During my 3 plus months exile in Iowa last year, I made it my mission to fill my every waking moment of my every brief trip to New York with light, color, action, art and madness and therefore suck the very marrow out of my all too limited time back in civilization. To this end one evening, I found myself at a burlesque show. A fairly high-end affair actually.
It was held in a super cute, moody place on Avenue B called Affaire, in their appropriately tasseled, velveteen and red-leathered basement. All that was missing was the smoke hanging in the air. (God damn puritanical New York State.)
We had a motley crew at our table. Two of us were then writing for a website, and the three others were invited by us. I was setting up a conductor/composer friend of mine with a super hot writer/yoga instructor friend of mine and decided in my infinite wisdom that live burlesque in a basement over mussels, French fries and cocktails was the perfect environment for them to hit it off. And how right I was. Nudity really is the great social equalizer, I have always found.
The final member of our table was a super straight uber Aryan German lawyer who looked shockingly like Cary Elwes.
There was a great deal going on so I had to stay on my game. I wanted to keep on eye on Maestro Freen and Ms. Yoganina to make sure their intro progressed smoothly, schmooze the management of Affaire, take in the surroundings, explain to the German why it was important for him to know just how much he looked like Cary Elwes and who Cary Elwes actually is, duck out and smoke frequently enough to keep the nic fits at bay without missing any action AND of course watch the dancers as they performed. This multi tasking was made all the more difficult by the exceedingly cute girl in glasses sitting next to me confessing her kinky sex fantasies in hot, hushed tones and great and glorious detail in my left ear. I often get this from those familiar with my work strangely. Needless to say I hung on her every breathy, sugary word. (Obviously I still do as we are now engaged to be married.)
Being terribly out of practice due to my extended exile in Iowa the maintenance of this multi-disciplinary focus was far, far more draining than it should have been.
Thank god the dancers offered a distraction from my Machiavellian Machinations at the table. Every dancer was a true performance artist. So very unlike stripping, although of course they did take off their clothes, and so much more exciting. Each performance lasted only a single song but contained within it an entire story. A complete emotional journey. Very much like filthy Lieder. But without the singing. And with boobs.
Each performance had a similar story arc. A young girl tired of being prim and proper embraces her inner vixen and sexuality and becomes a self possessed, man slaying woman of the world. A very uplifting and positive message really. And I always love a happy ending. Especially one with sparkling, tassel covered nipples.
In the end, Maestro Freen and Miss Yoganina really hit it off. The super cutie in the glasses continued whispering her sweet kinky fantasies to me throughout the night, so things obviously went swimmingly there. And, in the end, I believe the German Lawyer came to terms with what it means to look like Cary Elwes. So we all had happy endings of our own.
-Shawn E Milnes
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We all must come to grips with our celebrity doppelganger, be they Cary Elwes or Bea Arthur.