Well, damn, if we didn’t all have a really good time at the Golden Gals Gone Wild gallery show this weekend. I admit I was, to a certain extent, dubious about the concept. I wasn’t really allowed to watch television as a child. My parents didn’t want me to turn out weird or antisocial or anything. So I have never seen the TV show Golden Girls, although I understand it is about a group of charismatic elderly babes who still speak like human beings, instead of like people’s warped concept of what people are supposed to act like as they age. I have this pretty much on hearsay and having walked through a room where the TV was on. So, anyway, I’m sure there were nuances in the work displayed this past Saturday which would have spoken to someone more versed in old television shows.

Curator Lenora Claire spent $110 on an oil painting by artist Chris Zimmerman off eBay, featuring Golden Girls actress Bea Arthur (I think she was the sexy one, but maybe that was Blanche Devereaux.) in the nude. Lenora Claire loved the painting and decided that it’s existence in her possession was a great reason to throw a massive multi-artist gallery show to celebrate the whole theme. I was charmed by the idea, as a lot of projects I end up blowing up into ridiculously huge things start off with exactly the same sort of thought process.

I had additional really excellent reasons for going to the gallery show, despite my innocence of sitcoms of yesteryear. First, Blue Blood’s own Ed Mironiuk did a sleekly latex-clad Bea Arthur for the show, which was featured in fliers and all that good stuff, but I love seeing art in person and I like to support my friends’ creative output and I like to see Ed Mironiuk, but he lives on the East Coast. Also, some of my unsavory pals and I thought having gone would be an entertaining conversation piece. One of my friends was threatening to spend the whole time texting people to tell them “hey, guess what I’m at!” It seemed like half the people in the gallery space actually had cell phones out and were doing this and it made for a super packed event.

The art show at the World of Wonder Storefront Gallery on Hollywood Boulevard transcended the theme, however. I did not have to be an aficionado of the show to really enjoy the art there. Kudos to Lenora Claire for gathering up a really interesting diverse group of creative people. A few standouts including amazing use of texture were Jason Mercier’s junk portrayal of Rue McLanahan and Elmer Presslee’s flowery Bea. The punk fantasy of Austin Young’s piece was a cool take on the theme, which made me look him up when I got home. In the clean commercial lines department, I really liked the superhero quadtych (Is that a word — like triptych only four?), a little blue naughty piece, and of course Glen Hanson’s piece, which was also used for commemorative T-shirts. I can’t believe I didn’t take a picture of Glen Hanson, as he was wearing essentially gold lamé underwear and looked delightfully striking. And it took something to be striking in a room where go go dancers sported giant paper maché granny heads and a DJ complained that they had been planning to hang work by club kid killer Michael Alig. No idea why Alig didn’t show, but I’m guessing a club kid famous mostly for killing someone because he couldn’t figure out how to otherwise acquire drugs . . . well, I’m just saying there is some Darwinism there and maybe not so much responsibility.

Luminaries in attendance included Blue Blood head designer/artist Forrest Black, Blue Blood hottie Scar 13, Blue Blood hottie Xochitl (who Forrest Black and I each thought the other had photographed that night), artist Kristin Tercek of Cuddly Rigor Mortis fame, writer/gadfly Clint Catalyst reporting for BuzzNet, writer/director Ramzi Abed creator of The Black Dahlia Movie, editor Tony Pierce from the LAist, fashion designer Adele Mildred, and writer Tucker Max who was there to support Rudius Media artist Jim Wirt of Coloring Book Land.

Incidentally, I mentioned in a previous feature on Tucker Max that he was coy about whether or not he did cocaine. It seemed to me, in a very funny story he wrote about a Las Vegas vacation, that he was deliberately avoiding committing to whether or not he had done blow in the land of casinos. He would like me to share that he would absolutely have just said it, if he was nose down in white powder and that, in point of fact, he has never done, and never intends to do, cocaine. I’ve been trying to decide if I agree with the Tucker Max theory of “beer and hot chicks” versus “hookers and blow,” but I’ll have to get back to y’all on that one.

Clint Catalyst, fresh off his acting turn with Michelle Tea and Guinevere Turner in In the Spotlight told me he started off the evening with a lot more makeup and had gone through five outfits over the course of the night. At the bottom of the page, you can see the video Clint Catalyst shot, including some footage of Forrest Black at the beginning.

I have to say that I kind of wished I had brought a change of clothes because it was ridiculously hot in the gallery. My clothing was so drenched with sweat that I actually did go home and change my shirt before going to an afterparty. (Admittedly, my home is on Hollywood Blvd, in between where the gallery is and the house in the Hollywood Hills I was going to afterwards, but it was hot.) It was so hot inside that what might normally be delicate napkin-blotting to avoid damaging makeup quickly became the full on athletic-style blot or face squeegee. World of Wonder could stand to invest in some A/C. You will notice in the photos of the event that Scar and I are making what appear to be peculiar gang signs; we are fanning ourselves in the oppressive heat.

Excessive warmth notwithstanding, whether or not attendees were Golden Girls fans, I think everyone had a good time. I got to see tons of people I like, who I don’t see every day. There was a crazy mix of people. In fact, the demographics were so mixed that it was like a game of rock/paper/scissors whether people were going to go in for the handshake, the Hollywood hug, or the cheek kiss. I’m usually not a big fan of kitsch, because I feel an artist should truly own what they create and not hide behind irony, but a lot of the Golden Gals Gone Wild artists really rose to the occasion and it was a smashing fun event. I can tell it is going to be a really fun time in Los Angeles this season, can practically smell it on Hollywood Blvd. Not that I want to go around smelling Hollywood, but you get my meaning.

You all may have noticed the banners for the movie Devil’s Den in rotation this week. It stars Kelly Hu, Ken Foree and Devon Sawa and is described by Amazon as, “Two small time drug-dealers cross paths with a female-assassin, a monster hunter, a Japanese swordsman and even the Devil himself at a gentlemen’s club housing murderous she-demons.” The slogan for Devil’s Den is “The final battle for the souls of mankind will be fought in a bar full of possessed strippers.” This is not only a deeply awesome slogan, but it reminded me that I had a great article by Sara X to post for your reading pleasure in honor of Devil’s Den. –Amelia G

I’m not a stripper. Really, I’m not. To say that I am a stripper would be to imply that I actually take my clothes off when I dance, which I don’t. In fact, to do so and be caught would result in a ticket for solicitation, a hefty fine, court fees, and a prostitution charge on my permanent record. So why do people, both men and women, pay enough to see me dance that I can live in the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed? I’ve spent the past year and a half wondering that myself.

What I do is known around here as “go-go”. When I hear that term I think bouffant hairdos, psychadelic colors, white vinyl knee-high boots and maybe even a little James Bond. In larger cities, go-go dancers are girls who are paid a flat rate to dance in a club, usually on a box, usually scantily clad. From what I’ve heard, the city is so against any sort of gentleman’s club that the clubs were termed “go-go bar” in order to seem more innocuous. The laws here are strict- it’s not just stripping that’s illegal. These laws are enforced by a peculiarly reclusive branch of the Alcoholic Beverage Control that is known simply as “Vice”. The type of bar you work in can be determined by how well they follow these rules. In some ways, it would appear that a go-go bar isn’t so different from any other strip club after all.

If one or two of the laws are strictly adhered to, you work in an okay bar. Someone usually tips off the owners when Vice is coming in. Vice is usually fat, sweaty, covered in bad tattoos, wearing a wrinkled rayon shirt, doesn’t tip, and virtuallly indistinguishable from at least half of the other patrons.

If all of the laws are strictly adhered to, you work in a real dump. The city wants very badly to be rid of the place so that someone else can come along and give them free drugs. Oops I mean adhere to their laws.

If none of the laws are even remotely adhered to, then your boss is filling the nasal cavities of and providing private parties for every branch of government that could possibly find beef with him at any point. Extra points if your boss, his close friends or relatives never go to jail. Even if they’ve probably killed someone. In the parking lot.

I’ve never been able to procure a copy of the actual laws outlining The Do’s and Don’ts of Virginia Go-Go, right now I don’t have to worry about it (I’ve already danced at a retirement party for some city official this year but hey, city officials can’t been seen in that sort of establishment so why not open it just for them for the afternoon and provide dancers free of charge?!). From what I have gathered working in six area bars it’s like this:

1.) Thou shalt not strip. In fact, if thou art seen taking off even a coverup on the stage area, thou shalt be smited with a fine of $500 or more, a date in court, court fees, lawyer fees, and a charge on thy permanent record. If thy club chooses to make thee pay their fees as well, thou art fucked.

2.) Thou shalt not mimic sexual acts while dancing. We recommend polka lessons or that Michael Flatley “Riverdance”.

3.) Thou shalt not touch thy genitalia, breasts, posterior, or any article of clothing while in the stage area. This includes spanking thyself. To do so will result in neverending fees. Nevermind that if thy bottoms are seen riding up thine ass, thou shalt be smited with aforementioned ticket, fees, etc. We call this “damned if you do, damned if you don’t”.

4.) Thou shalt wear a coverup at all times while not on the stage area. Coverups must be opaque and cover from neck to mid-thigh.

5.) Thou shalt wear full tops and full bottoms at all times. We’re not too sure about the guidelines for the top as long as there’s no nipple showing, or the front of thy bottoms as long as there is no vagina showing, but as far as the rear of the bottoms go, thou shalt not intimate that thou hast an asscrack, nor shalt thou show the bottom of thy buttcheeks. This means bootyshorts are illegal. Whoever made up the “must be at least four inches across” rule was lying to thee. Putting a safety pin or a permanent cinch in the back of thy bottoms to prevent “the diaper look” is illegal. Basically We wanteth thou to wear granny panties. In order to be legal, thou must use school glue or two-sided garment tape to make thy bottoms stick to thy butt. No, We are not joking.

6.) Thou shalt not bring props onto the stage. We do not know why. But We shall still fine thee for it.

7.) Thou shalt not dance with another dancer, touch another dancer, share the stage area with another dancer, and ESPECIALLY not imitate sex acts with another dancer. To do so shall result in making an unholy amount of money, instant death, and/or fines that will take all of your money whilst making thee wish thou were dead.

8.) Thou shalt not sit idle on the stage. This is to discourage thee from talking to thy customers. To do so is to solicit prostitution. Somehow. And thou can bet thine ass We shall fine thee mightily for it.

9.) Thou shalt not at any time even when on the floor area touch a customer. To do so is to be giving a lapdance. Fines, fines, more fines. Then We shall shut down thy bar.

Oh. Also, thou shalt not be touched by a customer. It doesn’t matter if thou didn’t solicit his or her touch. We shall still write thee a ticket for solicitation.

10.) Thou shalt always remember the line between the stage and the customers, known as the “tip rail”. Thou shalt not cross this line with any part of thy body, even a foot, at any time. To do so wouldst make thou a prostitute, and We shall mark you as such for the rest of thy born days. Forget ever having a goverment job.

Any time you violate these laws, you are pulled offstage, a Polaroid is taken of you, your offending garment (where applicable) and you are written a citation. That’s not even going into the health code laws. Those begin with “Thou shalt never be barefoot in thy bar”, cover the requisite “Thou shalt not put bodily fluids in anything served in thy bar”, continuing on forever, reiterating some ABC laws, ending with “Thou shalt not bring animals into thy bar”. I was wondering who would even violate the last one, up until management found me guilty of being late to get onstage due to excessive hormones and baby talk directed at someone’s tiny fluffy five-week old kitten in the dressing room.