As per yesterday's blog ...

I was devastated to learn last night that, since Bush's second term began, Los Angeles has changed the laws for exotic dance clubs: if a strip club serves alcohol, the dancers must wear bikinis.

Which explains why two friends and I---all yogis, no less---were at Cheetah's last night, weeping into our martinis and absolutely gutted to learn that bikinis was all we was gonna get.

Bikinis?

What the hell is wrong with this country that two men and their lady friend can't go to an exotic dance club, sip a beverage, and be mesmerized by synthetic breasts shaking in time to heavy metal or rock-rap?

You weren't even allowed to tuck tips into waistbands! So in the custom of the Ishtar love cults of ancient Babylon, I set several propitiatory offerings of dollar bills at the feet of those ladies whose dancing called forth the divine goddess, or who did tricky and athletic pole maneuvers.

Bikinis!

Christ.

PS, and I practiced today, and it was great, so there.