A Red Christmas, 2001
By Michelle Brose

Why is it when I go to Red Elvises shows, I usually end up starving?

My trek to see the Red Elvises--scratch that, my pilgrimage to RE Mecca--started out when my uncle invited us to come for Christmas and meet our new baby cousins. Knowing that I'd never have a better chance to visit the boys on their home territory, I made my entire family wait to plan the trip until they updated their tour page. I was in luck; they had a date for Rusty's that was just within my window of opportunity. Of course, it would involve driving from San Jose to Santa Monica the day after we arrived at 2 a.m., but so what?

I'll spare you the details of that horrendous trip. Suffice it to say the story involved lost luggage, a lost sister, and another piece of important luggage marked "Fragile" getting an anvil dropped on it (ok, I have no proof it was an anvil, but that's just about the only thing that could do that amount of damage). To add insult to injury, during the flight the stewardess cheerily announced "We have good news and bad news for y'all. The good news is that y'all are gonna lose some weight on this flight! The bad news is, we forgot to load your little Happy Meals onto the airplane in time, so we're just going to forget about dinner and serve you a tiny bag of pretzels instead. Thank you for flying American Airlines!"

But that was ok, because I was going to see the Red Elvises the next day!

So we arrived in the middle of the night, and did a cursory inspection of the refrigerator before collapsing. There was skim milk, orange juice, and kimchee in there. Nothing else. Not being licensed to handle hazardous materials, we decided to leave the kimchee alone and just find a 7-11 in the morning.

But that was ok, because I was going to see the Red Elvises the next day!

So the next morning we got up early and went straight to the airport to collect the missing sister, find the missing bag, and complain about the damaged one. Doing all that took hours, so at around 4 in the afternoon we were finally ready to set off for Santa Monica. We still hadn't eaten, so we stopped briefly at one of the thousands of 7-11s that apparently dot California every three blocks, and picked up some prepackaged breakfast items. We jetted off, planning to eat on the way. I bit into the lovely large cranberry muffin I had chosen. It was moldy. So was everything else.

But that was ok, because I was going to see the Red Elvises in just a few hours!

We drove and drove, and drove some more. It got later and later. Since surely we couldn't be far from Rusty's, where we had dinner reservations, there was no sense in stopping to eat, right?

We finally arrived sometime during the second set. At that point I was just glad I hadn't missed everything!

I waited by the bar while my mother parked the car, and looked into the crowd to see if I could spot Kayt. A vaguely familiar man stepped in front of me to order a drink, and then turned to me and greeted me warmly, as if he knew me. "Hi! Great to see you! So glad you could come!" he exclaimed, patting my hand and rubbing my arm. I muttered a polite thanks, wondering if it was someone from Red Chat I didn't recognize. He collected his drink, and left to join the small crowd at the stage with a wave. I was a little bewildered, but figured it was probably just someone who read The Red Pages.

The crowd was loosely knit, and very friendly; several people waved me forward. (I believe the fellow from the bar was one of them.) I made an educated guess that the person dancing front row center would be Kayt, and pointed her out to my family. Sure enough, I was right, and Kayt waved us forward the rest of the way. The Elvises were in the middle of a song but they greeted me with big smiles, and I mouthed "Hi!" to each of them. After the song was over Zhenya leaned towards the microphone and said "I see the beautiful people have come to join us!" I grinned.

I missed a great deal of the show, but while I was there I got to hear some of the new material like Sunshine, which sounds fabulous. The Elvii were clearly at home on the small stage at Rusty's; Igor and Oleg were doing some serious pelvis shaking, and Zhenya looked like he was enjoying himself. At one point he moved more towards the center of the stage where Kayt and I were, and I took the opportunity to examine his Nice Shoes (black with flames printed on them, and a rounded toe) when all of a sudden the shoes stepped down off the low stage, and Zhenya was beside me. I looked up, and he had struck the classic guitar god pose, bending back slightly, face contorted in concentration on the music.

"Be cool!" my left brain advised, and I successfully resisted the urge to sqeal like a teenage girl. Instead I watched his fingers spider across the guitar strings, taking it all in, and probably grinning like a fool the entire time.

Not to be outdone, during Jerry's Got the Squeezebox, Igor pulled up his collar and put on his Elvis glasses, and hunkered down to the floor before me with the rest of the crowd following suit. Well in the throes of his Elvis channelling, Igor looked at me and commented that he'd like to sit on my lap, to which the crowd and I chuckled. (The Elvises have clearly learned the secret of success; pay close attention to the girls who write glowing reviews!)

During Sad Cowboy Song, I saw the fellow who had greeted me at the bar leading the conga line. Just about everybody in the crowd joined it, at least as far as I could see; the only ones who didn't were the people standing closest to the stage.

The show was over far too quickly for me, as always. The Elvises left the stage to mingle with the fans and then go home. Kayt and I finally had a chance to actually say hello, and started chatting about how great the show was. We agreed that the view, especially of Zhenya, was fabulous! She mentioned offhand that Jeff Falcon was there, and it suddenly hit me... could he be the guy from the bar?

She took me over to meet him and Vlad, and sure enough, it was the same person. He greeted me warmly again and asked "Did you recognize me?". I shook my head, and when he smilingly asked why, I (obviously not thinking straight) said quite possibly the rudest thing one could say to a martial arts champion and international film star. I blurted out "You look shorter in real life", immediately regretting my words. (If I'd had a reasonable level of glucose in my blood, I like to think I would have uttered something suave and cool like "You looked grizzled and edgy in Six String Samurai, but in real life you look clean-cut." I must have the worst case of treppenwitz in recorded history.)

Jeff took it in stride, cheerfully replying that he was "short like Tom Cruise, but that's ok because I film tall!" I was still mortified, and decided it would be bad form to ask for an autograph after such a remark. But he kindly offered me one nonetheless, and signed a postcard sized "Freakshow" card for me. He chatted for a bit, explaining about how he had come to know the Elvises and shoot a movie with them. I was very impressed with Jeff; not only is he a kickass martial artist, but he's outgoing and friendly, and a perfect gentleman. And he obviously has impeccable taste in music!

Rusty's was starting to empty out, but Kayt and I had to take some pictures to commemorate the occasion, and meet and greet some of the other fans like Christine. There was no food to be had at that point, but I drained half of a Shirley Temple in one gulp (the much needed sugar going straight to my head), and suddenly Rusty's was empty. The joint was closed. Fortunately, it was late enough at night that breakfast was only a few hours away, and as we feasted on our first proper meal in two days, we decided it had all been worth the aggravation... for the view, if nothing else!