2000-12-18 | 05:10:27

heh. have i got a story for you!

well, saturday night i went to the glam rock christmas show down in the lbc. it was a good time. this group of local musicians and artists have formed a creative alliance there, part of which involves a warehouse space they rent. the place is huge. maybe half the size of a supermarket. it's in a shady part of town among industrial lots ornamented with barbed wire and barking-'til-they're-hoarse guard dogs. post-apocalyptic? a smidgen.

in this huge space, they've got two stages set up--one on each end of the building with a few rooms in between. that way, one band can be playing while the next sets up. pretty smart, aye? it's kinda cool to watch the crowd move from one side of the building to the other like time-lapse musical ping pong.

so 19 bands played about 30 minutes each. from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m. these people know how to party...and how to rock. most of the bands are pretty damn good. long beach has the best bands per capita in the western u.s., i'd say.

they decked the place out for glam rock night with big wallboards covered with foil and shiny letters spelling out off-color and glammy things. they had tinsel streamers lining the walkways and these inflatable egg-looking shapes which they covered in glittery stuff and suspended like satellites above the crowd. of course, there was the requisite disco ball. of course!

i did my part to glam it up, as well. the earrings reading "rock" and "star," the muscle tee with "kitten" written in silver letters and fake rhinestones, a mini-skirt and scandalous five-inch heel, lace-up, black patent boots (the ones i had purchased on halloween while in a sex shop dressed as britney spears).

i also had a red feather boa skimming me shoulders. for make-up, i lined my eyes with liquid blue liner in the style of the divine ms. cleopatra and then made a trailing curl and swirl on my temple with the liner (someone thought it was a tattoo. cool!) to top it off, i dotted the "tattoo" with adhesive body jewels and glittered up me cheeks. the look was a hit, people. i did ya proud. i just hope the pictures turn out, so that i have evidence of my glamosity.

the bands were great and i had fun selling cds with my posse, candice and shawn, but i must admit the most story-worthy part of the evening involved three st. pauli girls who had an aversion to clothing.

it all began in the "green room." since my friends and i were volunteering at the cd booth, we got to hang out "backstage" as it were, with access to the nice restroom (non-porta potty), three kegs and comfy places to sit. a few of the band guys were coming in and out for their beer, but the capper was the side show--three blonde and buxom strippers who were to do performance art mock porn with a fella dressed as santa.

yep. you heard me right.

so it's like this. my friend lisa and i are maxin' and relaxin' in the back room, sitting on a couch and minding our business when these three girls came in the room we were in to change into their "costumes." at this point, we didn't know what their story was. we figured they were a girl band. so this dude with kool-aid-colored dreadlocks, tat sleeves and pointy things sticking through his eyebrows, guards the door while the girls change. evidently he serves as their bodyguard and as one of the girls' boyfriend.

so blonde times three drop trou' and everything else right in front of me and lisa. all non-chalant-like. the two of us tried to be non-chalant, too, but it was a surreal experience, man, i tell you what.

first we were impressed by the pulchritude before us. the girls had great, although probably siliconed-improved bodies.

my friend lisa said, "how are we supposed to walk around when there are bodies like that out there?" but my take was different. at first i was intimidated, but then grossed-out. not by their nakedness, but by their casual carelessness about their bodies. their curvy forms were simply a device to be worked. it was demoralizing to watch them squeeze themselves into bustiers and corsets and less-than-g strings so thoughtlessly. it grossed me out and made me feel sorry for them...as nice as their bodies were. nasty!

and of course, they were, by all appearances, as dumb as the thongs they rode in on. nature's nice little balancing device. i know, bitchy to say, but strangely, usually true. i guess it's because smart, sexy women with perfect bodies are able to find careers which don't require their nudity. oh, i imagine there are smart strippers, but if your office equipment consists of pasties, a pair of stilettos and a pole, you've gotta be selling yourself out on a serious level.

so these girls are getting dressed and trying to figure out what the frock to wear. the prettiest of the three (dreadlock boy's gf) slips herself into this two-inch wide sling of a thing that looked like a g-string and a pair of suspenders had had a lovechild. she walked out in front of some of the band types in it and then decided she should change into something a bit more modest. read: corset and g-string. later, in the last costume change, to be reduced to pasties and g.

here's a snippet, or should i say snatch, of their dressing room conversation:

"an-dre-a! ohmigod, i don't think this is going to work. should i wear this, dude? do you have anything else i could wear?"

"sure, hon. don't worry about it. you can like totally wear anything of mine, you know that."

"dude, you are so sweet to me. dude. logan, are you keeping those guys out because we're totally changing in here."

i had flashbacks to tommy lee and pamela's sex tape. one of the most depressing things i ever saw in my life. you might ask, what could be depressing about two stars having sex like bunnies and hanging out on expensive watercraft?

it was their dumbness. they shared a vocabulary of about ten words.

"babe, you're beautiful. i love you, pam. look at those caves over there...wicked. oh man, you look so good."

i felt bad for them. they don't know any better. they're having a good time. but how sad to be so dense and not be aware of it. such a hollow life of fuckin a', dude, babe, beer, sex, rock, party, wicked, man, like, duh. ok, i know the "beer, sex, rock, party" portion of it is an easy sell, but the big picture shallowness of their lives strikes me as suffocating and sad.

throughout the glam evening, i observed those girls and their sad circle of lame hangers-ons and heard them make crass jokes and squawk out with laughter. i watched them arrange themselves in "naughty" positions with santa for the video cameraman. and i felt sorry for them. very sorry. the funny thing is, in the middle of all this, santa came over to flirt with me. what up with that? a skin buffet before him, and he sidles up to little old moi. have no fear, i discouraged his icky advances, but found the attention ironic. a little bit flattering, too, sure, but mostly icky and ironic.

ok, ok. picture-perfect bodies are rare and to be admired, no doubt. but you can't get silicon brain implants to upsize your IQ a cup or two. and you can't airbrush in intelligence.

i guess i should be glad that they've found some way to make a living from their looks. stripping is an even older profession than prostitution, i'd wager. somebody's gotta do it. evidently.

as she headed home, one of the strip set pertly pronounced parting words as she tip-toed out in her fake fur coat holding hands with dreadlock guy.

"thanks everybody. have a good night. don't drink and drive!"

what do you know...a stripper with a heart of gold! i thought that only happened in the movies...

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