It’s not all glamour…

So, my friend Beth is a mime. For reals. She is also a producer, and last summer I performed at a benefit for her production company. At this benefit there were not only live performances but also a silent auction, and one of the items auctioned was a performance by Beth herself. Well, the couple that won Beth’s performance, at a time and place of their choosing, were named Bulldog and Weezy.

Bulldog and Weezy decided to utilize Beth’s miming skills at a birthday party they were throwing for their friend Bob… at the Independence Moose Lodge. Being that Bulldog and Weezy had also seen my performance they thought it would be fun to have me along as well, for a handsome fee. Since these were presumably friends of Beth’s, I agreed. I also brought my friend Todd along to serve as bodyguard.

We arrive at the Moose Lodge. Beth is not there yet. The Lodge is, of course, complete with flea-bitten moose head and creepy painting of a little boy saying his bedtime prayers. The Lodge is also filled to the gills with bikers. The kind with motorcycles.

Inside, the buffet is extensive, the table holding every shape and size of crock-pot imaginable. It smells of mashed potatoes, though as the evening progressed I came to understand that no one had, in fact, brought any mashed potatoes. I must have been smelling scalloped all that time. Todd and I settle in to wait for showtime. Myself with a whiskey, rocks, Todd with a soda of some kind. We meet a new friend or three, many with names like Budda, and Walrus. Oh yeah… Walrus.

Walrus is apparently the alpha-moose. He hovered around all night, asking Beth and I questions like “What is it with fisting?”, but I digress.

Beth arrives after briefly becoming lost in the wilds of Independence, and it’s time to get dressed for the show. I get into my first costume. Unbeknownst to me, Weezy had briefed the audience on what they’ll be witnessing. She informs them that we are theatrical professionals and big in the KC “arts scene”. This briefing, while thoughtful, only serves to make the audience unsure of how to react.

We do our numbers. They applaud politely… We deliberately coax a couple of hoots and hollers. We’re done, and we change back into street clothes, and seat ourselves at the bar.

Beth and I proceed to get pretty much tanked, which considering the circumstances seems like the most appropriate course of action. We sit at the bar, with Todd as our ‘muscle’, I in pigtails, and Beth in whiteface, drinking, and laughing at the situations we get ourselves into.

All in all, Bulldog, Weezy, and the gang were a bunch of sweethearts. And God bless Weezy for bring a sense of culture to the Moose Lodge. And, of course… Happy birthday, Bob!

The image of the burlesque performer…

Life is colored by perspective. Yes, what we burlesque performers do can be seen as glamorous, empowering, brave even. We are also seen by some as immoral, scandalous, or disgusting.

Some people seem to think we party like rock stars all the time… Booze, men, drugs. Hi-lar-ious to me. On any given Friday night, IF I’m not baking cookies and watching movies with my son, I’m hanging out on the couch with another burlesque performer or another friend watching a DVD. Or maybe I’m busting my behind making a costume out of salvaged bits and fabric glue for a show later in the week… I mean, don’t get me wrong, sometimes the ‘image’ is kind of cool to have, but it’s generally not true to life.

One thing that consistently seems to surprise people is how little we burlesque performers are hit on after shows. Men are generally very respectful and polite. Women (for the most part) are the best though. They are extremely supportive of what we do and often want to get involved themselves. Occasionally there will be an insecure lady who is negative, projecting that we are man stealing loose women, or criticizing our weight, or a skeezy dude that thinks we’re strippers, but these are to be ignored in favor of all of our lovely, encouraging supporters.

To generalize, what we actually are is confident, strong, creative, inspired and ambitious. We have seen the beauty that other women have put forth into this art form for decades, and we have been inspired. Burlesque is fun, it’s fabulous… and it’s FEARLESS. I think this fearlessness is what makes our detractors so wary. It’s confusing to our society to see what is often perceived prey, in the role of predator. The passive becoming aggressive, and happy about it. Any time this reversal happens the former underdog is vilified. We become The Whore, in opposition to The Virgin. There is no room in some peoples minds for any other type of woman, and this, my friend, is why we burlesque gals seem to be so fascinating. This, and the fact that we glue sparkles to our nipples. Oh, the audacity of the fearless, unapologetic, openly sexual woman! Viva Burlesque!

Once upon a time…

I loved, and I lost. Years ago now, I met someone whom I loved in a way no one else understood, and despite circumstance and distance we fell in love. He braved the better part of the country to come to me. Three days of timelessness. Then disaster… well, near disaster. Narrowly averted disaster. Madness, violence, scrambling for safety. He was gone. He went home. I tried to put pieces back together any which way they seemed they could make sense. I swam upstream. And I drowned. I drowned because I got tired and gave up. And the thing is, when I went under I didn’t feel released… just dead. And he, rightfully, left me for dead. Now we live in parallel worlds. We exist but never communicate. I’ve written him… Haven’t heard back. He moved on a long time ago. I’ve moved on too. Fully resuscitated. Actually, life is better than ever.

But I still wish I would check my messages one day and find one from him that says he’s well and happy and it’s all okay…

re·sus·ci·tate [ri-suhs-i-teyt]
–verb (used with object), -tat·ed, -tat·ing.
to revive, esp. from apparent death or from unconsciousness.
[Origin: 1525–35; < L resuscitātus (ptp. of resuscitāre to reawaken), equiv. to re- re- + sus- sus- + cit(āre) to move, arouse (see cite1) + -ātus ate1]

re·sus·ci·tate (rĭ-sŭs’ĭ-tāt’) Pronunciation Key
v. re·sus·ci·tat·ed, re·sus·ci·tat·ing, re·sus·ci·tates
v. tr.
To restore consciousness, vigor, or life to. See Synonyms at revive.
v. intr.
To regain consciousness.
[Latin resuscitāre, resuscitāt- : re-, re- + suscitāre, to stir up (sus-, sub-, sub- + citāre, to move violently, frequentative of ciēre, to set in motion; see kei-2 in Indo-European roots).]

I saw myself…

I got to watch the rough cut of the movie I worked on this summer. Laurel Nakadate is the director and she’s a supergenius. Stay The Same Never Change is the movie. Check out the site and links! It is going to be the best movie to slap you in your gut since ever.

On an unrelated note, I’ve noticed that if I talk about nipples my blog suddenly gets more popular… So, NIPPLES. There you go.

I’m getting a teensy bit nervous about the Eyeful Tower show in Austin… I can’t believe December 29th is almost here! I’m happy, butterflies-in-the-stomach nervous, not puke-and-run nervous. The good kind, in other words. Here’s the deal: We girls have been rehearsing here, while the boys in the band have been rehearsing in Austin. We don’t rehearse together until the DAY OF THE SHOW. A bit tricky, eh? Well, we can do it… Continental Club, here we come!

And also: My car is officially TOTALED! Stay away from those concrete highway barriers, kiddos.

My Chair.

I used to do a chair routine in all the Eyeful Tower shows. I originally found said chair on the curb, I can’t quite remember where. I sanded it, reinforced any loose or weak spots, primed and painted it in an artistic fashion, and used it in my routine. Then my ex set it on fire. Literally, took it into the yard and poured gasoline on it and set it on fire. The legs are burned off. I still have it. I can’t seem to get rid of it. I think I’ll take it apart and use the pieces that are salvageable and build something new. Kind of like I’ve been doing with my life.

Work it out.

I’ve decided that when I turn 30 I will be in the best physical condition of my life. So I’ve been trying to fit in workouts in fun and creative ways. Ice skating once a week, aerial fabrics acrobatics (though I’ve been slacking on that one), chasing my four-year-old around, whatever. For a holiday gift this year my dear friend Betsy gave me a membership to her gym. It’s a ‘lady gym’, and I like this about it. The bathrooms, changing rooms and showers all have fancy soaps, body sprays, etc. There aren’t muscle-head dudes coming over to criticize how I’m using the equipment… Some of it does feel a little bit condescending, though. The cute little roly-poly fat chick magnets. The prizes for doing however many workouts. I mean, I guess people need rewards, but for me the reward is not feeling or looking like a lard ass, rather than a purple tee-shirt with a daisy on it that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. The shirt might as well say “200 workouts! Geez I was fat!” If I’ve done 200 workouts I want to be able to wear a string bikini that says so… not a tee-shirt. I do like the concept of a women’s only gym, but I don’t ever want to condescended to. I like that the workout is sort of pre-fab. You just move from station to station every thirty seconds for half an hour. Brainless and effective. I’m a fan.

Ouch!

So… When one begins to perform burlesque, and starts regularly stripping down to pasties and what have you, an interesting phenomenon often occurs.  You begin to realize all the different things that you could adhere to your nipples.  You’re in the hardware store, the craft shop, the grocery store, and everything that is a couple inches across and can be bought in a pair starts to look like potential pasties.  Silk flowers, fancy barrettes, Christmas ornaments, measuring cups, fried eggs (ha ha Taylor), party favors, cocktail umbrellas… It can really get ridiculous.  And really just about anything can be adhered to nipples, be it light enough, with toupee tape or spirit gum.  I’ve used sheriff’s badges, silk hibiscus flowers, electrical tape… duct tape!?  (Hey, it was an emergency… and I don’t recommend it.)  So next time you’re out shopping, look again, and imagine to yourself, “Would this pair of random items be something that would be appealing/clever/funny to glue to a ladies breasts?”  I guarantee you a whole new outlook on life.

xo,

Annie Cherry

One month until show time!

One month until my burlesque pro-am.

When I’m in a show I usually start planning a few weeks ahead, if possible. Producing is a whole other story, however. So many details to think about. So many favors to ask. Posters, venue, P.A. system, press release, etc… Not to mention coordinating performers, rehearsals, not to mention the actual show itself. The pro-am format is really great… It makes me quite proud to see one of my students with that glow on her face when she comes backstage after just receiving her first hoots, hollers, and applause!

Beyond the pro-am I have a few other projects in the works. I think I’ll drop in on the big holiday shindig at Knucklehead’s Saloon this weekend, to do a number with the Rumblejetts. I’ll be in Austin at the end of this month with Etta Vendetta and Lucky DeLuxe, at the Continental Club. Lucky and I are also working on a variety show for Stanford’s Comedy House to premier at the end of January. Beyond that I will be looking at putting together a true cabaret style variety show with entirely live musical accompaniment to debut late summer. Oh, so many exciting things to think about!

It’s nice having Mondays off… Especially when Ron Megee and Jon Fulton Adams have a party, because their parties usually fall on a Sunday night. This past Sunday Ms. De De DeVille and I performed for the Missouri Rep’s Christmas Carol cast party. I think a good time was had by all, especially myself after a slight overindulgence in bourbon. The aforementioned good time was topped off nicely by a few affectionate moments with one particularly fine, fine lady friend of mine. But I don’t kiss and tell (most of the time) so I’ll have to leave you in suspense… I don’t think it’s on YouTube or anything. Ron and I had a lovely dance in the giant gilded birdcage… I, in my new holiday costume (black with red sequins, fringe, and flowers), and he in high waisted slacks, suspenders, and a guinea tee (Thanks, Jon), with his new Dickensian chin beard. My life is comfortably surreal. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

On the romantic front, many of my friends already know I am absolutely crazy about one particularly tall gentleman from Chicago… Well, it looks like he’ll be moving to Kansas City as soon as this February, which is especially convenient as I happen to love him.

I am off to put my sweet child (read: holy terror) to bed. I haven’t been able to get him to his Dad’s this week because of the ice storm. Better safe than sorry, of course.

Goodnight, my Lovelies!

So… here’s this.

Let’s get to know each other, shall we? Well, maybe not so quickly. Baby steps. I am a twenty-eight year old mother of one. I am also a burlesque performer. I like my life interesting, and I am always attracted to the fringes of society, as long as they are fringes with plenty of style… I love burlesque, drag, vaudeville, sideshow, etc. I am building a life around it, while maintaining a stationary lifestyle due to my familial obligations. It’s a balancing act, but somehow it’s working just fine. Enough with the introductions… It’s late and I’m off to bed.