The Politics of Dancing

I have always fancied myself a pretty open minded person. I have no moral objections to pornography [Although I do worry that the younger generation who grew up with it on the Internet might be confusing stuff that regular people should do with stuff that is best left to professionals {there is a reason why Jenna Jameson is worth around 200 million dollars and I am not}. I also reject the unfair and ,I think, perhaps, unsafe new standards of feminine grooming that are directly tied to pornography's relatively new presence in popular culture.]. I have no problem with strippers. I think prostitution should be made safe and legal for those who are forced to choose this as their profession. If you disagree, please watch the documentary American Pimps and then get back to me. Do you realize that most of these women have to work for free while their pimps take all of their money? This I have a problem with.

I would be lying if I were to suggest that my open mindedness had never been called into question. The idea of something is often far different than the reality of it. For example, when I first moved to San Francisco, I went to The Folsom Street Fair. This is a street fair for the leather community of The Bay Area. Since they don't have any such fairs where I'm from, I was curious. I was also sure I was cool enough to handle it. I soon realized that I was not really ready for this brand of street fair. I learnedI don't really feel comfortable standing next to someone whose entire outfit consists of a pair of leather chaps. It made Police Academy's The Blue Oyster seem like a pretty square and uptight establishment. I ended up walking around feeling a lot like my Nana. I was barely able to suppress the urge to keep saying "Oh My Goodness!". I left early.

This same open mindedness was also called into question when I tutored an impossibly sexy Colombian photographer who specialized in impossibly sexy Latin American celebrities wearing their birthday suits. He once showed me the cover of a magazine he shot which consisted of a Brazilian soccer star wearing only a pair of angel wings. He also once had me listen to him read a one act play in order to correct his pronunciation. The one act play was about a middle aged woman having a one night stand with a much younger waiter. During the lesson I had to define the terms "thighs slapping" and "incredibly aroused". Needless to say, on both occasions my attempts to play it cool were complete and abject failures. I spent the entirety of both lessons with a very deep blush covering my face, even though I was aware that, sadly, he was in no way hitting on me He only dated Victoria's Secrets Models.

I guess on these occasions I was left to wonder if I was really the groovy and hip person that I imagined. Or was I simply a bourgeois, white girl from Worcester, Mass? I mean, should I really be so uncomfortable surrounded some mostly naked people dressed in leather and carrying whips? Aren't tastefully shot photos of Brazilian soccer stars wearing angel wings art? When I consider myself accepting and worldly am I simply fooling myself?

I'm actually not completely sure. My best guess is that I am probably a combination of both open minded and accepting and not. On my behalf, my ancestors created Riverdance, not the Lambada. I mean, I have lived in San Francisco and Brooklyn, but I didn't exactly grow up on a commune or in Greenwich Village. I was reminded of this fact this weekend when my grooviness and hipness was, once again, put to the test. Once again, I failed. I went home early and on a few occasions almost uttered "Oh My Goodness".

My friend invited me out for a drink. I was thinking of not going. However, since I rarely stay out past ten o'clock and am meeting my friend in Australia next month, I figured a little leaving the house practice couldn't hurt. I also figured that if I spent too much more time watching DVDs in my little house, I would most definitely turn into a total weirdo. As a result, I set out with some people from the hotel for Club De Ja Vu on Friday night for my second attempt at sampling the nightlife of Samarinda. I would like to stress that this club is in no was an establishment of ill repute. It's pretty fancy and includes a 4 star restaurant. It is not outwardly seedy and it is one of the only options for leaving your house past 9 o'clock in this town.

It started out okay. The cover band played some Lady Gaga and some Rhianna, both of which I like. However, about 20 minutes later the sexy dancers came on stage. This didn't bother me. They were wearing halter tops, hot pants, and red tutus. This didn't bother me. However, they then moved onto the tables where I was sitting. I have to confess that when there were two young ladies getting low on the table in front of me, this did sorta bother me. Call me old fashioned. Call me a prude. I just don't want to look up and see jiggling butt cheeks while I am trying to drink my drink. Maybe I am not at all groovy or hip.

I chose this photo because it is from my favorite stripper themed video, even though the concept of someone being hot for teacher is becoming more and more far fetched. I also chose it because I really and truly love David Lee Roth

It wasn't really the butt cheeks that bothered me. It was the fact that witnessing third world prostitution [since all of the dancers are actually for sale if you talk to the right people] is sorta depressing. What's even more depressing is that it is so commonplace and accepted that it happens at all the regular night spots in town. It's not hidden or even that discrete. It's also not like watching the strippers at Scores or The Hustler Club back home. Those girls are making around $100,000 dollars a year and drive home in a Lexus. I have a sneaking suspicion that the girls at De Ja Vu are not so well compensated. They are more like girls who were probably the victims of human trafficking or trying to feed an entire family living in a shack in some rural village. These are not festive thoughts for a night out on the town.

There's also a part of me that did not like it as the result of far more selfish reasons. Nobody talks to me in this situation. Now, I can't really blame them for this. Gorgeous dancers undulating on the table in front of you are pretty distracting. However, I am used to telling stories and chatting and getting some sort of attention when I go out with friends. If I wanted to sit and not talk to anyone, I could do so in the comfort of my home. This is probably why I do not frequent establishments featuring sexy dancers when I am in New York. I'm pretty sure that half of the guys sitting at my table had lapsed into some sort of sexual catatonic stupor. I'm not saying that this is not natural or biological or the result of some kind of hormone surge. Whatever it is, I would really like any part of it on my Friday night.

What about me? Who is working to make sure that I am having fun? Who is catering to my needs? Who is doing sexy dance moves for MY benefit? NOBODY. Worst of all, most of the other Westerners there look a lot like guys you would see on To Catch A Predator. Yuck. There were some other women at the club, but they all sit there like there is nothing strange about the situation. Almost as if they can't wait to catch another glimpse of the dancer's bikini line.

My second attempt at going out in Samarinda has confirmed that it is just not for me. Would the situation be different if the tables were turned and there were sexy guys busting a move in the middle of the table? I don't think so. I think the comedian Margaret Cho said it best when she said that if she wanted to see gay guys dance around in their underpants she was more than able to make this happen in the comfort of her own living room. Luckily, I stocked up on bootleg DVDs when I was in Jakarta. It seems like a pretty good time to start re-watching The Wire. I think a night spent with Detective McNulty and Omar beats a night spent being ignored while I ponder the indignities and horrors of the sex trade in Southeast Asia, right?

These guys would not make a great Friday night either