snacks and we would recount the events of the day. More often than not I would offer an excuse why my time would be better spent elsewhere. But, no. The excuse was never good enough.
They never had more than two highballs and cocktail hour never spilled into dinner time or TV time or any other time.
Why has the cocktail hour disappeared from American life? It's not that I am advocating drinking as a family activity. But what I am suggesting is that for whatever reason, we've lost that precious hour at the end of a work day to reconnect with the people we support and who support us. Now families come home to immediate chaos. Our lives and our families are so busy that we have eliminated that time to talk about the events of the day. Even dinner time (if practiced at all) has become something to get through, rather than enjoy.
It's the unwinding we are missing as a family. The time spent sharing the story about the crazy mail room clerk or the mean boss or the praise or disappointment of the day. Without the cocktail hour when do we get to share the trivial events that so intricately build upon each other to create a life style, a career, a family...
And, couldn't we all use a highball now and then?
Drinking as a family event has disappeared from the typical suburban routine. The cocktail hour as a common aspect of family life has died. An important thread in the fabric of a well-connected family, it has unraveled and been replaced with harried family members moving through the end of their day and dinner time to get on to the next event.
I grew up in the sixties and seventies. We had a traditional family of a working dad, a stay-at home mom, two kids and a cat. And we had routines. These routines were not unlike the routines other suburban families of the time. We ate meals together. We watched TV together. We took Sunday drives together. But most importantly, we had a time at the end of every work or school day to share what happened during the day. That was the cocktail hour.
Upon reflection, I always took for granted the daily cocktail hour. My dad would return from work at 5:30 and we were required to present ourselves in the living room where my parents would have a "high ball" and snacks and we would recount the events of the day. More often than not I would offer an excuse why my time would be better spent elsewhere. But, no. The excuse was never good enough.
They never had more than two highballs and cocktail hour never spilled into dinner time or TV time or any other time.
Why has the cocktail hour disappeared from American life? It's not that I am advocating drinking as a family activity. But what I am suggesting is that for whatever reason, we've lost that precious hour at the end of a work day to reconnect with the people we support and who support us. Now families come home to immediate chaos. Our lives and our families are so busy that we have eliminated that time to talk about the events of the day. Even dinner time (if practiced at all) has become something to get through, rather than enjoy.
It's the unwinding we are missing as a family. The time spent sharing the story about the crazy mail room clerk or the mean boss or the praise or disappointment of the day. Without the cocktail hour when do we get to share the trivial events that so intricately build upon each other to create a life style, a career, a family...
And, couldn't we all use a highball now and then?
Monday, November 3, 2008
The moral dilema of career choices
I remember a Journalism professor saying that Journalists have a Jesus complex. They want to save the world. And, rightly so. It needs saving.
At age 22, fresh-faced and ready to do my part as one of society's watch dogs, I joined the world of small-town journalists as the editor of the Lake County Citizen. Thrilled to be contributing by reporting the important goings on in Leadville, Colorado, I was quickly disillusioned by the corporate malaise that penetrates every decent venture.
That was 1981.
After a series of jobs and careers which all fortunately built upon each other, I find myself in a career that I believed made an important contribution to society. Yes, this base requirement of making a difference in the world while still generating more than a meager income, felt right to me. I make a living educating people saving for retirement. A noble cause indeed. I stand before politicians and executives and convince them of my passion to help people retire with dignity. And by so doing, they most certainly choose my company to administer their 401k or 457 plan (or so I like to believe).
All was well in my quest to make a difference in the world, until the big financial paradigm shift that happened a month or so ago.
How could a nation like ours make such bad decisions, creating a downward spiral to beat all spirials.
And then it occurred to me. It was the invention of the 401k that started it all. The 401k made every citizen an investor, regardless of their skill, desire or ability. Before the 401k, the only people who played in the stock market were a few hundred thousand people who knew exactly what they were doing and spent a lot of time watching their portfolios. Now, we have a nation of uninformed investors who panic and sell low and get excited and buy high.
It's not right.
It's as if the nation as a whole decided that if you want to drive a car you need to become a mechanic and do all repairs yourself. Certainly there would be an abundance of abandoned cars littering our roadways were that the case.
And here I am, in yet another career moral dilema. But this time I truly can make a difference. Apparently it is the lot of Americans to invest their own money. Now, more than ever, is when we need education for American investors, who are justifiably leary of the institutions who have bullied them into saving, and for what.
I guess my Jesus complex is kicking in again.
At age 22, fresh-faced and ready to do my part as one of society's watch dogs, I joined the world of small-town journalists as the editor of the Lake County Citizen. Thrilled to be contributing by reporting the important goings on in Leadville, Colorado, I was quickly disillusioned by the corporate malaise that penetrates every decent venture.
That was 1981.
After a series of jobs and careers which all fortunately built upon each other, I find myself in a career that I believed made an important contribution to society. Yes, this base requirement of making a difference in the world while still generating more than a meager income, felt right to me. I make a living educating people saving for retirement. A noble cause indeed. I stand before politicians and executives and convince them of my passion to help people retire with dignity. And by so doing, they most certainly choose my company to administer their 401k or 457 plan (or so I like to believe).
All was well in my quest to make a difference in the world, until the big financial paradigm shift that happened a month or so ago.
How could a nation like ours make such bad decisions, creating a downward spiral to beat all spirials.
And then it occurred to me. It was the invention of the 401k that started it all. The 401k made every citizen an investor, regardless of their skill, desire or ability. Before the 401k, the only people who played in the stock market were a few hundred thousand people who knew exactly what they were doing and spent a lot of time watching their portfolios. Now, we have a nation of uninformed investors who panic and sell low and get excited and buy high.
It's not right.
It's as if the nation as a whole decided that if you want to drive a car you need to become a mechanic and do all repairs yourself. Certainly there would be an abundance of abandoned cars littering our roadways were that the case.
And here I am, in yet another career moral dilema. But this time I truly can make a difference. Apparently it is the lot of Americans to invest their own money. Now, more than ever, is when we need education for American investors, who are justifiably leary of the institutions who have bullied them into saving, and for what.
I guess my Jesus complex is kicking in again.
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