Wednesday, November 10, 1999

July 21, 1999
Frozen Moments

July 28, 1999
Burger! Burger!

August 11, 1999
I Want My VH1

September 8, 1999
Meet Jim Valvano

September 22, 1999
Getting Dysfunctional

October 13, 1999
Guilty Pleasures

Devin Pike is a freelance designer. No, wait, he's a DJ. No, sorry, he's a sports nut. He lives in Irving, TX with four cats and a hamster, who are plotting to kill him in his sleep this week. Oh, yeah... he 'hones da site.

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There is nothing in America quite like the topless bar.

I remember the first time I ever set foot in a topless bar. I was barely 21 years old, working for the Dallas Observer, playing clean-up for our Best of Dallas Awards issue. There were a few articles no one wanted to write -- Best Cover Band, Best Under-21 Dance Club... and Best Topless Dancer. I had only been on the job for a month or so and was just itching to make my mark at the weekly.

So, I called Cabaret Royale and set up a meeting with the Manager, the dancer that got the most votes, and a couple of other ladies who wanted to be in on the interview.

I'm not quite sure what exactly I expected, but all I know is this: it was the only time I drank Coke at a bar, the only time I wasn't hit up for a table dance, and the only time dancers paid attention to me at a strip bar when I wasn't spending money hand-over-fist.

There is only one reason for men to go to strip bars, and that is to see near-naked women. It's not for the conversation, it's not for the sporting events (pay-per-view fights notwithstanding) and it's damned sure not for the cheap drinks, because they don't exist.

Never let any man tell you otherwise.

For those of you who haven't been to a strip bar (or didn't want to see Showgirls because it got bad reviews), no matter how elegant the decor, or how trashy the place is, most of them are exactly the same. There's a main stage, elevated about four feet from the main floor, where a dancer will emerge from the dressing room and dance to two songs. One song is to introduce you to her, while she's wearing anything from a bikini to a Catholic schoolgirl outfit. (Ahhh... oh, I'm digressing.) Then, the song ends, the clothes come off, save the requisite G-string. The dollar bill stuffing begins.

The dancer moves to a secondary stage while the next in line comes out from the back. Once the dancers are done with the stages, they'll work the room, finding people who want a table dance. A table dance is a one-on-one grindfest, where the dancer feigns interest and desire while shoving your face into various parts of her body.

This repeats from 11 am until 2 am, depending on which city you live in.

The women who work at strip bars don't fall into any one category. You've got the students, you've got the single moms, you've got the exhibitionists, but there are so many different variations on the theme. For example, there was the 37-year-old redhead who had gotten a divorce from her husband of 12 years because he didn't find her stimulating enough. Talk about reverse psychology. (And she was stimulating enough... the guy was an idiot.)

I've never been a high-roller at a strip bar, mostly because I don't make over $70,000 a year and have that much money to burn. I've known dancers who have latched on to bachelor parties who have walked with over $2000.

The money is phenomenal. The lifestyle is disasterous. You've seen the Made-For-TV movies on all of that. However, the majority of dancers I've met have been level-headed broads who aren't psycho bitches on coke. They're funny women with one thing on their minds -- your cash.

Sorry, guys -- and you know who you are -- the women who work at topless bars are not there to meet the man of their dreams. Let's review... you're staring at each dancer like they're the latest entree to be rolled out at Golden Corral, until you latch on to one that matches those dreams you had in college. Oh, yeah, Spartacus. You're the one that she wants... oooh oooh oooh. Honey.

No matter how much money you spend, no matter how many table dances you buy, no matter how many drinks you purchase, there is no way -- no way -- that dancer will go home with you when the lights come up.

Not that that will stop any man from thinking otherwise.