Ladies and Gentlemen, the Elvi have left the building.

I read my last blog (about my musical history) for the first time since I wrote it and it sure did sound boastful. And show-offy. A little pretentious, even. Sorry. Guess I was feeling a certain 'lack of self' at the time I wrote it so I had to try and lift myself above the rest. I'm human. And after all, I really am just a regular "cat" like all of you. That's a joke, sort of. An inside joke, really. A guy really said that to me once. He was an Elvis Impersonator.

That sounds too good to just leave alone so, OK, I'll tell this story quickly... or not. Since I can't tell stories quickly. But it's funny, so I hope you'll read on.

Back to the musical history stuff again. It was 2000 when I was performing locally in the oldies band, Jukebox, when we got a call to work a three weekend stint at the Apache Gold Casino in Miami/Globe, AZ, about 90 minutes east of Phoenix. Tough logistics since the gigs were Thurs., Fri. and Sat. nights and I was still working the day job as a kitchen manager at the Dial Corporation. (No, I have never blogged about that so don't bother looking it up.) Playing a gig until 12:30 am on a Thursday night, driving an hour and a half home, sleeping 2 1/2 hours and getting up for work at 5 am, well...let's be real...it sucked. But it was only one night a week since on the Friday and Saturday gigs I could take advantage of the hotel rooms the casino provided us.

So, this Elvis Impersonator, (I'll call him "Bob" to protect his identity since he still performs in Nevada regularly and I would not want to slander him in a public forum), was, to say the least, an extreme egomaniac. Though he did put on an entertaining show, he never let an opportunity pass without telling you so. An hour before our first show, during our sound check, despite being late to that because he flew his mommy in for the show - which was creepy all by itself, he insisted we listen to his demo tape. Now, one of my best friends is a professional commercial sound engineer who has heard his share of voice-over and music demo reels to last a lifetime, and let me tell you...never are they typically more than 3 minutes. If it's 5 minutes it's not even considered. "Bob's" tape went on for 20 minutes. Mediocre impression after mediocre impression of the usual suspects. George Bush. Oh, ha-ha. Bill Clinton. Wow, never heard that one before. Wait a minute...was that just Arnold Schwarzenegger? What a riot. It never ended. And it was interactive. He actually had a part where he spoke to the tape and acted out little skits with it. You'd hear the set up of a joke on the tape and he would answer it onstage in the microphone, as say...Sammy Davis, Jr. or Bob Hope...with the punchline. And are you sitting? He actually imitated Barney the dinosaur. (cricket, cricket)

...have you ever had a root canal? It was kinda like that.

Anyway, back to the "cat" line. So the next night we opt to take advantage of the Casino buffet (which is a major no-no when you're about to play a 3 hour gig, but...I know, I'll stop with the asides) but he happens to walk into the restaurant as we just sat down with our plates sky high full of fried chicken, King Crab legs and dry, bland hush-puppies.

"Hey guys", he says like a long lost friend. "How often do you play the Apache Gold?"

He then sits, uninvited. We tell him 'never', that this is our first foray into Pinal County and that we mostly gig in Maricopa County. Perhaps mistaking our dis-interest for apprehensive admiration, he drops the line,

"Well, hell, that's OK, guys. I played Reno long before I hit Vaygesh". (Spoken like a true Elvi). "Listen...deep inside...well, I'm a regular "cat"...just like you."

He said this with as much sincerity as I think he was capable of and it was as if he felt like he "put us at ease". He then ascended from the table, like his mission was accomplished in making the "guys" feel better, and slithered away from the table with a series of inaudible "Hi's" and "How are ya's" accompanied by the hand "gun" that fired/pointed towards an "admirer" and solidified the greeting with a wink.

That last bit was not writers embellishment. He honest to goodness, actually did that. I don't think we ever laughed so hard in an eating establishment before or since. We finished the 3 weeks playing behind the greatest Elvis Impersonator who ever thought he was, and not just as better musicians...

....we were better men for having backed him. Now pass the peanut butter.