DOUG ELFMAN: Performers no crazier than this, even in Las Vegas

Tag : tube socket

You could see the neon's electric cord stretching from his mouth,across the stage, into an electric socket in the wall.
After Friday night's show, I asked him how easy it would be forthat neon to break inside him. Answer: Pinch your arm moderately.That's how much pressure it would take for the neon rod to shatterand possibly kill him with bleeding-to-death, electrocution orinfection.
'FINALLY, A SHOW WORTHY OF VEGAS'
This stage act is called Electric Acid Theatre. This weekend'stroupe was a collection of three sideshows from around the country.Several performers are from a Las Vegas sideshow called Swing ShiftSideShow, which includes Andrew S. and Kelvikta the Blade.
The other day, Swing Shift was invited to a UNLV sociology class ondeviant behavior, where Kelvikta was hung from the ceiling by wiresthrough hooks placed in her back.
You may have seen Andrew and Kelvikta at a corporate cocktail partyif you go to those things. When hired as walk-around entertainment,he places a skewer through her arm. He then twists that same longskewer through his own arm. Next, he puts olives on the skewer.They mingle, and people pluck olives off the skewer that binds themtogether.
Kelvikta has also performed for Comedy Central, playing what iscalled "vagina darts." She launches darts across the stage to popballoons.
This weekend, crowds sat in giant clumps to watch these acts at theSin City Ink Fest. The ringmaster was the blue guy, Enigma, whoused to eat grasshoppers in Seattle's Jim Rose Circus. He has hornsimplanted under his scalp to make him look like the devil. Thisweekend, he issued boasts as big as, "Finally, a show worthy ofVegas!"
Only a few people turned their heads or left during certain parts.Most people cheered and ogled happily. It was, after all, immenselyentertaining.
'DID THAT HURT?'
Swing Shift SideShow has booked work around the Strip, butcorporate Vegas can handle only so much nonconformist behavior, soit's not a snap to get steady gigs.
Andrew once shoved a screwdriver in his nose, hit a nerve andsneezed uncontrollably for 10 minutes. Since then, he has studiedthe anatomical nature of nasal passages to stop that from happeningagain.
How did he get this way?
Andrew is 28, a licensed massage therapist. He grew up in Hawaii.Because his dad was an anthropologist, he met a lot of interestingpeople from around the world, which inspired him to delve intoEastern and other ancient practices.
He taught himself sword swallowing at 17, learned to control hisblood pressure and to do circular breathing along the lines ofLamaze. He also uses distraction techniques to get through painfulperformances.
If viewers "freak out," that's cool, and if they cheer, that's"awesome." But what sideshows like the most is when "people come upand ask more intelligent questions beyond, 'Did that hurt?'"
Well, does it hurt?
"If I'm paying attention to it, it hurts," he says, "but there's adifference between voluntary pain and involuntary pain."
He laughs at my question, "Do you have a death wish?"
"The most dangerous part of the show is driving to the gig. Peoplewill hurt themselves more often and in deadly ways playing highschool football. Parents put young children on ATVs. That'sridiculous. What we do looks insane or crazy to you guys, but we'vepracticed, and we know what we're doing."
Andrew has injured himself a few times while swallowing swords. Afriend of his just barely escaped death after scraping a swordagainst his throat and puncturing a 2-inch hole next to his spine.
"He finished the show and went to the hospital," Andrew says. "Amonth later, he was back to sword swallowing."
'AND THEN I'M HANGING ON HOOKS'
Andrew is envious of Kelvikta because she doesn't meditate away thepain. She welcomes it. When she is suspended by hooks, she achievesmultiple sexual peaks, she says.
"When I get suspended or bloodletted," she says, "it's highlysexual and erotic and, yeah, it's pretty amazing when I get tounleash."
She laughs at my question: "Were you a 'cutter' when you were ateenager?"
"No," she says. "I danced classical ballet from 5 to 12."
Kelvikta was born and raised in Vegas. She studied belly dancing,art and music. She met Andrew five years ago and was floored by hisperformance.
"I was, like, 'Wow. This is awesome and new,'" she says. "And thenI'm hanging on hooks. ... We've been together ever since."
Kelvikta has a joyous, smile-filled personality, on stage and off.She knows exactly what's appealing about sideshow life:
"Sparkly, shiny things. Danger. Excitement. It's an exciting timeto perform, meet new people, do crazy new things, and just rollwith it, create art and do amazing things to blow people's minds,"she says.
To the contrary, Enigma thinks of his life as "beyond angst," a"career of angst," and he believes they are on the verge ofsomething big if Electric Acid Theatre could get financial andmanagerial support.
"It's a gold mine waiting for everything to line up," Enigma says,but then he quantifies money as a means, not an end:
"Some people make art to make more money to make more art to makemore money," he says. "Other people make more money to make moremoney to make more money."
"We are artists. We do not have a choice," Enigma says. "We did notchoose this. It is why you are."
Jelly Boy, the clown-faced guy who gets concrete blocks smashedagainst his scrotum, is even more insistent that sideshow acts havebeen around forever, but were doomed by the hyper-commercializationof art and TV.
"It used to be, every circus had a sideshow," Jelly Boy says. "Nowthere isn't too much of a venue for that, but that sucks."
DEFYING DEATH
The other day, Dr. Fred Preston invited the local Swing ShiftSideShow to perform for his class on the sociology of deviantbehavior. This was Swing Shift's third yearly visit to his class.
Once again, Preston -- who consulted doctors about the sideshowsand warned the students about the content -- challenged hisstudents to ponder perceptions of deviance and to wonder whetherthese were dangerous acts or merely manipulations of the human bodyand physics.
They watched one sideshow guy lie on a bed of sharp spikes.
"So he's lying on his back on the bed of nails, suspended, and asksme to step up on him," Preston says. "And I'm a pretty big guy, I'mlike at 245 (pounds), 250, and that was a difficult thing for me todo.
"And he got up. He did not bleed. He did not have punctures. Youcould see indentations on his back, which may not be dangerous butis physics."
What Preston finds interesting is the way people who are perceivedto be deviants justify their behaviors to other people. This iscalled "stigma neutralization."
"The most encompassing thing they do is say they are part of a longtradition of performance, and at the core is mind over matter," hesays.
"They say, 'I can see why you say I deserve to be stigmatized, butthat's not really what we're doing,'" Preston says.
Preston wouldn't want his daughter performing in these sideshows,although he declares, "There's nothing that deserves to bestigmatized there."
He's not sure he buys the notion that it's not death-defying.
"I would like to see the actuary tables on it."
But from the viewpoint of Enigma, any suffering is the price ofart. I asked him why he had blue puzzle pieces painstakinglytattooed on his body. Because, he said, they represent the back ofa jigsaw puzzle, which means the front pieces of the puzzle arefacing inward. In other words:
"The art's on the inside."
Doug Elfman's column appears on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays.Contact him at 383-0391 or e-mail him at delfman@reviewjournal.com.He also blogs at reviewjournal.com/elfman.
The most insane entertainment I have ever seen in Las Vegashappened at the Riviera this weekend. Do you understand what I'msaying? Since 2000, I've witnessed sanctioned orgies, aerialcontortionists, bloody fights on stage and famous people trippingon drugs. But on Friday and Saturday, one event was even crazierthan all that.
At a tattoo festival, a troupe of "sideshow" performers drillednails into their heads, ate glass, twisted skewers through theirarms, shot darts out of non-mouth orifices and swallowed swords.
One guy had a concrete block placed against his scrotum while otherperformers smashed the concrete with a hammer. Two performers bitdown on apples, blindfolded themselves and used a chain saw to cutthe apples out of their mouths.
But the most dangerous part came from a guy named Enigma, a dudewhose whole body is tattooed in blue jigsaw pieces. That guy pickedup an orange neon tube as long as his torso and as wide as a cigar,and he shoved it in his gullet, all the way down into him. Then hebowed.
You could see the neon's electric cord stretching from his mouth,across the stage, into an electric socket in the wall.
After Friday night's show, I asked him how easy it would be forthat neon to break inside him. Answer: Pinch your arm moderately.That's how much pressure it would take for the neon rod to shatterand possibly kill him with bleeding-to-death, electrocution orinfection.
'Finally, A Show Worthy Of Vegas'
This stage act is called Electric Acid Theatre. This weekend'stroupe was a collection of three sideshows from around the country.Several performers are from a Las Vegas sideshow called Swing ShiftSideShow, which includes Andrew S. and Kelvikta the Blade.
The other day, Swing Shift was invited to a UNLV sociology class ondeviant behavior, where Kelvikta was hung from the ceiling by wiresthrough hooks placed in her back.
You may have seen Andrew and Kelvikta at a corporate cocktail partyif you go to those things. When hired as walk-around entertainment,he places a skewer through her arm. He then twists that same longskewer through his own arm. Next, he puts olives on the skewer.They mingle, and people pluck olives off the skewer that binds themtogether.
Kelvikta has also performed for Comedy Central, playing what iscalled "vagina darts." She launches darts across the stage to popballoons.
This weekend, crowds sat in giant clumps to watch these acts at theSin City Ink Fest. The ringmaster was the blue guy, Enigma, whoused to eat grasshoppers in Seattle's Jim Rose Circus. He has hornsimplanted under his scalp to make him look like the devil. Thisweekend, he issued boasts as big as, "Finally, a show worthy ofVegas!"
Only a few people turned their heads or left during certain parts.Most people cheered and ogled happily. It was, after all, immenselyentertaining.
'Did That Hurt?'
Swing Shift SideShow has booked work around the Strip, butcorporate Vegas can handle only so much nonconformist behavior, soit's not a snap to get steady gigs.
Andrew once shoved a screwdriver in his nose, hit a nerve andsneezed uncontrollably for 10 minutes. Since then, he has studiedthe anatomical nature of nasal passages to stop that from happeningagain.
How did he get this way?
Andrew is 28, a licensed massage therapist. He grew up in Hawaii.Because his dad was an anthropologist, he met a lot of interestingpeople from around the world, which inspired him to delve intoEastern and other ancient practices.
He taught himself sword swallowing at 17, learned to control hisblood pressure and to do circular breathing along the lines ofLamaze. He also uses distraction techniques to get through painfulperformances.
If viewers "freak out," that's cool, and if they cheer, that's"awesome." But what sideshows like the most is when "people come upand ask more intelligent questions beyond, 'Did that hurt?'"
Well, does it hurt?
"If I'm paying attention to it, it hurts," he says, "but there's adifference between voluntary pain and involuntary pain."
He laughs at my question, "Do you have a death wish?"
"The most dangerous part of the show is driving to the gig. Peoplewill hurt themselves more often and in deadly ways playing highschool football. Parents put young children on ATVs. That'sridiculous. What we do looks insane or crazy to you guys, but we'vepracticed, and we know what we're doing."
Andrew has injured himself a few times while swallowing swords. Afriend of his just barely escaped death after scraping a swordagainst his throat and puncturing a 2-inch hole next to his spine.
"He finished the show and went to the hospital," Andrew says. "Amonth later, he was back to sword swallowing."
'And Then I'm Hanging On Hooks'
Andrew is envious of Kelvikta because she doesn't meditate away thepain. She welcomes it. When she is suspended by hooks, she achievesmultiple sexual peaks, she says.
"When I get suspended or bloodletted," she says, "it's highlysexual and erotic and, yeah, it's pretty amazing when I get tounleash."
She laughs at my question: "Were you a 'cutter' when you were ateenager?"
"No," she says. "I danced classical ballet from 5 to 12."
Kelvikta was born and raised in Vegas. She studied belly dancing,art and music. She met Andrew five years ago and was floored by hisperformance.
"I was, like, 'Wow. This is awesome and new,'" she says. "And thenI'm hanging on hooks. ... We've been together ever since."
Kelvikta has a joyous, smile-filled personality, on stage and off.She knows exactly what's appealing about sideshow life:
"Sparkly, shiny things. Danger. Excitement. It's an exciting timeto perform, meet new people, do crazy new things, and just rollwith it, create art and do amazing things to blow people's minds,"she says.
To the contrary, Enigma thinks of his life as "beyond angst," a"career of angst," and he believes they are on the verge ofsomething big if Electric Acid Theatre could get financial andmanagerial support.
"It's a gold mine waiting for everything to line up," Enigma says,but then he quantifies money as a means, not an end:
"Some people make art to make more money to make more art to makemore money," he says. "Other people make more money to make moremoney to make more money."
"We are artists. We do not have a choice," Enigma says. "We did notchoose this. It is why you are."
Jelly Boy, the clown-faced guy who gets concrete blocks smashedagainst his scrotum, is even more insistent that sideshow acts havebeen around forever, but were doomed by the hyper-commercializationof art and TV.
"It used to be, every circus had a sideshow," Jelly Boy says. "Nowthere isn't too much of a venue for that, but that sucks."
Defying Death
The other day, Dr. Fred Preston invited the local Swing ShiftSideShow to perform for his class on the sociology of deviantbehavior. This was Swing Shift's third yearly visit to his class.
Once again, Preston -- who consulted doctors about the sideshowsand warned the students about the content -- challenged hisstudents to ponder perceptions of deviance and to wonder whetherthese were dangerous acts or merely manipulations of the human bodyand physics.
They watched one sideshow guy lie on a bed of sharp spikes.
"So he's lying on his back on the bed of nails, suspended, and asksme to step up on him," Preston says. "And I'm a pretty big guy, I'mlike at 245 (pounds), 250, and that was a difficult thing for me todo.
"And he got up. He did not bleed. He did not have punctures. Youcould see indentations on his back, which may not be dangerous butis physics."
What Preston finds interesting is the way people who are perceivedto be deviants justify their behaviors to other people. This iscalled "stigma neutralization."
"The most encompassing thing they do is say they are part of a longtradition of performance, and at the core is mind over matter," hesays.
"They say, 'I can see why you say I deserve to be stigmatized, butthat's not really what we're doing,'" Preston says.
Preston wouldn't want his daughter performing in these sideshows,although he declares, "There's nothing that deserves to bestigmatized there."
He's not sure he buys the notion that it's not death-defying.
"I would like to see the actuary tables on it."
But from the viewpoint of Enigma, any suffering is the price ofart. I asked him why he had blue puzzle pieces painstakinglytattooed on his body. Because, he said, they represent the back ofa jigsaw puzzle, which means the front pieces of the puzzle arefacing inward. In other words:
"The art's on the inside."
Doug Elfman's column appears on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays.Contact him at 383-0391 or e-mail him at delfman@reviewjournal.com.He also blogs at reviewjournal.com/elfman.