Monday, March 05, 2007
Agape
This past Saturday, I learned the true meaning of the word agape. And I don't mean the brotherly love kind.
Since coming to Seattle, I've heard a great deal about the local strip clubs. There's a war against adult entertainment going on, they say. No alcohol can be served - and this is just the first sortie. If those upright folk in City Hall get their way, strip clubs will be brightly lit, strippers will be behind a railing several feet away from the closest patron, tipping will be illegal, etc, etc.
Clearly, I had to experience this before it got legislated out of existence or I crossed into the land of the betrothed.
Thus, it was after obtaining business sign off from our significant others that Simon, Dan and I trotted off to Showgirls on Seattle's 1st Avenue.
Giddy on the naughtiness of it all, we seated ourselves and awaited untold dark, erotic adventures. As it turned out, we'd have a long time to wait and the adventures would remain untold.
Each dancer seemed to have about 90 seconds on stage to do her bit. Sex isn't hot when you're rushing to beat the clock -- turns out, stripping's the same way. It was a race to kick off the clothes, avoid making eye contact with the patrons, and get the hell off the stage. I couldn't help but compare it to Can Can, where parts of the cabaret-style entertainment were much, much more sensual. (Oh, and forget the no-touching rule: at Can Can, they invite you up on the stage to dance and get up close and personal. Granted, the person whose behind I had the unique opportunity to knead was a bit sweaty. And hairy. And male. But I digress.)
I get the feeling that there were only two folks at Showgirls who got their money's worth: Dan, who took a nap and a rather dimwitted-looking fellow in the front row who seemed unable to close his mouth for the duration of the time we were there.
PS: Kudos to Rodney, who, when informed that the plans for the evening included a strip club, simply said "no thanks, I don't agree with that and I don't want to do that". And congrats on your job offer!
Since coming to Seattle, I've heard a great deal about the local strip clubs. There's a war against adult entertainment going on, they say. No alcohol can be served - and this is just the first sortie. If those upright folk in City Hall get their way, strip clubs will be brightly lit, strippers will be behind a railing several feet away from the closest patron, tipping will be illegal, etc, etc.
Clearly, I had to experience this before it got legislated out of existence or I crossed into the land of the betrothed.
Thus, it was after obtaining business sign off from our significant others that Simon, Dan and I trotted off to Showgirls on Seattle's 1st Avenue.
Giddy on the naughtiness of it all, we seated ourselves and awaited untold dark, erotic adventures. As it turned out, we'd have a long time to wait and the adventures would remain untold.
Each dancer seemed to have about 90 seconds on stage to do her bit. Sex isn't hot when you're rushing to beat the clock -- turns out, stripping's the same way. It was a race to kick off the clothes, avoid making eye contact with the patrons, and get the hell off the stage. I couldn't help but compare it to Can Can, where parts of the cabaret-style entertainment were much, much more sensual. (Oh, and forget the no-touching rule: at Can Can, they invite you up on the stage to dance and get up close and personal. Granted, the person whose behind I had the unique opportunity to knead was a bit sweaty. And hairy. And male. But I digress.)
I get the feeling that there were only two folks at Showgirls who got their money's worth: Dan, who took a nap and a rather dimwitted-looking fellow in the front row who seemed unable to close his mouth for the duration of the time we were there.
PS: Kudos to Rodney, who, when informed that the plans for the evening included a strip club, simply said "no thanks, I don't agree with that and I don't want to do that". And congrats on your job offer!
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It was good to see you and Dan this weekend (and to finally meet Simon). Enjoy the rest of your term, and hopefully I'll see you at some point in the spring.
Mmm...Mexican food.
Mmm...Mexican food.
Uhh...this is what you're blogging about now? Christ. I never thought I'd run the tasteful family blog but between LD's references to getting attacked by a bear in an outhouse and your post here, it appears that I do.
colin you went on a blogging frenzy...mon dieu...re: frugality the question remains, would you wear burlap potato bags as pants if the opportunity arose. I will go so far as to say the burlap bags come with potatoes, but they have roots growing out of them.
Lindsay
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Lindsay
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