Pole Position

On a Tuesday night at the Roxy, the Night Ranger got pulled onto the dance floor by a gregarious woman in a pink sweater who was celebrating her 32nd birthday. As Shakira warbled "Hips Don't Lie," a guy dressed in goth garb zeroed in on the NR. But the woman skillfully blocked him by turning around and rubbing against him. Foiled, he started dancing with his friend, a guy with longish brown hair, black pants with chains clanking down the front, and inch-long silver fingernails that fit onto a couple of his fingertips.

Our new pink-sweatered friend leaned in and confided, "They've got the worst BO. But they're the nicest guys, as long as they don't put an armpit on your shoulder."

Just then, the two guys gave her a look and kissed each other, open-mouthed. Their mingled BO wafted over, and we edged away a little bit. The guy with the fingernails then turned to Pink Sweater for a kiss, and for a couple of seconds, it looked like she was going to do it. Their lips were millimeters apart, but then, at the last minute, she pulled away, giggling madly. She just couldn't go through with it, she said.

Ah, Roxy — you never let us down. That Tuesday trip was our fourth visit to this JoCo watering hole, and we've become fans of the cheap drinks, the busty waitresses in tube tops and, best of all, the movable stripper pole (captured in the video below). Situated on a 3-foot-square base, the pole goes up about 6 feet but isn't fixed to the ceiling. On one memorable occasion, when it stood in front of the bar's stage, we witnessed three highly inebriated women monopolizing it for most of the night. They were clad in too-tight clothing, with one of the women in a tie-dyed, backless halter that, sadly, wasn't very flattering. The trio writhed around and, at one point, fell atop one another in a drunken heap. Later, another member of that group pulled down her pants and mooned the audience.

On our most recent visit, the pole was wedged between the jukebox and a mirrored pillar on the side of the dance floor. We had gone for some midweek karaoke action with Research Assistants Robert, Matt, Andrew, Cecelia and Erik, and it seemed wholly appropriate that, upon our arrival, a group of women was singing Rocky Horror's "Time Warp" onstage. Located at 75th Street and Metcalf in Overland Park, the Roxy is a smoky, divey place that reminds us of a pizza parlor in Metcalf South Mall, circa 1979. The walls in this L-shaped room are dark, the booths are orangey-red, and the floor is lined with a flat carpet with a swirly pattern. The very back poolroom has a low ceiling and wood-paneled walls — very suburban basement.

For a Tuesday night, the Roxy drew a sizable and somewhat eclectic crowd. A group of preppy types sat in the corner, poring over the thick karaoke binder. Kevin Smith look-alikes with long brown hair, backward-turned baseball caps and goatees sat at a front table, and in between mingled a motley assortment of patrons. We spotted a guy in jorts (jean shorts), a cowboy with a cane and an inordinate number of make-out sessions. The dance floor attracted a conga line-slash-gropefest.

We settled down at a long table, ordered the special (buckets of domestic beer for $10) and flipped through the song list, which was extensive. RA Robert pointed out one potential songbook hazard: "Boom Boom, Ain't It Great to Be Crazy," which is apparently a children's song, was listed next to "Boom Boom (Let's Go Back to My Room)." Sadly, no one in attendance chose either song. The performances consisted of stuff in the manly-man genre — Metallica's "Enter Sandman" as well as power ballads such as Creed's "Arms Wide Open" and the Who's "Behind Blue Eyes." These last two songs included commentary from the singers: "You can suck my left nut, bitch" during the former and "If you don't like it, get the fuck out" in the latter. According to RA Andrew, a Roxy karaoke regular, the "get the fuck out" line was used by the same guy the previous week. We were saddened by his bit of unoriginality.

However, the pole dancing took our minds off all of that. Between performances, DJ Julie — the sexy, bubbly karaoke host on Tuesdays and Wednesdays — played T-Pain's "I'm in Love with a Stripper." Sure enough, a cute blonde in jeans, white tennis shoes and a midriff-baring gray shirt took to the pole. She definitely knew her shit. She not only cast a smoldering gaze at herself in a mirrored pillar as she danced but also gripped the pole, jumped up, wrapped her legs around it, turned herself upside down and slid down slowly. "That's bee-you-tiful, baby!" DJ Julie cried at the end of the song.