It’s been a while but now I’m back… For anyone that would like to read any of my October-December output on Intertoto Magazine here are some links.
Dec 10- Media Ashes, 2DayFM Scandal
Nov 29- Getting Home From Auburn
Nov 22- Starting A Race Riot In The Name of Art
Nov 20- Nakagin Interview
Nov 18- Skyfall Review
Nov 11- MCM: A French Rap Education For An Australian Kid
Nov 7- Election 2012: 3.5 Stars
Nov 5- Why The Melbourne Cup Makes Me Hate Australia
Nov 5- The Tale Of Tila Tequila And Her Tin Foil Hat
Oct 31- The Un-Necessary Cash Grab Killing Facebook
October 30- The Finer Things In Life: Tim Snape
So lately I haven’t really been keeping my finger on the pulse of what the ‘yoof’ be listening to. I have been too busy watching football, getting fat and working for the man. I’m not proud of it but fuck, I’m 27 years old and haven’t really done much with my life so I suppose now is the time. Anyway, tonight I have been trawling the Internet watching music videos and all that. These are some of the things I like at the moment.
Charli XCX – Nuclear Seasons
I know this came out a little while ago but its been stuck in my head for ages and I really like the video. Her voice is really infectious and reminds me of my old comrade Aleesha Dibbs. The production is immaculate and I like how the vocal turns into synth and the synth turns into vocal. Cool trick that. I follow this girl on twitter and she seems pretty down to earth. I heard she is currently supporting Coldplay in America…you should still listen to her song though.
Grimes – Genesis
This shit just came out a few hours ago. Suck on that.
Hopsin – Ill Mind Of Hopsin IV
My boy Marc ‘Long John’ Silvers showed me this video a few weeks ago. It blew my fucking mind. I’m told this guy has been in his parents basement for like fifteen years perfecting his craft and he dropped this last year. Pretty solid statement. Dude is like Busta, Minaj, Tyler (sorry Hopsin) and Missy but he is some acne scarred 28 year old in drag. Sick cunt. He has principles, is fucked up and he’s perhaps one of the most skilled rappers in the game. Sweet clip too.
Freddie Gibbs/Madlib – Shame
Anything Madlib touches seems to be perfect and this is no exception. This video is the sequel to the ‘Thuggin’ single which was the first Freddie Gibbs thing I had ever heard. Gibbs is like an indie 2pac living in a time where MTV isn’t a necessity. Shame flows in and out of old soul samples like Madlib is flipping through radio stations. He eventually finds the one he is looking for and BOOM! Most glorious hook I have heard in ages.
Quakers – Fitta Happier
Geoff Barrow and Katalyst produced this so of course it’s going to be amazing. They took the bass line from Radiohead’s ‘National Anthem’ and brassed the shit out of it. I’m a little pissed off I didn’t think of that to be honest. Fuck those guys. Seriously everything Geoff Barrow does is incredible. I’m not going to call him a genius because that word is thrown around way too much about musicians BUT he is extremely talented, has a great ear and seems to be an absolute badass. This track also features Guilty Simpson and MED which is a good thing.
So there you have it. My first new music blog. I have become one of the many sad pieces of shit with nothing better to write about than the pop music I am currently listening to. Come back next week when I will post photos of every meal I have eaten for the last week. Until then..
So I was looking through my list of things I really can’t quite understand this morning. This list does not physically exist it just lives inside my brain and is constantly edited. Some things only appear on this list for a few minutes, others a few months, others are completely forgotten about so they are deleted and others have been there for years. I decided to flick to that page to see if I could cross anything off. Yep, I kind of understand genocide as means to maintain power. Genocide is off then. The Pope excusing child molesters? Yeah, well, it’s a P.R thing and they are a massive business so although its wrong I still get why. Kim Kardashian? Well she’s rich and American so she has the right to be famous apparently. Her time in the spotlight will run out and it is going to be ugly but yes, I understand why she is there now kinda…Anyway..
I kept scrolling down and I found an entry on this list of things I cannot explain. It’s been there since I was a kid and no matter how much I have thought about it I could never understand why these things exist.
I think the first rap skit I remember hearing was the one before G’s and Hustlas by Snoop Dogg (or as he was known then, Snoop Diggety Doggedy Douglas). As far as skits go its pretty funny. It you don’t know it then you didn’t grow up in the early 90s. The skit involves a teacher asking his pupils what they want to be when they grow up. One says he wants to be a police officer, the other says fireman. He finally asks a young Snoop (who apparently has always rocked chucks and braids, even as a nipper) what he wants to be. Lil Snoop tells this teacher he wants to be a ‘motherfucking hustler’. The song that follows is brilliant and the skit is an acceptable intro to it but that was my first brush with the skits on rap records. Its been a frustrating, embarrassing and very rarely fruitful relationship ever since.
For those who aren’t really au fait with the skit on a rap record I will explain. Unlike artists of other genres hip hop artists are prone to making albums which stretch for the entire duration of a cd. Of course being rappers they have an inflated sense of self worth and find it hard to separate the wheat from the chaff. Some artists believe it’s a good idea to express their comedic side in the form of a vocal skit, similar to something one would hear on the wireless in 1935 just with more profanity. As far as I know the skit has gone out of fashion a bit but there are many albums I still listen to which are unfortunately home to some of the more piss poor attempts at humour ever created.
I just want to also make it clear that I adore hip hop and that even if some of the artists I mention here are rubbish comedians they have bought me many hours of listening pleasure and I completely respect what they do when they aren’t trying to be Eddie Murphy.
SLUM VILLAGE – ONCE UPON A TIME
If there was ever example of a phenomenal track being pissed on by the skit that comes directly after it, it has to be Once Upon A Time by Slum Village. The song itself is incredible. The immaculate production by J Dilla (or Jazzy Dizzy Detreezy as he was known then) features one of the smoothest bass lines one is likely to ever hear over a bed of weird gamelan xylophone. The problem comes after the song when the skit begins. The concept behind the skit is they are doing an infomercial about a cd where Louis Armstrong sings a whole bunch of classic songs. It consists of someone doing a really bad Louis Armstrong impersonation, some karaoke backing tracks and a really fucking weak concept. It really, really stinks. It’s not funny and it makes you embarrassed for them because they thought it was a good idea. The worst thing about it is the quality of the music on the album Fantastic Vol 2 is enormous. The production is so tight and the vocals, although a little stupid at times, are delivered with confidence and supreme flow. Why Slum Village thought putting this unfunny, retarded, piece of hip hip vaudeville on the record is beyond me. Maybe I’m the idiot?
BUSTA RHYMES – SO HARDCORE
Every rapper big rapper in the 1990s until about 2005 seemed to have skits on their record. The skit was embraced by the East Coast and West Coast alike. For all their beef, one thing Puff and Suge could agree on was the importance of a good skit. Everyone had them in one form or another. Dre, Snoop, 2pac, Biggie, Eminem and Busta Rhymes. Busta loved a good skit. The one at the end of So Hardcore is a personal favourite. Unlike Once Upon A Time the skit seems to lead into another song hence providing the album with a plot, albeit a stupid one. It has someone impersonating an Indian fellow driving a taxi in it. Now I know this sounds racist but it’s OK because it’s Black people impersonating Indians that as a white man I have no right to comment on. “Well what about Mahatma Cote?” I hear you cry. ‘Not cool’ says I. Mahatma Cote was a white man pretending to be Indian in a really kind of racist, blackface, channel 9 sort of way. Only Indians and Busta Rhymes are allowed to find him funny. Just so you know..
I do believe, if done well, skits can be extremely funny. I think Kool Keith is a master of the skit. Doom does a nice job too. He doesn’t show off too much but still realized an intermission can be an essential thing. Some skits can even be quite clever, but that doesn’t happen much. Some albums, Guilty Simpson’s Madlib collab O.J Simpson for instance, although a great album it has too many skits. Even if the skits are intelligent and high quality. Even if the skit involved Bill Hicks and Richard Pryor discussing the best way to ingest cocaine while at a circus owned and operated by Karl Stefanovic. Even if the skit (probably on a late Mike Skinner record) contains the ten steps on peace and love on earth. If there are more than two skits on an album then you need to start culling. I’m talking to you Eminem! You still ain’t wrote me back btw, what’s up with that?
Anyway I guess my two cents on skits is they can be funny and worth listening to occasionally but rappers should start having some class and trying to trim the fat off their albums. Skits can only damage your reputation. If your music is good then you do what you do well, if the skits are good too it doesn’t really matter as much because nobody is listening to your album for the skits anyway and if your skits are lame and not funny you’re entire artistic output becomes suspect because there is documented evidence that you are actually retarded and everything you have done is a fluke. Still mad love to Busta and Dilla tho..
Well the Olympics are just around the corner and I for one am somewhat excited. I find the Olympics to be a lot of fun. All the clichés about glory and prowess are all true. If I didn’t have better things to do I would stay home for the whole fortnight and watch everything I could.
In 2008 I did just that. I had been struck down by a very nasty flu just as the Beijing Games begun. I was between houses, unemployed, newly single and crashing at my folks place. I spent days on the couch and nights either on the couch or in bed. Although this might not sound like the ideal position one could be in in life, it was perfect for me. The 29th Summer Olympiad was starting and I had nothing better to do (except look for a job and move out of my parents place).
I got into quite a few sports I hadn’t normally though much about. Gymnastics was one of them. How humans could achieve these massive feats of agility and strength while others (me) were laying on the couch was kind of inspiring. I also really got into the rowing. I don’t really know why it sucked me in as much as it did but I think it had something to do with the grace the boat glides through the water. It’s like a swan if a swan was controlled by humans and went really fucking fast. It was also kind of Roman; these men had purpose and looked a bit gay.
Of course I followed the sports I had developed an interest in during past Olympics. Athletics, Swimming and Diving always get my attention. In 2008 we had Michael Phelps in the pool who was a total freak. Stephanie Rice was great too even though it was a bit creepy how almost all straight Aussie men did the whole time she was in the spotlight was talk about how much they wanted to root her. Usain Bolt was next level on the track too. A delight to watch.
The 100m sprint is the Olympics most popular event and for good reason. There are no stroke restrictions or handicaps like other sports and events. It is the shortest distance in Olympic running. As it requires no equipment except for legs and a will to win, it is open to everyone regardless of income. The event determines every four years who the fastest man/woman in the world is. No biggie.
I always dug Linford Christie as a kid, and not just because he had a sick name. When I was seven and the Barcelona Olympics were on he made me feel like a winner just watching him. Donovan Bailey not so much (I think it’s because he is Canadian and I find it hard getting excited about Canada, not racist or anything I just cant do it for some reason). Marion Jones got me all giddy during the Sydney games but it turns out she was a filthy drug cheat. The fact that went undetected for like seven years was a pretty good effort in itself though. She should be given some sort of prize for that right?
Olympic football is bullshit and a total waste of everyone’s time. Nobody gives a shit except people who only watch football and have no interest in any other sports. Basically for those who aren’t clued up on the politics of Association Football (Soccer to Howards Australia) it goes like this: Football is run internationally by a governing body called FIFA. FIFA are based in a titanium bunker located exactly six Gregorian miles into the Earths Core. They are run by an ex Nazi war criminal with a penchant for young Moroccan boys called Sepp “Number One” Blatter. Now SS Blatter cares not for the IOC (International Olympic Committee) and does not allow them the rights to any of the full international teams. FIFA only allows teams participating in the Olympics to have three players aged over 23 years. This automatically means the football competition at the Olympic games is cheapened and all the glory is saved up for the World Cup, which to FIFA’s credit is always amazing and completely worth the wait.
Football shouldn’t be an Olympic sport because every single player would rather win the World Cup than an Olympic gold medal. If they say otherwise they are liars. The same goes for Tennis.
The Olympics should be about stuff people don’t usually watch. Sports that men and women train their entire lives for but only get attention for it a couple of weeks every four years, and that’s if they are lucky enough to participate in two Olympic Games.
I cant wait to pretend I know what I’m talking about while watching Javelin, to marvel at how far back from the table the Table Tennis guys are and to see how fucking naff the opening ceremony is going to be. It should be a good couple of weeks.
Olympics part two coming soon…
There is a song which gets stuck in my head at least once a month. It happens even if I haven’t heard the song in ages. The song is Shania Twain’s ‘classic’ That Don’t Impress Me Much. I’m even getting lines like ‘So you’re Brad Pitt’ and ‘Uh Uh U-Uuuh’ stabbing me in the head just writing about it. It’s not the only song which does this to me but it the main one. It’s been happening ever since it came out. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and the first thing which enters into my head is ‘Okay, so you’re a rocket scientist’. I can’t explain it. I have never really made a point of listening to it. I don’t really rate any of Shania Twain’s back catalogue. The song is just disgusting catchy to me. Like Pneumonia to a frail old man in a dirty Siberian hospital as soon as it comes into contact with my brain I can’t shake it for ages and ages. It doesn’t end up killing me but it does drive me insane. Perhaps it’s more like Syphilis.
That Don’t Impress Me Much popped in for one of its regular visits today when I was waiting for a bus. God knows why. It initially made me think about what Shania Twain is up to these days. Last I heard she caught her husband (clearly not Brad Pitt, a car owner or a rocket scientist) shagging the maid. She then went and married the maid’s husband and now she is happy as a pig in shit again. Go Girl!
After thinking about the CRAZY white trash exploits of Ms. Twain I started thinking about why my brain allows for this one song to pop into my consciousness every few weeks for absolutely no reason. What is it about this one particular song? I know other people have songs which unexpectedly rock up drunk at 3am to crash inside your head for a few days but why? That Don’t Impress Me Much has absolutely no meaning for me. It’s a song about a girl who doesn’t look for materialism in men (hence the maids husband) and just looks for ‘the touch’. I don’t possess a car, Brad Pitt’s looks or a job with NASA so all I have to go on is ‘the touch’ right? It couldn’t possibly be a reminder to get a university degree or buy a flashy car because that isn’t what the song is about. Shania is telling me the complete opposite.
So if it isn’t about the lyrics it has to be about the music right? The song is catchy but I have heard catchier. I find commercial country music to be pretty average generally and as far as I know this is the only song of its type to break into my psyche once, let alone on a regular basis. I remember Achy Breaky Heart but it has never intruded on my train of thought.
My point is that I JUST DON’T GET IT.
I sometimes feel I suffer from very mild obsessive-compulsive disorder. I generally like things done a particular way (Can’t abide a tea bag going in after the water, often straightening cutlery at the dinner table). Maybe my mind is just playing some kind of OCD-esque prank on me. That has to be it right? But why? Why this shitty fucking song written by this stupid hillbilly over a decade ago? Why me?
Anyway I have a signed poster of Anthony Mundine as a 10 year old (signed by me not ‘The Man’) to give away to the person with the best story about shitty things your mind does to you. Post them on my Facebook page or as comments on the site. Good luck!
Well I was going to write about the State Of Origin but I didn’t. It finished over 24 hours ago and the vibe has gone. Queensland won again. Sport can be a harsh mistress. Blah blah blah blah blah.
Guess you are going to have to wait until next year for that goldmine.
On my train trip home from The Cross this evening I was pondering what to write about. The moment had clearly passed for a commentary about a game of Rugby League most New South Welshmen would rather forget about. I had to think of something. My brain was in Homer Simpson mode. There was nothing but a fly buzzing around hitting my skull every three seconds. I had nothing. I had no choice but to pick up an MX.
For all three of my foreign readers I will explain. MX is a free newspaper News Limited give out to working drones at train stations in Sydney and Melbourne (and maybe Brisbane and other major cities in Australia but I haven’t done my research so I honestly cant confirm that to be fact). It is twenty-eight pages long. I guess about one third is ads. They cover some major news stories, the goings on in Sydney and basically the general everyday zeitgeist according to News Corporation.
Like most people, the page that interests me the most is the one where random people get to text in their opinions on random topics. There is also a column where lonely commuters try and get in contact with complete strangers they spotted on the train. I liked this one the best:
“To quite frankly the prettiest girl I think I’ve ever seen. You were on the Airport-line train and got off with your orange Country Road bag at Revesby about 8pm. Your beautiful red hair and heart-stopping smile made me nearly drop my MX. Coffee?” Nate.
Lovely isn’t it? Guys on trains perving on female commuters to the point where they know what brand their bag is, fantasizing about them to the point its all too much and they have to text a newspaper on the off chance this girl will read it and feel like a bit of a roll in they hay with a complete stranger from the 8 o’clock to Revesby. I think in a hundred years from now when we are living in some kind of bizarre Total Recall-meets-1984 universe all people are going to hook up like this. Every single man, woman and child will be constantly going somewhere on super high-speed kinetic trains and due to a global creepiness pandemic which occurred in July 2043 everyone will have to communicate via newspapers. Of course these newspapers will be made of transparent carbon touchscreen rice paper.
But allow me to digress.
The popularity of this paper is pretty unsurprising. There is just the right amount of news in here for the casual follower of current affairs. Most of the stories are about things which directly effect their readership (public transport, utility prices, taxes). There is a good helping of celebrity gossip and even a section dedicated with tweets from the rich and famous they see fit to publish (“gorgeous day” from Heidi Klum was a highlight). They also talk about animals, sports and the zodiac. They cover all bases to a point, it’s free and there’s always something vaguely interesting if you happen to open it. Winning formula.
Now some more cynical members of society may say that MX is a mind control tool which is bad for the environment and about as informative as a Valvoline commercial. I agree with these people. In this futuristic wet dream we call 2012 surely we have enough smart phones, tablet computers, ugly people and umm real newspapers to keep us distracted for half an hour on our commute. We don’t need it and we shouldn’t pick it up when someone gives it to us. Like herpes, just because it’s free does not mean its good for you.
It’s 7.26am. I worked, went to my parents, ate Mexican food. It took about twenty minutes to get a cab on Old Canterbury rd. Absolute bullshit. One cabbie snubbed us. I was wearing a fucking suit and he snubbed us.
Eventually we got a cab. Oskie and I went back to mine. Hung out with Gino for a while. Went to the bottle shop. Then a party in a hostel (happy birthday Sinead!) We talked about Ronaldo and Messi. Real Madrid and Barcelona. Germany and Spain and Portugal and Italy and England. Joachim Low and Vicente Del Bosque. Wenger and Ferguson. KLF and Reckless Vagina. Demus and B. Deep. We talked and we drank and we moved around. We talked more. It got deeper as we got drunker. It got deeper as it got later. Things started to make sense.
It’s 7.33am. I am now in a continuation of a very, very long night. I just finished listening to James Brown’s ‘It’s A Man’s World’. I listened to the live in 1981 version first. It was alright. The best thing about the original 1964 version is how fast it is. James Brown is one of my favourite singers of all time. I always thought Sly Stone was like James Brown if James Brown was on different gear. They both do those random noises when they sing. ‘Urghh’. ‘AYYY!’ Shit like that.
It’s 7.40am. I have nothing else to say. Just feel these songs and thank me later.
James Brown – It’s A Man’s World
Sly and the Family Stone – Frisky
One thing about Sly and the Family Stone I like is how fucked up it all got. By Fresh which I think was their fourth or fifth album Sly was a fucking trainwreck but he still managed to go into the studio and make a masterpiece. You hear the way he is singing on this track and you just know he wasn’t sane. Sly was past the point of no return but still knew how to make people want to dance, fuck and give him their money. Sick cunt.
Looking for work sucks balls. I hate it. I hate trawling through job sites. I hate how they advertise some sales roles by telling you it is a fun place to work. I hate writing cover letters which make out that I’m ‘extremely interested in this dynamic company’. I hate getting dressed to go to a job interview and not getting the job. I hate it all. It’s the fucking worst.
I already have a job but I really need to get something during the day. Nights do your head in eventually. In the past I have mainly worked in sales. I have always been pretty good at it but I have never really enjoyed it much. Sure reaching your targets at work is rewarding, you don’t want to be seen as dead weight anywhere, but I feel there is more to life than commission, contracts and deals. I have worked in hospitality in the past and have been quite good at it but unfortunately I can’t work nights so I’m looking at sales jobs.
I reckon I would have applied for a good twenty jobs in the last couple of weeks. I have received a total of three callbacks and have had one proper interview. I was unsuccessful. The interview I went to was for some sales job where you had to sell places at these conferences to people from the mining industry. The money was pretty good which is why I applied but as soon as I got there I knew I wasn’t going to get it. It was the land of the Bluetooth headset. The staff was mostly men who all kind of looked the same. The receptionist was nice but I got the feeling she would have been the victim of a fair bit of sexual harassment. It reminded me a bit of Sterling Cooper but it was in Sydney in 2012. The guy who interviewed me was English. He was built like a brick shithouse and looked like a mean bastard. He kept calling me ‘buddy’ too which I wouldn’t have minded so much had I got the job but as I didn’t get it he can go fuck himself. He asked me about my sales experience. I told him that I was an on the street charity fundraiser for a year, I have sold life insurance, done b2b sales for my friends business and for Google. He told me about the job, how the money works and I asked him stuff too. I thought I had it. Next day I get an email saying I didn’t get it. What a waste of time.
Anyway this is a process I have been through more than most people. I don’t know how many jobs I have had but I guess it’s pushing thirty. I have worked in call centres, fast food, big multinationals, a sporting arena and loads of other places. I have always worked to support my lifestyle (creative pursuits + general hedonism are traditionally my priorities). My life has always been my career. No job could ever provide me with that. When I have grown tired of a job it’s generally been pretty obvious. When I was younger I would just stop showing up but as I have grown a bit older and wiser I have learned not to burn as many bridges. One time when I was working for Burwood RSL as a barman my arsehole manager (think a fat version of Gareth Keenan from The Office) told me to clean up a human turd off the bathroom floor. I explained to him that I wasn’t a cleaner and she should get someone else to do it. I knew what was going on. I was down in the sports bar where all the directors drank and I knew they didn’t like me. I had long hair and sideburns and I probably reminded them of all the hippies who shunned then when they got back from Nam. Anyway I was convinced one of these sixty-year-old men had shat on the floor just so I’d have to clean it up. The manager said I had to clean it so I just told him to go fuck himself and left him to clean it up. One thing I will not do for money other than clean up poo is work for the RSL again. They are a pack of cunts who are destroying the country. I’d rather suck a dick.
I did door to door one day too. I got a call from this place asking me to come in for an interview for a ‘customer service position’. I rock up around 10.45 for the 11am interview and the receptionist tells me to sit down and have a glass of water. Anyway at 11 these three Indian guys take me downstairs and put me in a car. We are driving and I ask ‘ummm, where are we going?’ They explain to me that we are on our way to work. Today work was in Glenwood which is this new suburb about an hour drive from the city. I learned in the car that I would be selling phone plans door to door to housewives. I thought I was going to have an interview for a call centre job. So I’m walking these streets lines with McMansions knocking on people’s doors until 9pm and then we leave and go back to the office. I get called in to see the boss who informs me that I did really well for my first day and they want to hire me full time. I told him to go fuck himself and that I didn’t want to be a door-to-door salesman. The look on his face was one of a man who must get told that all the time. Business and usual then.
Basically I don’t like being deceived, pushed around or feeling like a slave so I generally don’t stick around in a job if any of those things start happening. However if I’m treated like an adult and paid well then I’m extremely useful to have around. I have a great problem solving skills, I can relate to the common man and I know how to make money for my employers. So if you are looking for someone who can deal with the public and make you rich, let me know. If not, go fuck yourself.
I know its been a while but here I have made a new podcast. Just a few tracks. Hope you can relate.
Bruce Haack – Requiem
Isley Brothers – Sensuality
Electric Wire Hustle – Perception
Action Bronson – Cocoa Butter
Kool Keith – Regular Girl
Cee Lo – Evening News
Anita Baker – Been So Long
Jaylib – Starz
Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire – Huzzah!
The Weekend – Life Of The Party
Delroy Wilson – Loving You Is Sweeter Than Ever
Broadcast – Winter Now
Beck – Nobody’s Fault But My Own
So as some of you may or may not know I work in a strip club. Its ok but to be honest I’m getting pretty sick of the place. The one I work in is a good one where the girls are treated like humans and mostly make good money without having to do anything they aren’t comfortable with. That being said I have seen some pretty dark shit in there and honestly a year and a half I think may be my limit.
I have learned many things while working there. Things about Women. Things about hustling. Things about music. Things about business. But one of the subjects I have learned about more than anything is Men.
Men are strange creatures. Most Men I know all have a direction in life. We work hard to get somewhere. Our egos wouldn’t have it any other way. Some men take longer to decide what vocation is best suited to them. Others have known since they were kids. Some men are motivated by money, some by companionship, some by power and some by popularity. Most by a combination of these. Some Men read a lot, others just watch Channel 7. Some Men are confident with the opposite sex while others would piss their cargo shorts before they could ask a girl for the time.
Working in a strip club I have met a lot of Men. Some guys come in once and I’ll never see them again while some come in every day. We have a members show on a Tuesday and there are about five middle aged Men who show their membership cards for free entry, go into a dark little room and for fifteen minutes see a ‘free’ vagina. They normally stick around for about fifteen minutes after. They have a glass of water and discuss the girl who just danced for them. We also have customers who come in and book several girls for hours at a time ($360 an hour after 9pm in the VIP area). They buy shots and champagne and they party until about 2am then they go back to their unhappy wives. Wake up strung out. Go to their $200,000+ jobs and come back to get fleeced the next day. Like clockwork.
Some guys come in looking to get laid; others come in looking for a girlfriend. Whoever it is one thing is for sure in my eyes; strip club customers are a microcosm of Men in general.
While the average civilian Male may work hard in his field to have influence over others around him, the guy out the back with the bottles of Dom and the black Amex is doing the same thing. The guy at the stage tipping hundred dollar bills while the girl ignores the poor sucker with $4 worth of tipping dollars in his hand is flexing his muscle. Being a man. ‘She wants me because I have the money’ thinks the executive while the poor guy who had to get $20 out at the ATM around the corner so he could participate in frankly one of the silliest pastimes in western civilization is thinking ‘What an arsehole’ and ‘I wonder what he does for a living? I’m such a loser’. The guy with less money briefly aspires to be the cunt at the stage with the hunjies. Like some sleazy lost chapter of Alain De Botton’s Status Anxiety.
I have seen guys come through those doors flashing their money around like it was never going to end. One guy, lets just call him Adam, started coming in and he always gave about $400 to one of the security guards. I think this was because he was a bit of a lunatic and he liked to get into fights with people and he wanted his very own bouncer to back him up. Anyway Adam was some kind of Vice President of some big company and he just threw money around like it was going out of fashion. He eventually took a shine to me and basically paid me to hang out with him because I don’t think he really had any friends and he’d occasionally get rid of any girls who he didn’t want hanging around him trying to take his money. One afternoon he came in off his tits and tipped me $1450. I couldn’t believe it. I thought ‘Hey I’m going to look after this guy from now on, I might be able to afford that hair transplant I have always wanted’. Essentially Adam had turned me into a stripper and I really didn’t care. Anyway he kept coming in and for the next couple of months I would get tipped somewhere between $200-$600 every time I saw him. Then Adam started coming in and the tips got smaller and smaller. He would arrive at two in the afternoon and ask for drugs. Of course we told him we were a legitimate venue and not some sketchy hole in the wall one stop sin monger. The tips eventually dried up for everyone and then nobody cared about Adam anymore. Nobody has seen the guy for about eight months. I hope he’s doing ok…
The thing about strip club punters is that even if they do know that the whole point of the business is to drain every last penny out of you all in the name of a bit of titillation, they don’t seem to care. The titillation is what gets them through their lives. There’s one guy who comes in every single day who I could have sworn was gay. When the kitchen is open he’ll have a steak, sit by the stage and talk to the girls. He just loves the company. He works locally Monday to Friday but every now and then he’ll come in on a Saturday just to feel at home again.
Anyway I guess when the time does come to leave and get myself a normal job I will of course miss my co-workers and some of the girls who have made my time there enjoyable however I will also miss the freak show. The constant reminder that you are one messy divorce away from driving into the city every Tuesday night for a fifteen-minute glance at a vagina. You are only $100,000 a year away from spending all your evenings in some dimly lit and probably sticky ‘VIP’ room. Just a coke habit away from giving a huge Serbian man $400 a night so he can have your back if you decide to punch someone in the face for ‘lookin queer’ at you.
Actually fuck that. Have these people never heard of pornhub?