Richard Thruster

In my regular surfing, I came across a few articles I thought were interesting.

First is this from Andrew Sullivan. Allah, evidently, wants us to breastfeed. Which led to this response from a guy who once watched a dancer squirt breast milk across a club. Yikes. That’s not my thing at all. But it works for some. So more power to you.

Second comes this from Seattle sex writer extraodinaire, Dan Savage. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep it wrapped.

Oh, what I’ve yet to learn! I’ve been to Dante’s several times over the last couple of years. I saw Michael Penn get heckled off-stage by some drunk moron who kept asking if he knew any songs about guys in black jeans. I attended several Rick Emerson fan parties as we cheered on Storm Large on that Rock Star show. And I’ve been to one or two Clyde Lewis things to see what’s swimming around in his head.

But Dante’s has this other side, see. A side I’ve never participated in. The Frank Faillace side. Love him or hate him, Frank knows what the people want. They want their smut. And he gives it to them. In spades. And Dante’s is Frank’s baby. And a couple nights a week, Dante’s celebrates that other side.

Tonight I went down and checked out the Beavers game with a friend, with an eye toward hitting Dante’s afterward for the Xotica-Go-Go. Just to see what that was all about.

Burnside, from 3rd on up to Broadway, is beginning to sprout a couple of nude establishments. Dante’s has a place upstairs, the Cabaret has opened on the north side of the street, and of course there’s always Mary’s Place, a place I’ve yet to visit and is probably only appreciated while the Rose Festival fleet is in town. Anyway, I noticed tonight that the Paris Theater has turned into some sort of nude establishment. Sometime, when it’s not a school night, I’ll have to make a little crawl out of all those places.

Back to the task at hand. Xotica-Go-Go. 9pm, sharp, said everything I read. So I showed up at 9:15 to find the door closed and the door man outside.

“See the girl at the register,” he said.

No problem, I thought. I walked inside and was mildly shocked by what I saw. The Xotica -Go-Go evidently hadn’t begun yet. Up on stage, I saw a nude woman lying on her side. Lounging, is more like it. Interesting, I though.

“Are you here for Dr. Sketchy’s?” the girl asked. She wore a black top that exposed her shoulders and accentuated her medium breasts.

“Huh?” I asked, momentarily stunned. I was expecting to see the Moulin Rouge and had instead walked into something completely different.

“Do you have your student ID?,” she asked.

No student ID. I’m a civilian.

“Six bucks”, she said.

I took a look around as I headed toward the ATM to grab some cash. A bunch of college-age guys were sitting around the club with sketch pads, drawing the lounging model on-stage.

Dr. Sketchy’s! It all finally made sense. My friend The Librarian had told me about similar projects in Boise, where bars would host “art nights”. For a cover, guys were given pencil and paper and a fresh young model to draw. Or they could just say screw it and drink beer. It was the owner’s way of getting around Idaho’s rather strict rules about nudity and such. Call it art, they figured, and you could do about anything you wanted. An interesting theory. Unfortunately it didn’t quite work out.

I thought about it for a second. $6 to draw a naked girl? That seems kind of steep. Especially when I can come home and look at this girl for free.

So I excused myself and headed for home. I’ll definitely hit Sinferno or Xotica-Go-Go one of these nights. You can count on that. Just not tonight.

It’s not the first place I ever visited, but it’s certainly my most frequented establishment. The Dolphin on McLoughlin has been my goto place for over 15 years now. In a previous life, the building was a buffet. My grandparents used to treat my family to dinner out there about once a month back during the Regan administration. Good times.

The place made the switch from restaurant to adult entertainment sometime in the early 90s. I can’t remember when exactly it was. I do remember the first stage was literally a sheet of plywood laid right on top of the old buffet line. Such were the humble beginnings of The Dolphin.

Over the years there have been a couple of remodels. The bar has moved a time or two as have the couches. For a time there was an attendant in the mens room. He’s long gone. As is the poor Mexican woman trying to sell flowers table to table. Why in the heck would anyone think that’s a profitable venture? I’m not at the club for romance. I’m there to see naked babes.

Part of what makes it my favorite place is I know the rules. That’s kind of a harsh way to put it, but it is what it is. I know what’s expected of me and I know what’s expected of the girls. There’s no “buy me a $15 drink” crap. There’s also very little touching, except on the couch. We’ll get to that in a bit. My point is, whenever I go anywhere else, I have to spend the first 10 or 20 minutes trying to figure out the ground rules. Is there a cover? A two-drink minimum? What can the girls do? What can I do? At the Dolphin, I figured this out long ago. So I can just go in and have a good time.

Turns out Memorial Day weekend isn’t the primest of times at the Dolphin. I got there about 10 on Saturday night, after the Lidell fight. A few years ago, they instituted a $5 cover on Fridays and Saturdays. I don’t have any complaints about that. The club is in business to make money and $5 is more than reasonable for the entertainment within. As is their semi-enforced two-drink minimum. I say semi-enforced because as long as you have something in your hand, they generally leave you alone. It’s when you don’t have a drink, they get upset. Again, that’s fine.

The waitresses are hit-and-miss. I was thrown out one night many moons ago for arguing with a waitress about change. She didn’t have any $1’s with her and started copping an attitude with me about how she was there for herself and I could get my own singles. I let her know I wasn’t there to watch her serve drinks and bada bing bada boom, I was up the street at the Acropolis. Last night, I had an interesting experience with one waitress who tried to short me $5 in change. Always a nice way to start the evening. I still tipped her. Waitresses ALWAYS get a buck for bringing me a drink or making change…they work hard when they’re not trying to cheat me.

On to the show.

The girls at the Dolphin are always top-notch. And there’s always someone in there for everyone. The faces can stay the same for quite a while then suddenly change like that. Last night’s crew have been around for a while. I’m terrible with names, but resolved to remember one. Jewel. More on her in a sec. Normally I sit at one of the side tables and enjoy my Coors Light, until a girl piques my interest. Then I go down to the stage and get a closer look. Girls are on stage for two-songs then rotate. The first tune always gets a buck from me. The second, two. Unless I have a crush, then I’ve been known to put as much as $10 on the rail for some extra attention.

No crushes last night. There were, however, three girls who will be competing in the Miss Nude Oregon pageant in a few weeks. Girls had post cards scattered around the club advertising their candidacy. It was kind of cute. I can only remember two of their names though. I’m so terrible. Jewel was one of them. The other, Electra Blue. The third? Crap. It starts with an M. I can tell you that!

Anywho, Jewel was first up for my evening. She and I have a bit of a history going back a few years. She’s a hot brunette with an absolutely KILLER body. No tattoos. No piercings. Just perfect tits and a perfect ass. Probably 5′7″ or so. Maybe? Anyway, when she’d just started working there, I bought a couple of couch dances from her. Her style is kind of mechanical and almost painful. She tries to give these shoulder rubs, but they’re more like shoulder pokes. Like getting jabbed with the eraser end of ten pencils. Zero fun. Unfortunately for me, she never forgets a face. At least not mine. Anytime I come through the door, she immediately chats me up and asks for a couch dance. And I always decline. I’ve learned my lesson.

Second was Electra Blue. I’m guessing she’s under-21, because she spent most of her off-stage time peering out from the couches. If you’re not 21, you can’t be out on the main floor unless you’re walking to or from the stage or the dressing room. A few inches shorter than Jewell, she came out and performed to Fallout Boy and decided to do some interpretive dancing to the chorus.

Right. Between that and the angel wing tattoo on her back, she went from favorite to also-ran just like that.

Sidenote: A quick note on tattoos and piercings. Five or six years ago, you couldn’t go into a single strip club in town without seeing a girl all tatted up with piercings in her tongue and clit. The clit piercing in particular never did anything for me. I’ve never understood it. But it’s the tattoos that crack me up. There’s an entire generation of women who are now between 25 and 40 who have those ass-antler tattoos on their lower backs because in 2002 it was considered cool to have them. Guys dug them. But mens’ tastes have moved on to other things. So now these women have these permanent reminders of how they’ll do anything to get a man’s attention. Sort of sad. But sort of funny. And dumb. Whatever. I’m just glad to finally see the majority of dancers tattoo free. Now if we could just convince them to quit piercing their god damned nipples.

So despite her face and body, Electra Blue was out of the running.

Mmmmm…..was another looker. I can’t remember too much about her though. Brunette. Cute. And certainly put on a show. Damn. Now I have to go back. Or at least visit the competition on June 7.

Toward the end of the evening though, I figured out if I had a vote, I’d have to throw it for Jewel. As annoying as she can be (and she CAN be), and as terrible as that couch dance is, she’s still the hottest dancer in there. Maybe she’d let me pay her $20 to stand there naked for me. I guess I need to get a little more aggressive about that.

So there’s the Dolphin. My home away from home and the standard by which all others shall be judged. I’m not saying it’s the best, mind you, I’m just saying it’s where I feel most comfortable and where I feel I get the most bang for my buck.

Next up? The place my buddy goes to when he’s in town and just wants to grab a beer and look at titties. Good times.

The best line of the current season of Entourage was Johnny Drama’s dismissive “what’s a Chuck Lidell?” Well thanks to a massive media barrage, tonight folks found out. And they simultaneously found out why UFC isn’t like anything you’ve seen before.

Tonight’s festivities opened with a trip to the Mall 205 Hooters to watch the fight and get warmed up for my own main attraction. I have yet to have a good experience at any of the probably half-dozen Hooters I’ve visited around the country. The food, as everyone knows, is mediocre. But going to Hooters for the food is like going to Vegas to gamble. It’s totally not the point. You go to Hooters for the waitresses. And for some reason they always make themselves scarce when I’m around. I have no idea why.

It really wasn’t their fault tonight. The place was jammed to the gills with guys watching the card. I ended up standing next to the greeter station and watched the entire match without the benefit of alcohol. Which is fine. Amanda kept me company for most of the evening by sitting up on the counter and giving me an occasional look at her very stressed out breasts. The rest of the girls were equally hot. Although the uniform seems to be evolving. About half were wearing black outfits rather than the traditional orange shorts and white tank tops. Maybe the blac uniform signified something. Obviously more research is required.

Speaking of iconic uniforms. There’s a Hot Dog On A Stick at Lloyd Center. I was there today checking into a new laptop computer and hit the food court for lunch. Anyway, there was a 40-something lady working the counter, wearing that classic uniform with the shorts, tank, and the hat. She had a few miles on her. And they weren’t highway, if you catch my drift. An absolute waste of that uniform. She should be allowed (requested?) to wear something else.

Anyway, the fight. I got to watch three of the under-card bouts. Each better than the one before. I’ve been very slow to pick up on this whole MMA thing, but now I’m hooked. It’s boxing only better. The Din Thomas/Jeremy Stephens fight was something else. I honestly thought Stephens had Thomas licked, but in a split second, Thomas had Stephens in an arm bar which, had the referee not stopped the fight, would have resulted in some severe damage for Stephens. The Parisyan/Burkman fight was a lot of fun to watch as well.

But tonight was all about Lidell and “Rampage” Jackson. Lidell is about as big as a name gets in the sport and with things peaking media-wise, the timing of the fight couldn’t have been better. The entire room was pro-Lidell as were the folks they interviewed during the broadcast. He’s the man, I guess. I was interested to see what the big deal was. From the moment the fight started, though, you could sort of sense that Lidell wasn’t 100% there. He looked tentative. At least to me, and like I said, I know nothing of the sport. And wouldn’t you know it, Jackson dropped Lidell with a clean fist to the temple and followed it up with a flurry of punches while Lidell was flat on his back until Lidell was out cold. Tonight “Rampage” Jackson rules the world.

Listening to the radio afterward, you would think this was the worst thing ever for the sport. Nothing could be further from the truth. What killed boxing was the fact nights like tonight are so far apart. Years, in fact. Boxing promoters put their stars up against patsies and ask us to pay $50 to watch their crap. UFC, on the other hand, is controlled by a couple of brothers and a promoter. They set all the matches. And they set them to be competitive. So rather than watching some babyface come in and dominate, ala WWE, they set their matches to be unpredictable. That’s what happened tonight. And that’s why they made a fan of me. You can bet your ass I’ll be back for UFC 72 in three weeks.

This project was supposed to begin last weekend, but was postponed when my buddy’s flight was delayed. So we try again. Maybe. See THIS weekend is all about birthdays, thus we may be delayed again. We shall see.

This weekend’s to-do list includes a stop at Hooters for the UFC PPV, an introduction to my favorite club in town and why it will always be the one by which others are judged, and maybe a trip to another place to see how dancing and NASCAR go together. Maybe.

If you’re from the 503 and have a suggestion or an opinion, feel free to leave a comment.