I vacillate between a grim satisfaction that George W. Bush will go down as the worst president in the history of the United States of America, possibly one of the worst leaders in the history of the world; and feeling a terrible sadness for true soccer moms and real Joe 6packs who are losing their shirts, their homes, and their minds.  Even as I wrote that sentence, the stock market plunged another 50 points.  From a selfish perspective, I feel like this is just about the worst time in the world to release a book about being the master ceremonies of the greatest male stripping empire the world has ever known.  This book was actually supposed to be released in April, which would’ve been perfect.  But my publisher, in their infinite wisdom, chose to wait until just before the most important  election of the last two centuries.  I will be shocked if they survive.  My publisher that is.  But as a writer, and that’s what this blog is about, I keep plugging away.  I sent out hundreds of e-mails yesterday, to everyone from personal contacts in the Bay Area, to writing groups, to websites that list events.  I’m developing a movie idea with my unbelievably fantastic Hollywood agent, Sylvie Rabineau.  My amazing neighbor Laura Schenone gave me a wonderful idea for doing an editorial about the era of excess that I lived through in the mid-80s, the excess which is chronicled in Master of Ceremonies, and how that all came crashing to the ground.  And from a writer-helping-the-world perspective, I had a long talk with Carla Crandall, a fantastic writer who’s being included in the anthology which I’m doing for Soft Skull, she’s getting herself clean after being addicted to so many different drugs.  I invited her to be part of the Sex Worker Literati show at the Center for Sex and Culture.  Carla has never read in public, when I was talking to her on the phone today, I could hear that mad mixture of excitement and terror.  I’m going to help her when I go to San Francisco next week to figure out what she’s going to read, and how she’s going to read it.  Thinking globally and acting locally, performing random acts of kindness, doing my part to help this one person not just survive, but thrive, to realize the potential of her greatness.  I’ve been thinking about doing a book called Art of the Memoir, based on this tour I’m doing.  I think it was Arielle’s idea.  To make an anthology from all the different people who were involved, from Jim Levine, to Philip Lopate, to Kathryn Harrison (who, by the way has proven to be such a nice, unpretentious, Smart sweet person, so unusual in a superstar), to Beth Lisick and Alan Black. And I did a ton and I mean a ton, 2000 pounds worth, of work on the Ho’s, Hookers, Callgirls and Rentboys: Prostitutes Writing on Life, Love, Money and Yes, Sex anthology, going through all the submissions, editing, eliminating, adding, it was totally and completely exhausting, but I got it done.  And now Richard Martin, my trusty sidekick, is making it look pretty, and I can breathe easy, knowing that will be able to turn the manuscript in on November 1.  No luck in my pursuit of having a three-way with Sarah Palin and her daughter, which I have decided is the best way to further my writing career, but I think once this whole election thing comes down, they will be mine.  Well, that’s my two cents worth, and with inflation, I owe you about $100,000. Oh, and by the way, I’m including an interview I did with an old friend from the Chippendales days.

ME: I think it’s amazing that through this ridiculous economy and the war, you’ve managed to keep your show going.

 

SCOTT: Hey, sex sells.

 

Scott Layne is one of America’s most successful male exotic entertainers.  He has been a taking his clothes off for women all over the world for twenty years.  He became a star at Chippendale’s Male Strip Club in New York City in the cash-happy mid-eighties.  For the last ten years he has owned and operated his own male strip club, The Hollywood Men.   He was Playgirl’s Man of the Year in 1998.  He is also a proud father.     

 

Scott Lane Wisman was born in Muncie Indianapolis, but only because they didn’t have a hospital in Newcastle, where his parents were living at the time.  Scott had pretty much everything he wanted when he was a kid.  He was reasonably happy as a child, but he was a homely nerd, and always felt slightly askew, out of step with his peers.  Kids made fun of him, called him Wussman and Pissman

 

“I was a breech birth, it almost came down to making a decision between who was going to live, the mother or the kid.  If they said the mother, I could understand that, because you can always have more kids.  Yeah, I was a breech – weird from the start – always doing things ass-backwards.”

 

Scott’s dad was a plant manager for Chrysler.  Hard worker.  Very political.  Very smart.

Master craftsman.  He was so good at his job that eventually he was managing 26 plants in the area.

 

“I’m driven and committed, partly because I always wanted the respect of my father and I felt like I never got it.  I also feel like the most problematic things in my personality, my tendency to be anal, controlling, perfectionist, come from my father.  One time I said, ‘Dad I know we’ve had our differences, but I just wanted you to respect me.’ And he said, ‘So did I.’  Like he couldn’t say he respected me, cuz he didn’t.  I went straight into therapy after that.  I always felt like such a disappointment to my dad.  I have this controlling side of me that pushes people away, and I think that’s from when I was a kid… my Dad didn’t really have time for me.  Of course I didn’t know it at the time, but when I look back, I know he was exhausted, but when you’re a kid, you think, ‘He just sits in an office all day, that doesn’t sound that hard.’  Now I know.  Couple of years ago, we were playing golf, me and my dad, and I just opened up and confronted him.  I said, ‘Look, I made my own business, I own my own home, and I just want you to know that, and respect me and everything I’ve done.’  And just confronting him made it so much better, just getting it off my chest, it didn’t even matter what the response was.  Ever since that me and my dad have had a great relationship.”

 

Scott spent most of his childhood in Indiana and Ohio.  It wasn’t until he was in high school in Indianapolis and joined the swing choir that he began his transformation from homely nerd to exotic male dancer man.  He stopped parting his hair on the side and started slicking it back.  Began dancing in his family’s rec room in the basement to Saturday Night Fever and Grease.  He worked in a movie theater and used to sneak in during the day and study Saturday Night Fever, specifically “You Should Be Dancing.”  He deconstructed the whole dance number, actually taking it apart frame by frame, working out the entire number, move by move.  Then he would go to the Studio 54 of Lima, Ohio and use the moves he learned from the movies, like the strut and the dive-roll, to try and pick up women.  His whole career as a professional dancer can be traced back to that kid in the basement, working on his moves so he could be cool, wanting to impress everyone, to be appreciated by his peers.  And his dad.  Twenty-five years later, one of the big numbers he does in his show is Greased Lightning, which he began doing in his dad’s rec room when he was a 16 year old nerd.

 

“Yeah, it took me awhile, but I went from the rec room to the dick room.”

 

Just before he has about to be a senior in high school in Indianapolis, his family moved back to rural Indiana.  Going from an urban environment where he was just becoming hip and popular to a farm community reinforced his feelings of being an outsider, a loner, someone always looking in. 

 

“Here I was in my seamless cheek pants, which, you know, highlight your tush, and my balloony shiny shirt, I was like this guy that chicks loved and guys hated, and all these hicks in their overalls they couldn’t stand me, there was a lot of resentment, they were like, ‘Who’s this City Slicker, this Mr. Cool guy, who does he think he is anyway?’  I just didn’t ever fit in anywhere, with any group.  I’m a loner.  I always thought, ‘I don’t fit in anywhere, therefor no one wants me.’  I don’t know, I scare people off, they don’t like me.  I don’t know exactly why that is.  That’s a question for my shrink.” 

 

One of Scott’s first jobs was stock boy at a grocery store.  He was fired when his boss caught him in the locker room ogling Playboy.  He graduated from high school with a 4.0 GPA and decided to go to the elite Air Force Academy in Colorado.  Included in his application was a recommendation from Senator John Glenn.  Before he was accepted he had to pass a rigorous physical aptitude test.  Climbing, jumping, pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups, sprinting, that kind of thing.  He passed with flying colors.  Naturally Scott never really fit into the Air Force Academy.  He faked a back injury to get out of doing some maneuvers, infuriating his superiors.  So just before Spring Break, during Hell Week, they came after him with a vengeance.  Threw him up against a wall and made him hold a pencil under his chin, because you couldn’t have a chin in the Air Force, it was a sign of false pride.  They tried to break him, they got right in his face and screamed: “Get that greasy knob tucked in, maggot!”  But Scott took everything they dished out.  And he made it through Hell Week. 

 

“They gave me my wings even though they hated me.  Then I went back home for Spring Break and I realized I hated the Air Force.  Just hated it.  So I punched.  That’s what they call it.  Like ejecting from a plane.  But I learned a lot from being in the Air Force, I really did.  I learned I was a pussy.  When the going gets tough I quit.  No, I’m kidding,  Actually, that’s what’s weird, after I got through the hard part, I quit.  I proved I could do it, then I quit.  But I also realized that no matter happens to you, you have to learn from it.  Change what you can and accept what you can’t.  I don’t think things happen for a reason, but if you look back you can learn from what happened to you so you don’t do it again.  Like my divorce, that was one of the hardest things I ever went through, but if I hadn’t gone through it, I wouldn’t have my son.  And I’m so much happier now.” 

 

As Scott was punching out of the Air Force Academy, his parents were divorcing.  His dad was very upset he dropped out of the Academy, and it became virtually impossible to have a loving relationship with him.  Scott developed a nervous tick in my eye, a blinking he couldn’t control.  It was a kind of self-punishment resulting from his father’s severe disapproval.  This is a big part of what drives him so hard to succeed, to need the love and attention of adoring crowd of females screaming for him, giving him money to dance for them, taking his clothes off for them.  So at 19, Scott moved with his mother to Detroit.  Enrolled in modeling school.  This proved to be a total waste of time and money.  They spent days showing you how to walk and how to turn.  Scott already knew how to walk and turn.  But he did change his name, first to Julian Scott, then Lane Scott.  And he got some photographs taken by some photographers, and he did start going on some auditions.  It was at one of these auditions that destiny called, in the form of a little black man who told him he should come out to a strip club and try his hand at male exotic dancing.  So he went out to the club.  That’s how Scott is.  When opportunity knocks, he answers.  Turns out the clientele were all black.  In fact he was the only white person there except for the owner.  Scott didn’t care.  He just wanted to dance.  He auditioned to “Head” by Prince.  He was hired on the spot.  He was the only white dancer.  He made a fortune.  The money was neither black nor white.  It was all green. 

 

“The first time I danced I was so nervous.  I was excited and exhilarated and I had huge butterflies in my stomach.  Same thing I feel now when I dance.  Hey, if you don’t have butterflies, it’s probably not worth doing.  When I make a move, and those women scream, it’s electrifying.  It was when I first started, and it still is now.  It’s such an ego stroke.  I feel appreciated.  That’s what I always wanted.”

 

After he’d been dancing for awhile, he wanted to start his own troupe.  This is Scott’s nature.  So he created his own show.  Set up a car wash and a valet service at the club, and when it started making money, the owner came in and took it over.  Scott learned another valuable lesson here.  He didn’t want to work for anyone else.  He wanted to be in control himself.  So he moved on.  Went up to Canada to do a little “pickle shake”.  But it’s full nudity there.  As opposed to most of America, where you have to keep your johnson packaged, no matter how small that g-string packaging may be.  Canada and its penis-exposed stripping was not for Scott.

 

“You had to wrap a rubber band around your dick so it doesn’t look like Mr. Shrimpy, but then it would start to turn blue, and that’s no good, nobody takes you seriously if you’ve got a blue dick, so the whole thing was kind of a nightmare.”

 

Scott, having now made himself into Scott Layne, decided he was ready for the Big Time, and moved to the Big Apple, to New York City, to be a star.  He thought he was going to make this happen with his modeling/acting career.  He was wrong.  His arrival in Manhattan happened to happily coincide with the opening of Chippendale’s Male Strip Club on 61^st & 1^st.  In the mid-eighties, Chippendale’s was already famous, the Mecca of male stripping, and it quickly became the hottest show in the city that never sleeps, packing 600 screaming women into the club every night, a sea of dollar bills waving as estrogen bounced off the walls.  Scott went to the club and was hired by a man who would change his life: Nick de Noia, the creative genius behind the Chippendale’s phenomenon.  Nick was an Emmy award winning choreographer, former dancer, and a consummate showman.  Naturally Scott wanted to be a star.  But Nick had brought his own stars from LA, where the club was launched.  So Scott had to be content as a host.  But he was always looking for his shot, for his way in. 

 

“I’ve always had the ability to know when someone was watching me without letting them know that I know they’re watching.  So one night I knew Nick was watching me, but he didn’t know that I knew he was watching.  And this Little Old Lady offered me a dollar for a kiss.  Because I knew Nick was watching, I told her she could have a kiss and keep her dollar, save it for one of the dancers.  After that Nick changed his mind about me.  So one night when the Perfect Man’s flight was late, I told him I could do the Perfect Man number.  He laughed and asked me if I wanted to be the Perfect Boy.  But then he said I could do the waiter number.  That’s a number where a host is dragged out onto the floor, supposedly against his will, and they “force” him to dance.  It’s a great number, and it requires a lot of acting.  But it went really well.  The ladies loved it.  And then Nick started working with me, he taught me drama and flair and showmanship, how to work a crowd.  He taught me lean that knee in, and keep the toe down.  Nick took me under his wing, he became like my father.  He was so good to me, he appreciated my talent and my skill, and he helped me become a man.  He taught me that women want an obtainable fantasy, he taught me to keep it real and simple, with just enough production value and art.  He taught me that women want a masculine sensuality, they don’t want graphic sexuality.  Based on what Nick taught me, I’m trying to redefine the art of stripping, make it old-fashioned but totally contemporary.  Nick called me the Gypsy Rose Lee of male stripping, and I’m very proud of that.  I’m old school, I care about the performance, I care about the little old ladies.  And I got that from Nick.  I remember exactly where I was when I heard he was killed.  I was in Wichita, Kansas about to do a show with my new troupe Seduction 87.  I dedicated the show to him, and it was the best show I ever did.  I pay homage to Nick whenever I do a show.  I still miss him to this day.”

 

But even as he became a big star at Chippendale’s, Scott again felt that he was an outsider.  There was resentment about the closeness of Scott’s relationship with Nick, and rumors abounded that he was Nick’s butt boy.  Again Scott withdrew into himself, isolated himself, as he had in the Air Force Academy.  One night Calvin Klein came to see the show.  Calvin knew Nick.  Everybody knew Nick.  After CK saw the show he wanted to talk to Scott in the private office upstairs.  When Scott went up, everyone was blowing lines of coke.  Scott didn’t want to mix business with pleasure so he declined Klein’s lines.  Then everyone left the room and suddenly Scott was alone with Calvin Klein, who at the time was slightly more famous than God.  Calvin asked Scott to take his clothes off.  Scott told Calvin he’d love to work for Mr. Klein, but since Mr. Klein had just seen the show, he already knew what Scott looked like without his clothes on.  Mr. Klein then offered Scott $400 to get naked.  He told Calvin to fuck off and stormed out of the room.  At the top of the stairs he looked down and all the other dancers were glaring up at him like he’d let Calvin Klein do him for money.  This rumor spread like wild fire through the club, and resulted in more rancorous animosity toward Scott.

 

“Hell, I shoulda taken the money, any of those guys would’ve.  But it was against my sense of morality, so I didn’t.  And people still talked all this shit behind my back, that I took money from Calvin Klein, that I let him give me a blow job, which was total bullshit.  Hey, fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.  But I’m not a whore, never have been.  It matters what I think.  During the show, I’m not selling a kiss.  They’re tipping me cuz they appreciate my dancing.  I kiss them cuz I appreciate them.  If you’re not appreciating me, keep your fucking money.  I hate it when they say, ‘Here’s a dollar, work for it.’  Women have indirectly asked me to have sex for money.  They don’t come right out and say it, but it’s obvious that’s what they’re saying.  For me, it’s wrong, but for other people, it’s not.  I don’t judge people by what they do as long as they’re not hurting anyone.  Hey, whatever pulls yer trigger.  It just bothers me when people try to impose their views on me.” 

 

At a certain point Scott felt there was nothing more he could get out of New York and Chippendale’s.  Again he had grown tired of working for someone else.  And the animosity at the club was wearing on him.  Even though he’d worked quite a bit as an actor and a model in the City, he never felt like those occupations really made him happy.  He wanted to be the master of his own destiny, to work for himself, to do it himself so it was done right.  And frankly, acting and modeling were never as satisfying as stripping.  So he left New York, and ended up dancing in Wichita, Kansas, making 10 grand for two nights.  There he got into an altercation with a fellow stripper.

 

“The whole scene was kind of pathetic, these guys, the other dancers, they were having Blow Job contests.  Me, I would take the chick out to lunch.  Sure I wanted to fuck ‘em, but I wanted something more.  So this guy Rod, what a prick he was, he was an asshole to me, so I told him his whole family was a bunch of monkeys, and he beat the shit out of him, really fucked me up.  So I thought, time to move to LA.” 

 

Naturally Scott landed on his feet in LA.  He joined an exotic male dance troupe in LA.  But once again he found he wanted to be the boss.  He wanted things done his way.  The Nick de Noia way.  So eventually he teamed with a partner and opened his own club: The Hollywood Men. 

 

FROM THE HOLLYWOOD MEN WEBSITE:

SCOTT’S PHILOSOPHY ON LIFE: ALWAYS MAKE TIME TO SMELL THE ROSES, LIFE IS TOO SHORT. WHAT SCOTT LIKES IN A WOMAN, HIMSELF. NO SEXUAL INUENDO INTENDED. SCOTT BELIEVES THAT LASTING RELATIONSHIPS ARE DUE TO SIMILAR LIKES, DISLIKES, AND IDIOSYNCRASIES. OPPOSITES MAY ATTRACT, BUT THEY DON’T LAST. IN THE SHOW, SCOTT DOES A SHOWER / BED NUMBER THAT THE GIRLS SEEM TO LIKE,  (UNDERSTATEMENT!), NEEDLESS TO SAY, SCOTT’S NOT THE ONLY ONE GETTING WET!

 

Scott has just re-modeled his home in LA.  It’s taken years and a ton of money, but he’s finally lives in a beautiful home that he loves.  Even though it’s incredibly hard work running the show and dancing, these two jobs reflect different aspects of Scott’s personality.  When he dances, he can go back to being that kid in the rec room, having fun, being creative, letting the Muse flow through him.  Playing.  But running the business feeds the serious, adult side of his personality, the one that takes after his father.     

 

“I’m very controlling.  I complain I have to do everything myself, but I’m a perfectionist, and I want it done right.  I build the sets, I choreograph, I do the payroll, the EDD, acquisitions, corporate pay roll, filing.  But I want a family environment in my club, I want everyone to check their ego at the door.  Still, when all’s said and done, I love to dance.  There’s nothing’s like dancing.”     

 

Scott has worked hard his whole adult life to be his own boss, and he is very particular about his show.  He has a real philosophy as to what makes a great strip show, and he is constantly trying to make sure that his show conforms to his exacting standards, both technically, and in content.  From his own dancing, and his relationship to the crowd and individual audience members, to the whole look of the show and the attitude of the men who work for him, Scott is relentless in his pursuit of quality. 

 

“I hate when dancers don’t pay attention to older women and to women who aren’t traditionally hot.  We have a Fireman number in the show, and it’s a great number, but the dancer wanted to bring up a hot chick and dance with her.  I told him it wouldn’t work, that he needed to bring a sweet older lady up and do the number to her.  But he went ahead and brought up a hot chick.  Well sure enough the number died, it just laid there.  But then the next night when he brought an older lady up, sure enough, the number worked great, the crowd went nuts.  I always bring an older lady out and do a number to her.  It turns younger women on, they think, ‘Oh, he’s sweet, he has no ego, he just made her night.’  Plus the older lady feels good, you can see it, and that’s contagious.  And honestly, it makes me feel good to know I’ve made an older woman happy, I feel like I’ve done something good in the world.  Every crowd is different, and the audiences, they’re all different.  Some of them like hot bodies, some of them like performance and personality.  I’m not always dancing my best, but I always give it everything I’ve got, that’s the least I can do that.  And I insist all my dancers do the same.  But it can be a real ego trip when you go out and bust your ass and make $50, then some guy who can’t even dance makes $250.  For me, it’s all about sharp moves, quick moves, that are sensual and very sexual without being graphic.  Eye contact is crucial.  ‘You Can Leave Your Hat On,’ that’s my big number.  And after twenty years in the business, I still love it, I still love making those moves, and feeling that shiver when all those women scream.”      

 

Scott’s parents know what he does.  His mother came to see him at Chippendale’s, and Scott actually brought her up on stage.  She had a blast.  She’s always been very supportive, and has never condemned him for being a stripper.  The only thing she didn’t condone was his appearance in Playgirl.  She just didn’t think it was right.  Scott and his father have a kind of unspoken don’t ask-don’t tell policy when it comes to Scott’s being an exotic dancer.  His dad has never seen Scott dance, but he and Scott discuss the business end of everything, and Scott’s dad sometimes gives his advice about difficult situations at the club.  His dad had no problem with Scott posing nearly nude in Playgirl.  He saw it as a business decision, a great marketing tool for the club, and he told Scott to go for it.  

 

“Some people from Playgirl came in and they liked what they saw.  But there was an issue about the total nudity thing.  I didn’t want to do it, and I didn’t think it was good for the club.  My mom certainly didn’t want me to do it.  So they shot a few of the guys, and  I did a shoot in a waterfall.  I tied off and everything, so it was very full, but you couldn’t quite really see everything.  Then they got the shots back, and they said they wanted me.  So I said I want creative control, I want elegance, I want to be in a suit.  I had a great time with the female photographer.  And then later that year they named me Man of the Year. I’m the oldest Man of the Year in history and I’m proud of that.  But I’m beyond feeding my ego.  Nudity doesn’t make me self-conscious, I can be outside the club having a smoke, and just be in my shorts and people are all dressed up going into clubs, doesn’t bother me.  But if I blink and I can’t control it, I’m very self-conscious, and I feel like everybody’s watching me.  I feel like I’m imperfect.  If I feel less than perfect I feel terrible.  Like that child who can never measure up, cuz I’m a disappointment to my dad.”

 

Scott doesn’t remember what he wanted to be when he grew up.  He does believe in God, but sometimes he’s afraid if he tries to define God, he’ll argue himself out of it.  He doesn’t pray regularly and sometimes he feels guilty about that.  He worries about how he can bring up his son to know the difference between good and evil.  And is that enough?  For him the problem with many religions is that they never get beyond the Santa Claus syndrome, they don’t transition you out of those early fairy tales into a more real kind of faith.

 

“You have to believe or not believe, it’s beyond rational.  You gotta go with the feeling, let go and have faith.  I think God is the goodness in all of us.  It’s something for me to be thankful to.”  

 

QUOTES:

 

“The basic conflict of my life is that my conscience is too strong, and my will power is too weak.”

 

“I think there’s much more stigma and negativity to male dancers than female.  It’s a double standard.  In our society, men can get away with a lot more than women.”

 

“When I was younger I was always more worried about myself than anyone else.”       

 

“Therapy is a way to talk to yourself so you can solve your own problems.”     

 

“Better to swim in a small sea and be your own man than swim in the big ocean with a bunch of sharks.”

 

“I used to manipulate people for my own gain.  There’s a lot I’m ashamed of.” 

 

“I’ve got a great life.  I can’t complain.  I love dancing.  I’m my own boss.  My house was paid for with dollar bills, I love my son.’

 

“My mom is the best woman in the world.”