No. 630 – Tonight, Tonight

Performer: Smashing Pumpkins

Songwriter: Billy Corgan

Original Release: Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

Year: 1995

Definitive Version: None

When Scott asked me to be his best man, I accepted, of course, with the idea that I would have to deliver—not only him on time to the church on the big day as well as a great speech at the reception, but also in terms of the bachelor party.

I knew immediately what I wanted to do: Windsor, where the, ahem, ballet establishments were legendary for the quality and lack of clothing of their dancers and also that they could be enjoyed while quaffing a Labatt’s (and still are for all I know). But which establishment? I knew of at least a half-dozen by name but not experience.

There seemed to be only one logical solution: a scouting trip. You know the great thing about that, right, besides of course the fact that you’re going to be surrounded by women of shall we say a more morally casual attitude about clothing all night? Yep, complete approval from the significant other. But, Debbie, I’m only doing this because I have to find the right place for Scott. You understand, right? She gave me permission.

Of course, I couldn’t hit the Windsor ballet unattended. Who better to help me on my vital mission but Dave and Doug, known connoisseurs of the art of the dance? Doug also brought significant relevant information to the table.

I had already been to the Million Dollar Saloon, and Jason’s seemed to be a required stop, but where else? Doug had it on good authority that a good rule of thumb, at least back in the Nineties, was that the dance establishments that had animals in their name generally were the best. One in particular was Cheetah’s. OK, put it on the list. After that, we’d play it by ear.

We went to Jason’s first, and it didn’t seem to be happening that night there. It was much smaller than the Saloon, although it seemed to be classier. But it was pretty empty, not only of dollar-waving patrons but also dancers. An off night is an off night, but I saw all I wanted to see.

Then we went to Cheetah’s, which was far more divey. It also was packed. But then when you consider that the kitchen and living room in my apartment weren’t much smaller, that isn’t saying much.

As you walked into the room, back then, a small semi-circle stage was to the left and then something of an L-shape of tables that ringed it. There was one aisle and then one row of tables along the mirrored walls. There certainly were no more than 25 tables, probably fewer, in the joint.

But activity also brings excitement, so Cheetah’s certainly seemed to have more going on. The dancers weren’t any hotter than those at Jason’s on the whole, but they seemed to be far more engaging. And friendliness counts for a lot. How else to create the illusion that they’re actually interested in you and thus take all of your money?

Dave, Doug and I were taken to a table to the far side of the stage, which was close to where the pole was located, so we had a good vantage point. We had been there only a few minutes before the first dancer approached our table asking whether we wanted a dance. At Jason’s, no one approached us even though we were about the only guys there. Different clubs; different rules of engagement, apparently.

I bit on the second dancer who came by. Amanda (not her real fake name) was right in my wheelhouse: hot, of course, petite, brunette, and her get-up consisted of a plaid private-school skirt and white blouse with tie. Beth wore an outfit like that when we began to date, and I don’t know the straight male who doesn’t like that look.

Amanda danced for everyone at the table and worked me over pretty good when It was my turn. I commanded a repeat performance and then another. I was totally smitten. When it was over, I happily crossed her palm with several pictures of Andrew Jackson for services rendered.

OK, end of scouting mission. Cheetah’s was the winner hands-down, if not, unfortunately, hands-on—for no other reason than I wanted to see Amanda again. I could think of no better way to send Scott into the bonds of matrimony.