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xmag.com : September 2001 : The Gospel According to Viva Las Vegas

The Gospel according to Viva Las Vegas - "the laziest gal downtown"

VivaIt's almost Viva Las Vegas Day again. On September 30th, I'll have been a stripper for five years. FIVE YEARS! And I've loved every minute of it. So much so that I feel I'm at war with time. I loathe time. It's a boring inevitability that somehow dictates what we should and should no longer be doing with our lives. Goddamn time came when I felt I had to move on or start to feel the flipside of the beautiful and nourishing co-dependency I had with the strip industry. So I left town. But ya can't just end a love affair by leaving, though I always try. Here in NYC I've been picking up stripping gigs where I can, and they've been wildly successful. But the scene here is such that sex must be packaged in these ironic or academic or kitschy ways that sucks all the sexiness outta it! And what worse sin is there than to leach the sexiness from sex?!? I've become part of what I've always derided, made fun of, despised. Here's how it works. People hear of me and my over-educated but at least taste-tested theories on the sex industry. Someone calls someone else and I get a call to perform before a buncha white hipster folk and preach to 'em the real values and soul of the sex industry. They lap it up, discuss a while, then go home to their sterile expensive lives. I get no money and little satisfaction,
cuz it's a discursive experiment more than it is an aesthetic experience. And
in no way is it art. It's a lecture, and I get naked just to make sure the kids are paying attention.

Now it's becoming popular. Ironic burlesque is the dish du jour. Both the Voice and the New Yorker ran substantial bits on it last month. More folks are calling. They say I could be quite a sensation, doing these sterile, unsexy lectures that are naughty enough to be edgy but tame enough not to really screw up the status quo. I could name my price. But again, my high and mightily moral standards scream that real prostitution is more honest, better for society, more nourishing for all involved. Maybe that's my niche.

"Then I slowly get dressed while talking about white cotton panties, the importance of bras and buttons and that the best possible outfit is a smile."

Here's what's on my calendar:

ART GALLERY REVERSE STRIP. Wherein I tell 'em how it's done. Come out with a robe on, talk about aesthetics and art, drop the robe and say, "at the end of the day all a gal's got on are her shoes and her music." Then I slowly get dressed while talking about white cotton panties, the importance of bras and buttons and that the best possible outfit is a smile. Then I take it all off again. Smart white hipsters of breeding age love this one.

LOT 61. An Andy Warhol protege runs this superhot club, but only doles
out about five minutes of fame, for which he pays handsomely! This is a
high-heeled short-attention-span crowd, so ya gotta get down to the nitty
gritty faster.

CONEY ISLAND BABY. The Great Fredini, a sword swallower, runs this at his Coney Island Sideshow/Museum. He offers "traditional burlesque that's slightly twisted," like it'd be boring otherwise. But really, it'd be so enjoyable it'd be subversive and that's scary!

VIVA LAS VEGAS DAY. I'm comin' home to PDX for two weeks at the end of the month to recoup my strength. Be there or be square!!

 

 

 

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