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...
Monday, December 29, 2008
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?
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