And now for the continuing adventures Jason in da' ville: Episode MCXVII: Tales of The Fauxmosa, The Trophy Club, and More Dirty Rockabilly Punks Than You Can Shake A Pompadour At.
The weekend started out rather promising. Friday night I went to a modern dance performance. It was a interpretation of the Masque of The Red Death. I really enjoyed it. It had lots of stunning performances. Afterwards came carousing at the newly opened Joli-Rouge "pirate" bar with the likes of Zenobia and mrmiah. The evening concluded with a mandatory 2:30 am grease banquet the Waffle House. More details are in my previous journal entry.
Normally that would be ample enough excitement for me to proclaim it an interesting weekend, but little did I know what adventures the remainder of the weekend had in store.
Saturday evening began with an art show in Montford. The main reason for me attending said soiree was to see some friends of mine new noise band. The art show was adjacent to a banquet hall where there just happened to be a wedding reception that day. I bet you can just imagine the looks of bewilderment from the wedding party upon arriving to this wall of screeching feedback and crashing drumbeats. It was classic. However a thunderstorm cut short their set thus minimizing the damage to the wedding festivities. Darn!
The party moved into the space where the art show was, which was laterally a garage. The art itself was rather unimpressive. It consisted mainly of ceramic sculptures of pregnant women that resembled ancient fertility statues, and bore titles such as goddess, hero, and so forth. PRETTY ORIGINAL. Hey Im no art critic though. Anyway I guess it was okay, but nothing I would willingly purchase for my curio cabinet, if I had a curio cabinet. However the Teva wearing, Outback driving, baby in a sling neo-hippie moms who were there absolutely adored the sculptures. What I adored was the free food and alcohol. That's the best part of art reception crashing. All the cheese and finger sandwiches you can eat! We drank PBR and talked shit about the art and the patrons. After the PBR ran out the drink of choice became white wine and orange juice which my friend Sean dubbed fauxmosas. Hey don't knock it!
The reception ended but the night was still young. Sean, my friend from the band, Jamie, the drummer, his wife, Amy I think, and I rendezvoused at chez Sean to drink some more and figure out where to waste the remainder of the night. Hmmmm three guys and one girl, where do you think we decided on going? That's right the strip club.
It wasn't my idea really! Of course I went though. I had to keep up appearances, you know.
There are two so called "strip clubs" in Asheville. The Trophy Club, and Xcapades. (I will not link them out of fear of retribution from the internet gods. Google them if you wish.)How do we decide which fine establishment to patronize? (Heh) We flipped a coin. The Trophy Club it was.
Now strip clubs are a conundrum to me. I've been to a couple, mostly out of curiosity and/or desperation. These days I choose not to go because they make me feel too conflicted. Of course what mostly heterosexual guy doesn't like looking at naked boobies, especially live, in the flesh, so to say. (That's why I'm here) However being a 90's sensitive male, with the benefit of a couple classes in gender equality and sexual rights, I fear by attending such establishments I only condone the objectification of women, and reinforce the idea that the only way for a woman to make a decent living is to sell her sexuality. (Of course that begs the question of why am I here?)
Also one has to wonder how much the girls enjoy being there. I know I usually hate going to work, and I don't have drooling Neanderthals ogling me all day, at least not that I know of. Many of the girls looked truly detached, of course most of the guys did to. Actually the guys in the club tend to disgust me more than anything else. Wow do I look like they do? Huge stores of testosterone in a slimy, cologne, cheep beer, and cigarette scented, mass of polluted flesh and maybe a baseball cap. I don't want to be that person. It's no wonder the women who attend strip clubs get much better treatment. That's usually the only time the dancers look like their having fun, when they're performing for another woman. Moreover I don't know what to do up there next to the stage. I feel silly. Do I try to encourage them? compliment them? maintain eye contact? stare at the tiny piece of cloth covering the Netherlands? It all feels cheesy. Also the stage isn't where the girls make their money, it just an advertisement for something else, much like the girls standing in florescent backlit windows of the red light district of Amsterdam, an ad for the high dollar stuff.
I could go on but I may save it for later. Needless to say despite my reservations I enjoyed it. It's better being with friends. At least you can joke about it. Not like the solitary sad faced men who go and drop hundreds chasing a fleeting fantasy that will never be true.
Someday were all planning on going to the Clermont Lounge in ATL. They say that place is off the hook.
Sunday I went to Broadways to see the local band
The Labiators. I didn't really know the other bands playing, but they ended up knocking my socks off. The first was this solo rockabilly guy who played the guitar and the drums at the same time and sung like a demon possessed Buddy Holly. I swear his head was about to turn completely around, and he was going to spit green pea soup as he sung. It was amazing.
The Labiators played a short set, which Zenobia, and mrmiah arrived late for. Ha Ha!
Then this band called Demolition Doll Rods destroyed the place. They are a dirty Detroit band that looked and sounded like the rocking hybrid bastard children of David Bowie, the Cramps, The White Stripes, and some Southern evangelical preacher. Wild stuff. There was almost more nudity there than at the strip club the previous night. They also managed to get whole room shaking, myself included, a rare feat indeed. I recommend checking them out if you get a chance.
All in all it was a good weekend full of strange sights, and interesting situations. Now, I wonder what I can do next weekend to top it?
The weekend started out rather promising. Friday night I went to a modern dance performance. It was a interpretation of the Masque of The Red Death. I really enjoyed it. It had lots of stunning performances. Afterwards came carousing at the newly opened Joli-Rouge "pirate" bar with the likes of Zenobia and mrmiah. The evening concluded with a mandatory 2:30 am grease banquet the Waffle House. More details are in my previous journal entry.
Normally that would be ample enough excitement for me to proclaim it an interesting weekend, but little did I know what adventures the remainder of the weekend had in store.
Saturday evening began with an art show in Montford. The main reason for me attending said soiree was to see some friends of mine new noise band. The art show was adjacent to a banquet hall where there just happened to be a wedding reception that day. I bet you can just imagine the looks of bewilderment from the wedding party upon arriving to this wall of screeching feedback and crashing drumbeats. It was classic. However a thunderstorm cut short their set thus minimizing the damage to the wedding festivities. Darn!
The party moved into the space where the art show was, which was laterally a garage. The art itself was rather unimpressive. It consisted mainly of ceramic sculptures of pregnant women that resembled ancient fertility statues, and bore titles such as goddess, hero, and so forth. PRETTY ORIGINAL. Hey Im no art critic though. Anyway I guess it was okay, but nothing I would willingly purchase for my curio cabinet, if I had a curio cabinet. However the Teva wearing, Outback driving, baby in a sling neo-hippie moms who were there absolutely adored the sculptures. What I adored was the free food and alcohol. That's the best part of art reception crashing. All the cheese and finger sandwiches you can eat! We drank PBR and talked shit about the art and the patrons. After the PBR ran out the drink of choice became white wine and orange juice which my friend Sean dubbed fauxmosas. Hey don't knock it!
The reception ended but the night was still young. Sean, my friend from the band, Jamie, the drummer, his wife, Amy I think, and I rendezvoused at chez Sean to drink some more and figure out where to waste the remainder of the night. Hmmmm three guys and one girl, where do you think we decided on going? That's right the strip club.
It wasn't my idea really! Of course I went though. I had to keep up appearances, you know.
There are two so called "strip clubs" in Asheville. The Trophy Club, and Xcapades. (I will not link them out of fear of retribution from the internet gods. Google them if you wish.)How do we decide which fine establishment to patronize? (Heh) We flipped a coin. The Trophy Club it was.
Now strip clubs are a conundrum to me. I've been to a couple, mostly out of curiosity and/or desperation. These days I choose not to go because they make me feel too conflicted. Of course what mostly heterosexual guy doesn't like looking at naked boobies, especially live, in the flesh, so to say. (That's why I'm here) However being a 90's sensitive male, with the benefit of a couple classes in gender equality and sexual rights, I fear by attending such establishments I only condone the objectification of women, and reinforce the idea that the only way for a woman to make a decent living is to sell her sexuality. (Of course that begs the question of why am I here?)
Also one has to wonder how much the girls enjoy being there. I know I usually hate going to work, and I don't have drooling Neanderthals ogling me all day, at least not that I know of. Many of the girls looked truly detached, of course most of the guys did to. Actually the guys in the club tend to disgust me more than anything else. Wow do I look like they do? Huge stores of testosterone in a slimy, cologne, cheep beer, and cigarette scented, mass of polluted flesh and maybe a baseball cap. I don't want to be that person. It's no wonder the women who attend strip clubs get much better treatment. That's usually the only time the dancers look like their having fun, when they're performing for another woman. Moreover I don't know what to do up there next to the stage. I feel silly. Do I try to encourage them? compliment them? maintain eye contact? stare at the tiny piece of cloth covering the Netherlands? It all feels cheesy. Also the stage isn't where the girls make their money, it just an advertisement for something else, much like the girls standing in florescent backlit windows of the red light district of Amsterdam, an ad for the high dollar stuff.
I could go on but I may save it for later. Needless to say despite my reservations I enjoyed it. It's better being with friends. At least you can joke about it. Not like the solitary sad faced men who go and drop hundreds chasing a fleeting fantasy that will never be true.
Someday were all planning on going to the Clermont Lounge in ATL. They say that place is off the hook.
Sunday I went to Broadways to see the local band
The Labiators. I didn't really know the other bands playing, but they ended up knocking my socks off. The first was this solo rockabilly guy who played the guitar and the drums at the same time and sung like a demon possessed Buddy Holly. I swear his head was about to turn completely around, and he was going to spit green pea soup as he sung. It was amazing.
The Labiators played a short set, which Zenobia, and mrmiah arrived late for. Ha Ha!
Then this band called Demolition Doll Rods destroyed the place. They are a dirty Detroit band that looked and sounded like the rocking hybrid bastard children of David Bowie, the Cramps, The White Stripes, and some Southern evangelical preacher. Wild stuff. There was almost more nudity there than at the strip club the previous night. They also managed to get whole room shaking, myself included, a rare feat indeed. I recommend checking them out if you get a chance.
All in all it was a good weekend full of strange sights, and interesting situations. Now, I wonder what I can do next weekend to top it?
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
Wow, that's a funny story. Did he at least say he was sorry?
Haha, those sculptures make me laugh! And yet people seem to really like them. ???
Fauxmosas... nice.
Yes, strip clubs are very odd places, indeed. The last one I went to lleft me feeling that the men were more exploited, but who am I to say? Oddly, the strippers wouldn't dance for women there, but then again in was in the sticks.
Wow, now I really want to see the Demolition Doll Rods. They sound fabulous.
I think you should go on a bank-robbing spree.