mmm, tasty

I hope you all caught this: Strip Club Eats: Ten gentlemen’s lounges with good food. Seriously.
—CHOW

Sunday was my day to do penance; after being out of town for 10 weeks I landed the plum morning shift at Mary's. Mornings can be good there, but I don't think I've ever worked a good Sunday morning (strip club morning = noon to 4pm) there. They are so slow that they have to be mandatory; everyone has to work a Sunday shift once every six weeks. There were probably fewer than twenty customers through the doors, I made $80, a tile on the stage crumbled and had to be patched with duct tape (!), the jukebox is still broken, and it was hot and muggy in the dressing room. And yet, oh, how nice it was to be back at the old familiar club. Really. I miss that place.

The latest issue of $pread is out and I've got a Casa Diablo scene report in it, based on my February blog entry. You should all be subscribing to that fabulous magazine.

Six degrees of stripperation

It really is amazing how many clubs there are in Portland, OR. Even more amazing is that I've only danced at four, total, two if you disregard those at which I've worked two or fewer times. TUSCL's current count tops 50 (if you disregard lingerie modeling studios) and I've only even visited six where I haven't danced. And yet I know dancers who work just about everywhere in town, either because I've worked with them elsewhere or met them out and about or online.
I'll be trying out another one this week, a smaller bar that's always been appealing save for the reputation of its now former booking agent. The dancer bookings have been taken over by a local woman who's also a stripper and comes highly recommended by my friends and work acquaintances. She knows girls I know online, bartenders I've worked with, and other dancers whose opinion she trusted enough to immediately book me sight unseen because they said such flattering things about me.

By the way, I am really happy that there's not just a woman, but an actual dancer, and a quite sane one, doing this work in this town. It's about time. We met out at Doc's Club 82 last night; this is one of the bars in town that's in a strip mall and I completely drove past it on my way to meet her. The bar's been through several name changes over the past couple of years, from Doc's to Club 82 to Atlantis to Doc's Club 82, I think. It's got pool tables and a jukebox and a great sign out front that touts the presence of "Performing Artists." Love it. There were a few pool players and a couple of drinkers, and no visible performing artists. The front of the building was made of one-way mirror windows which had the disorienting effect of letting in daylight and making it seem like there were actual windows passers by could see through.
I've overextended myself this week, packing seven shifts into five days, but I missed Mary's and wanted to give the new place a shot, plus I've just taken about two weeks off and will be having a long weekend come Friday. Also, the jet lag from having been on the East Coast for ten days hasn't subsided. So it's a good thing I have novelty to push me through the week.
A friend I hadn't seen since the second time I worked here, K, met me for dinner later; she too missed Mary's, having left on less than great terms a year ago. We discussed it while eating at Typhoon! on Broadway. "I've worked at so many clubs in Portland." She's the opposite of me, preferring to switch it up on a regular basis. "I'm going to be kind of sad when there isn't anywhere else new to try, so it's like I'm trying to ration them out." She has tried them all, from the big ones to the scariest dives, and is versatile enough for them all, but I think clearly prefers fun, small, stage-centered clubs. She's also been to Guam, which seems to draw a lot of Portland dancers thanks to the ads they place in the back of the local skin biz mag, Exotic.
"I wonder if they'd let me come back to Mary's, though. The money was so good there."
"It can't hurt to ask," I told her. "There's no such thing as fired in stripping, remember? Just say 'I miss it here so much! Is there any way I can start picking up shifts again?'"
So we crossed the street and grabbed some Diet Cokes at the bar, said hi to everyone working, and settled in at the rack while K waited to chat with Vicki. Funnily enough, we heard more Casa Diablo scuttlebutt from one of the dancers on shift (I love that stripping in this town is large enough to encompass a scene and gossip that transcends just stripper talk, much like the bar or restaurant business). It was super slow, being the day after the 4th, and there were barely a half-dozen customers in the bar. Two couples sat in the back not tipping, maybe because of the long walk, but both dancers seemed like they couldn't care less and didn't bother trying to deal with or entice them. After all, they only had one more set to do each before they could leave. I was happy to watch, though, for a few songs, on a lazy Saturday.
But my cash ran out quickly enough, and I know not to break customer rule #1 (bring sufficient cash and never use the ATM or credit cards. Just like in a casino, only bring what you're willing to lose). K remained in the bar and I got a happy text from her soon afterwards: "Totally allowed back!" I missed having her there and am so happy she'll be back. She did after all have one of the best stripper stage concepts I've heard: stripper stand-up comedy. I've got to push for that. So welcome home me, and welcome back K. All of our paths cross through Mary's somehow. It's the Kevin Bacon of Portland strippers.

Casa Diablo, blowing up the internet

In the Times, and of course, in WW. It's hardly surprising, considering the "huh?" appeal of its tagline.

Sorry the stripper blog has been short on actual stripping lately. I promise I've worked this month, just not much. Oh! Apparently enforcement in Seattle is stepping up, as there's been an influx of WA strippers in town, fleeing the possibility of an arrest for the crime of giving a lapdance. After spotting some new hiresdoing coke in VIP last week, the manager at the big club called the cops and had them arrested. The thinking being that it's better to have the cops come to the club because you called them.

I have been too flaky to remember to put in a little club schedule for the past two weeks (they have to be in by club closing on Wednesday), but finally remembered last night a 2:30 a.m. to call and put in a request. Though now I have friends going to Vegas to work during the Final Four, so I left those days open in case I decide to hop a flight out there.

Also, I'm considering a hair color change, which should indicate how restless I am right now.

Hey, remember that vegan strip club?

I worked a few shifts there last month. Well, it's for sale. Here's the craigslist posting, and here's the MLS listing.

Yes, I'm working at that vegan strip club

New strip clubs open with the frequency of new vegan restaurants in Portland, but to my knowledge the two haven't been combined until this year. Casa Diablo came to my attention when the owner emailed me, and I figured I'd give it a shot. After all, I've never worked in a club on its opening night. And I've never worked with an owner who was so enthusiastic about promoting himself and his concept.

My opinion of the club is, at this point, colored by the grip of cash I've made working there so far, so keep in mind that everything I say is accompanied by a desire to continue a profitable work experience.

That being said, there's been plenty of coverage from all corners of this club, and I'd like to add the stripper's perspective. Here's what it's like to work there.

The building is located in a very industrial part of Portland that is by definition quiet at night. There’s no residential traffic, no other nearby bars or restaurants, and not a lot of through traffic, unless you live in Scappoose. The closest bar is also the closest strip club, the venerable Nicolai Street Clubhouse, about a mile down the road. So any business there depends on the people working during the day. This makes prime hours for the bar between the hours of 2 and 9 p.m., when shift changes happen in the area.

In its previous life this club was a restaurant and it’s still got kind of a strange, Sizzler-esque vibe to the décor. The bathrooms are papered in vintage patterned wallpaper, the furniture is wood, and the walls are brick. One of the waitresses is responsible for stripperizing it somewhat with amateurish devil-girl paintings on the wall, and the VIP area is sectioned off with these curtains, whose religious overtones are a bit much for me at times.




However, I like the VIP room setup well enough. I’ve certainly seen worse.

The stage is great and most dancers there love it. It’s two large square stages with 10 foot – plus tall 2” stationary brass poles (to the layperson, this means they are realtively thick, grippy, and easy to work with, and do not spin on ball bearings), connected by a narrow catwalk. There’s a lot of stageside seating, over 30 seats, and the stage tips have been quite good so far.

The dressing room is very small. There’s four chairs, some tables, and mirrors propped up against the wall. Lighting for the mirrors hasn’t been installed yet. It’s also behind the kitchen, and until the other route is cleared of its construction debris, dancers actually walk through the kitchen to get to the dressing room. There isn’t a separate dancer bathroom so we have to use the main one in the club.

Overall the operation of the club is very much improvised. There frequently aren’t enough dancers on shift, and a permanent DJ hasn’t been hired yet, so when no DJ is there the dancers cue up songs on an iPod. No formal rules have been issued concerning stage sets, shift times, contact, etc. I wasn’t asked for my ID immediately. It’s like the policies are following the practice, not the other way around, where I am of the opinion that this is a good way to let the dancers run your club. That can turn out well if you’ve got smart strippers, or it can turn out terribly if you’ve got crazy ones. There are, of course, some of both here.

And what about the politics? Well, the food is, in fact, vegan, but it’s served on disposable paper plates, which I find to be an interesting philosphical contrast. Other than the food, and a sign in the dressing room requesting that dancers refrain from wearing fur, silk, wool or feathers on stage, there isn’t a militant vegan vibe to the place. Some customers have trickled in thanks to local print and television publicity, but most are just guys in the neigborhood who noticed that the sign out front suddenly read “NUDE DANCERS” a few weeks ago. They aren’t vegetarians but they aren’t put off by someone who is. I mean, they’re ironworkers, but we’re all in Portland here, with its all-encompassing live and let live attitude.

The food itself is vegan Mexican food; enchiladas made with wheat gluten, fake steak and chicken fajitas, pretty good corn chips and beans, and of course a Boca Burger. It's all right. Not gourmet vegan like Nutshell, by a long shot, but when compared to bar food in general it's passable. But you wouldn't want to review this place on it culinary merits alone.

It's also, until January 2009 at least, the only nonsmoking strip club in Portland, which is a unique perk and probably a bigger selling point to the customers than anything else. As long as the dancers aren't doused in Cotton Candy body spray, they have a prayer of not smelling like a bar when they get home.

I’m not a vegan or a vegetarian. That wasn’t a prerequisite for working at the club, and snarky Portland Mercury comments aside, none of the dancers are unshaven.

Over the next couple of months I’ll have a few night-in-the-life-of-the-vegan-strip-club reports. I’d like to say more, but it will keep.