Thursday, December 15, 2005

Shoo, Mr. Chippendale, Shoo!

At a friend’s bachelorette party, a blond, bronze Chippendale offered me a lap dance.

I was sitting at the bar, several paces behind the general audience and hullabaloo, but my very presence at the club seemed to suggest that I secretly coveted a lap dance.

I smiled politely at the blond and pointed to my friend. “I’m here for her, not myself.”

It could be said that I came to Chippendales with a critical eye. As an artist, I can’t help but evaluate the staged skits and sing-a-longs.

The production numbers were cheesy and predictable, yes, with unimaginative choreography, but I don’t mind cheesy predictability, if it’s born out of a joyous energy.

What surprised me was the overall sloppiness of the performances. Did no one else notice that the pacing was off, the dancers weren’t in sync, the singers had forgotten the lyrics to the songs (or never learned the words in the first place). Did anybody care?

The performers appeared bored or detached. What might have been a silly romp or fun diversion came across as joyless and robotic. Despite a hyped-up energy, they seemed only to be going through the motions.

Just like this blond, bronze boy who returned (a second time) to bestow a lap dance upon me.

It wasn’t clear if he just refused to accept my earlier refusal, or if he didn’t even remember our previous encounter. If he was a robot, would he recognize a human?

I declined again, shaking my head firmly, and now, he appeared aggravated, as if I wasn’t playing my part. As he attempted to persuade me to participate, there was an unpleasant aggression in his manner, and I wondered (and doubted) if men have this kind of trouble from women in topless bars.

“Come on,” he spat, “Come on.”

The absurdity of the situation was not lost on me, but other than resorting to violence and kicking him in the groin, I wasn’t clear on how to get through to him. I retired to the restroom for respite, and when I reemerged, I was able to sit in peace for a while.

Until he approached a third time. It was my friend who rescued me. “Tell him you’re broke,” she whispered in my ear.

“Got no money!” I shouted over the music.

Just like magic, this blond, bronze lap-dancer disappeared.

3 repartee:

Anonymous Wolfboy wrote...

Why do people like unimaginative entertainment?

I swear that there are some people who prefer that the artists who perform for them do so without passion or grace -- because on the two occasions (bachelor parties in my case) that I attended these topless affairs I also noticed the boredom of the performers.

Why would you want to pay good money to watch someone dance who is bored with their own dancing?

It seems very strange indeed that dance companies where the performers are beautiful, talented and impassioned often play to empty houses, while seedy venues featuring the uninspired and the unhappy are packed.

12/15/2005 5:49 PM  
Blogger Golgotha_Tramp wrote...

I must say that an exceedingly unattractive lap dancer once nipple crippled my friend until he bought a lap dance, when I mentioned that that constituted mugging she scampered (or more accurately stopped) off.

I gather no joy form male 'dancers' I would love to hear from a girl what exactly the appeal is? I also do not understand how the exchanging of money turns something that in my eyes is cheating into a male bonding exercise? If a woman came over to my boyfriend in a pub and gyrated on his lap she would definitely not be walking out of that pub but if you give her twenty Quid it's OK?

12/16/2005 4:34 AM  
Blogger frankengirl wrote...

I love how you put it, Golgotha - how a money transaction can make cheating "acceptable." You've nailed it straight-on as such a perverse way of thinking.

WB, it's sad, indeed, that we pour money into an industry that plays down to its audience rather than arts which develop talent and provoke thought.

12/16/2005 11:37 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home