Fundamentals of Interactive Journalism

My assignment was to go to strip clubs and ask the dancers what they thought about the presidential election. Seriously.

Turns out that most of the clubs on Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights, Queens (my beat) are actually bailarina bars–Latino clubs where women dance with you for cash. Only a couple are strip joints, so I shifted my focus.

Many of the men at these bars are immigrants who moved to New York without their wives or girlfriends. They’re lonely, looking for attention.

Once a good song comes on, a guy will ask a woman to dance. The girl keeps track of how many they dance together and when he decides to stop she’ll charge him $2 per song. Its a modern version of taxi dancing.

New York Magazine must have heard about my story and they decided to write a long piece on bailarina bars in this week’s issue. So, I won’t write too much more.

You might enjoy reading my notes from the night (even though their quality indicates why I didn’t land the New York gig). I was typing them on my Blackberry–it blended in more than some guy writing on a note pad. Here’s what I saw (unedited):

La escuelita-bar on Roosevelt
Five girls in one corner of the dance floor.
Like a high school dance.  Or cotillion with thumping music.
Ladies selling long stem roses, bucket of Coronas.
Fast twirling on dance floor La cumbia, regeton
One girl leg up on table.
Shifts to guys grinding, can’t dance.
One guy has bought a full bouquet of roses.
Bent over.
Drunk stumbles into table.
Classical guitars.
Everyone breaks out on the floor.
Transaction atmosphere, girls using cell phones like they’re bored, waiting for someone to ask them to dance.
$2 per song, she keeps track.
Autoparts shirt and work boots.
Woman in fishnet shirt, butt hanging out.
La machata – what I danced
[I later figured out this is la bachata, although I definitely couldn't do it like these guys]