Strip Club Flag Wars

n the days since the National Tragedy of September 11, when real estate prices in lower Manhattan took a tumble, every business and home in the U.S. has been displaying the American flag in an effort to show their patriotism and shame anyone without a flag into running to their local Wal-Mart or Raley's in hopes of finding some cheap Taiwanese facsimile of the Stars and Stripes. Here in San Francisco, the Flag Wars have erupted between two competing strip clubs within a block of each other, and the fighting promises to get nasty as the weeks wear on.

At the Mitchell Brothers O'Farrell Theater, three full-size flags have been flying proudly above the marquee, which announces the latest show as "Red, White and Nude." We spoke with owner Jim Mitchell, who said "Actually, it's more correctly known as the Mitchell BROTHER Theater these days, ever since I shot ol' Artie back in the early '90s and spent a few years in the joint for it. But anyway… yeah, we figured the right thing to do was to fly the flag in honor of all those potential lap-dance patrons that will now never know the pleasure of having a fine peroxided blonde with silicone hooters sit down and try to cajole twenty-dollar bills out of them for a minimum of sexual contact. It seemed like the least we could do, given the circumstances."

To that end, Mitchell installed two flagpoles on either side of the existing one above the marquee, and is now flying the flag in triplicate. "We've got three," he pointed out, standing on the sidewalk in front of the theater, where two of his surgically-enhanced bimbos and a male bouncer were taking a cigarette break. "That club down on Larkin," he added, referring to the New Century Theater, "only has two."

At the New Century, no one would comment, except to say that they were "just as goddamned patriotic as that bastard Jim Mitchell, who can come down here and kiss my red, white and blue ass." This reporter did note, however, that there were only two American flags flying above their marquee, which advertised "Girl on Girl Shows" and "Bachelor Parties Welcome." It also appeared that one of the dancers at the New Century was wearing a G-string with a stars and stripes motif, but it was extremely dark, so it could have been something else.

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Exhibit A:
Hair rockers with a conscience Extreme's 1990 hit "More Than Words"

Lasting Cultural Impact:
Joy, hope, and black nail polish for the masses.

Separated at Birth:
Anything by the Everly Brothers.

Verdict:
Extreme-ly moving.

Lyric Sample:
Saying I love you
Is not the words I want to hear from you
It's not that I want you
Not to say, but if you only knew
How easy it would be to show me how you feel
More than words is all you have to do to make it real
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me
Cos I'd already know


Analysis:
If you're anything like me, this has to be one of your all-time favorite records and without doubt one of the enduring songs of the modern age. Long after fads like Schubert and Rachmaninoff have been justly forgotten to the sands of time, future historians will still be debating the everlasting impact of Extreme. Their flame burnt all too briefly, it is true, but with a piercing brightness that can only be compared to that of the earth's very genesis.

Standing out even more absurdly when surrounded by the superficial garbage being released in its day, trashy CDs even pressed on cheap and nasty plastic with cases that would not close completely, Extreme's entire Extreme II: Pornograffitti album was a rare treasure that made the year 1990 seem even more like it were only a blissful dream.

Those wishing to lend a guiding hand to today's aspiring songwriters – or if you yourself would like to be an aspiring songwriter! – should take this album as their own personal bible. Don't just listen to it—fools! Study it, and feel your music muscles grow. Live with it, and as the years pass by it will reveal its secrets to you, like a highly-secretive woman.

The album's signature track, "More than Words," was an experiment. And it was wildly successful. Extreme gambled that the record-buying public was ready for a break from their normal punishing hair-metal sound, and the result served as an elegant baroque turn that caught the public completely off-guard, like a sucker-punch in the shower. Somewhat to my relief, the rest of the album still rocked in customary Extreme fashion. But "More than Words," this was a special moment indeed. A quiet moment of reflection at the pinnacle of rock, climbed by intrepid glam-fags bent on discovering the truth at life's very core.

What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn't make things new
Just by saying I love you


Lead singer and band hair consultant Gary Cherone lent his vocal talents and remarkable coif to this beautiful ballad, adding textured layers of meaning to guitar virtuoso and band soul-possessor Nuno Bettencourt's breathtaking composition. The intricate game of chess that exists between Cherone's vocal phrasings and Bettencourt's smoldering acoustic strumming cannot be fully explored even in twelve thesis papers—believe me, I have tried. Suffice it to say that even the song's beautifully clear and supple lyrics, legendary in their own right and unmatched by any Dylan Thomas scribblings or Wordsworthian drivel, are only but a pale refection of the true genius residing in this song's musical structure.

More than words
Now I've tried to talk to you and make you understand
All you have to do is close your eyes
And just reach out your hands and touch me
Hold me close don't ever let me go
More than words is all I ever needed you to show
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me
Cos I'd already know


This verse in particular highlights Bettencourt's wonderful sense of humor. He'd already know? Indeed. Many listeners miss this subtlety due to their sense of mesmerized awe over Nuno's vividly realized landscapes of sound.

What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn't make things new
Just by saying I love you


Few with ears can avoid being drawn into this song's intense lyrical beauty, or its equally moving outbursts of extreme brutality and obscenity, vital organs being torn asunder by that cruel mistress that is true love! Like all of us, Bettencourt is trapped: trapped in the universe - and trapped in a body. Like us graceless mortals, too, he desires happiness and is averse to suffering. In this song, he is experiencing the agony of incarnation, the agony of being in a body. Nuno suffers from heat, cold, thirst, hunger, fear, desire, confusion, frustration, loss, pain, injury, terror, and ultimately death, all laid bare for our benefit within the course of a heart-stopping four minutes of pop heaven. Are you listening, Mozart? Perhaps if you'd lived a bit longer, you could have learned a thing or two about music.

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Dr. Joyce Pickles, M.D.P.S.T., received her degree in psychology from U.S. Zoological College in Burnt Harbor, Maine. We're not quite sure why she chooses to contribute to the commune, she's either a fan of the site or she believed us when we said we were calling from The New Yorker.

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I don't know why it never occurred to me before, but it's high time I did some inventing—re-inventing! That's right, I'm inventing what's previously been invented already. In short, myself. You will soon meet the new Clarissa Coleman, and I hope we can all get along.

It's the obvious thing to do at this point. When at first you don't succeed, vastly re-define the world's perception of you and try again, with more attitude. If Madonna can keep the world's attention, even moderately, as she hits the downhill side of 40 and shits out two kids, then a young potentially-hot property like myself should be able to come up with a new way to trick people in being interested in me again.

True, the commune thing hasn't worked out at all, at least in gaining people's respect. And writing book is a long job so I doubt I'm going the Carrie Fisher path of book-writing personality, whatever they call those. If I could get one of those ghost writers to write the book for me, but I think they usually work on biographies instead of fake books. And this might sound dumb to anybody who reads, which is practically nobody, but they aren't really ghosts, are they? That's some creepy Hellraiser shit to sell your soul just to get a book out there. They're probably not. But if they were, I would get that Homer guy who wrote "Space Odyssey" to ghost write mine. He's already real popular so he must be good, and hey, it doesn't hurt he has only one name, like Madonna. You gotta respect that.

My first instinct, like a lot of former child actors, is to do more "adult" roles—you know, snuff films. Or soft-core at least. But Dana Plato proved that's a no-go. I don't have anything personal against nudity or nothing, I'm not up on a moral high horse about it, or a horse that's high, and I would certainly do nudity if it were tasteful like that American Pie movie stuff. Soft-core movies just won't re-invent you, though, it always starts out with the promise that fans will see all of you, especially your butt, in a new light and ends in the cliché of the contested accidental death by alcohol and pills in a camper in some trashy suburban neighborhood. Maybe after I fail every other way of re-invention I'll try it, but not yet.

The music thing is a wash-out, so don't expect me to be releasing an album anytime soon. I'm still waiting for them to put out that Clarissa Coleman Gone Reggae album I recorded a few years ago, the one where the producer tried to set fire to the master tape, but they said it was going to ruin my career if I put it out, and possibly reggae music as well. I suppose I'll come back to music when I've failed at everything else, which should take a few weeks more at the very least.

I think it would be great if I can put together a one-woman show, but I don't know any women who could do it. I'd need the story of my life written up in a real funny way with some funky little tidbits of sadness and stuff, which can be made up, I'm sure, to make it more than just me doing stand-up comedy, but not much more. I'm not real funny, so maybe I'd get someone else to star in it and just sort of serve as an acting consultant on it or something. Put Katie Holmes or somebody in the lead role and it would be like a story about me that everyone would like and I'd get a reputation as one of these Hollywood behind-the-scenes powerhouses who touch something and turn it gold. Then touch someone and turn them to gold like Goldfinger and everyone would fear me, which is even better than respect.

These are just possibilities right now. I guess part of the mission of this column is to share this struggle for re-invention with the middling classes out there who don't know what it's like—the pressure to always perform, to receive love through whatever endeavor you can do, preferably the least difficult endeavor you can find. We all fight the good fight to re-invent ourselves everyday, and if you don't believe that, at least shut up and nod along 'cause it sounds like one of those great funky tidbits of sadness those one-woman show fans love.

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