Painted Ladies

Back in October, right before Halloween, the Body Art Ball took over the Uptown Theater. The event sounded intriguing; we had the vague notion that it’d be one of those soirées where hot naked models walked around painted to look like they had clothes on. Like everyone else, we went for the rampant nudity. And, like everyone else, we soon discovered that G-strings, bikini bottoms and pasties shielded all naughty parts from view. Alas.

Other pressing events prevented us from writing about the Body Art Ball immediately, but organizers hope to bring it back next year. Plus, we had such an interesting time that we had to document it in print.

It was a blustery Sunday night when we headed over to the Uptown, not really knowing what to expect. As it turned out, three artists were painting their models on the floor area at the foot of the stage. The artistry was amazing: One woman resembled a Monarch butterfly, a guy looked like a silver-and-blue cyborg, and another woman was rocking the punk-geisha look. (Sadly, none of the artists or models were from around here.) At a runway show later that night, the models choreographed a dance routine that was supposed to embody the spirit of their ensembles. Afterward, a panel of “celebrity” judges (which included Bar Natasha’s Missy Koonce, the drag queen Flo and Italian restaurant owner Mike Garozzo) would pick a winner, with the help of the audience.

The ball attracted a fairly sizable, youngish crowd, thanks to the fact that one of the sponsors was a liquor distributor. Noting the many service-industry types in attendance, one local bar owner observed, “It’s kind of like a bartenders’ ball.” Naturally, then, it was a drinkfest. The Uptown’s lobby bar area was packed, with lines stretching from the bar to the tables. It also seemed as if all of the city’s good bartenders were probably enjoying the ball rather than working. “These [Uptown] bartenders have no sense of urgency,” groused a guy in line next to us.

Tuaca sponsored the event, so vanilla-citrus-liqueur drinks were sold at slightly lower prices. We tried a Tuaca and Coke, which was way too sweet for our palate (especially after drinking a Jack and Coke); we deemed it “cloying.” Research Assistant Laura tried a Tuaca-rita. Now, we’re of the opinion that any drink that ends in rita but doesn’t start with marga is sketchy. That theory was soon proved right. “This is awful,” Laura whispered. We discreetly ditched our drinks and went into the theater for the show.

The lights were dimmed until the room was nearly dark, and the plaintive sounds of a flute pierced the air. Tribal drumming soon followed, and in the low light, we made out a bunch of Counting Crows lookalikes in man vests, rolled-up pants and striped socks beating on Day-Glo barrels and other drumlike items. At first the crowd got into it. “Woooo!” they cheered. The lights stayed off, and the drumming continued for 15 more minutes, but the drummers lost us — and the rest of the crowd — after the first three minutes. Soon, neither a “Wooo!” nor a head bob was doled out to these hippies.

Fortunately, the main event was amazing and sexy. Guys dressed in an assortment of get-ups; there was a pimp, a gangster and a Lenny Kravitz disco guy (complete with bell-bottoms made of flared leg warmers). The women included a zebra, a Latina go-go dancer, the aforementioned punk geisha, a Brazilian carnivale dancer and a Cleopatra. (It was like the “It’s a Small World” ride, only with more boobs.)

The crowd’s favorites were obvious. Candy the cowgirl was one; she wore a green holster and purple chaps that revealed her ass. Her chest was painted white, with dark swirls on her very large breasts. She came out, shook her tits and ass, hula-hooped, then wielded a whip. Of course, everyone went nuts.

Stage thus set, the MC totally built up the cyborg. “He is so beautiful, you’ll die,” she said. “He’s an Adonis, girl.”

By this point, we were growing increasingly annoyed by this MC (the event organizer) and her annoying patter. She had slicked-back, shoulder-length blond hair and Tara Reid eyes (i.e., blue eyes with a ton of black eyeliner). Her demeanor reminded us of Britney Spears in Chaotic, the reality show in which Brit-Brit would say something she’d think was cute, then make a goofy face. Unbearable. Then we heard a voice directly behind us loudly exclaim, “This lame-ass wench is still onstage?”

We turned around and met Jason, 33. We asked what drew him to the ball. “Some very sexy girl gave me free tickets,” he said. “I’m a pervert. I came to see naked people.” Didn’t we all.

Out came the cyborg, who performed some robot moves before breaking into his dance. We missed that, because our eyes were drawn to his large package, which was artfully encased in a sateen codpiece. When he was finished, Flo ran to the stage and waved a dollar. The cyborg obligingly waggled his dick back and forth. Very cheesy Chippendales, but again, he killed.

For the grand finale, a woman dressed as Marilyn Monroe lip-synched to “I Wanna Be Loved by You,” though we could see only one side of her body. The music abruptly shifted to Marilyn Manson’s “The Beautiful People,” and the model turned to reveal that her other side was all punk-goth chick, with spiky black hair and black clothing. The music shifted back to the first song, and she turned around and became Monroe again. The effect was eerie and awesome.

After the show, some people stuck around and continued to drink. We milled about the lobby, which is where we met a group of guys from all over the country (and Canada). They were in town to help train at the new Dave & Buster’s in Wyandotte County.

“It was my birthday yesterday,” said Epi, 29. “That was like a present to me,” he said of the show. We asked which rack they liked the best, but they were diplomatic and talked about liking the whole package.

Mmm … robot package. It was definitely time to go.