Tuesday, February 22, 2005

By request, I present, Phil Shane

Throughout my entire life of 28 years (soon to be 29, argh) it seems that I have always known of Elvis Presley . He has become an American icon that has been tattooed in my mind as someone as important to this country as George Washington or Abraham Lincoln. Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, Thomas Edison invented electricity, and Elvis Presley invented Rock and Roll. And despite numerous reported sightings at the local supermarket, or Betty Ford clinic, I had every reason to believe that Elvis was dead. Until that is, I was taken to see Phil Shane by a friend I had met while in Southern California training for my new job.
Looking back, I believe I may have had an idea as to what I was getting into when Stephanie explained Phil Shane as a cross between an ultra cheesy lounge singer and Elvis Presley himself. And it wasn’t until I actually walked through the door of Original Mikes in Santa Ana that I would have believed who Phil Shane really was. To put things into perspective, Phil is an all but five foot two singing machine with his greased back hair and leather pants as tight as the security at Fort Knox. His costume changes are reminiscent of a show put on by The King himself and his stage presence and groupies are what put the proverbial icing on the cake.
That’s right, I said groupies. I couldn’t believe it either when I glanced across the room to find a table full of rather large women wearing moo-moos and shaking maracas. There was even the token nursing home resident propped up in a wicker chair half-asleep in his suspenders, white shirt, and orthopedic shoes. It was at this point that I started to believe I had officially entered the “Twilight Zone.”
We found a table towards the front of the room; ordered a drink, and sat back to take in what was to become the night of a one-man karaoke musical phenomenon that is Phil Shane. Phil performed song after song written not only by Elvis (all with the quiver of the lip and the thrust of the hips), but he also performed a great rendition of Barry Manilow’s “Copa Cabana” (of which we had to get up and dance) and various tunes by Engelbert Humperdink all with this strange twist that made you believe Elvis sang it first.
Not only was this the finest night I have ever witnessed in lounge singing history, but it was also Stephanie’s birthday and I was explicitly prohibited from sharing this information with Phil. She had briefly, but sternly, mentioned that if Phil knows it’s your birthday he will put you up on stage, in a chair, and sing to you “Strokin”, by Clarence Carter all while he wiggles his hips in your face and humps your leg. I immediately thought “Now this is something I have to see”, but apparently Stephanie was not OK with the idea of Phil gyrating anywhere near her, including, but not limited to, on a stage in front of an audience. So I was ultimately sworn to secrecy which really bummed me out, but by the end of the night everything was right with the world as I was able to see it all performed on some unsuspecting lady who was intoxicated enough to find each moment extremely flattering.
Honestly, I don’t exactly remember what song Phil ended the night with, and I really don’t think it matters, because for once in my life I was in the presence of a man who truly believed that for at least 4 hours a night, 3 days a week, from Southern California, to Las Vegas, Nevada, he was the best thing since Elvis Presley sang Engelbert Humperdink.

Posted by Jen

1 comment:

Steph and Chera said...

Such an awesome night! Don't forget the picture we have of Amy grabbing Phil's ass. And WHO was that skanky girl jumping into my picture with Phil?
Point, Point, Click, Click...