Volume 95, Issue 3

Thursday, June 7, 2001


Convocation overload Goodbye classes, hello life of debt

The Globe's Simpson gets degree

$1 million in beer money for King's 

Forum stripped away

Momma always says: "Strip clubs are a lot like a can of olives"

Med students bring aid to East Africa

Momma always says: "Strip clubs are a lot like a can of olives"

Double Latte

Kristina Lundblad
News Editor

"So, you must be happy it closed down, eh?," has been the redundant question all of my guy friends have asked me this past week. Yes, the Fabulous Forum is officially gone and apparently I'm supposed to be thrilled.

Since I don't go to strip clubs with the guys every weekend to cheer on the dancers, thereby feeding into their male fantasies, I must hate them, right? Not really. 

I refuse to be the girl who rattles on about hating strip clubs and curse all men who have ever stepped foot in one. That's not my standpoint either.

Contrary to what most guys think, it isn't as black and white as girls loving or hating strip clubs. It is possible for there to be some sort of medium, which I prefer to call the "Who Really Cares" ground.

Personally, I prefer to stand here because it is relatively comfortable and tends to have few boundaries. While I can quickly say I'm not in total agreement with the whole industry and have my own personal concerns with it, I can also see it is an age-old form of entertainment that, as hard as some might try, won't be going away anytime soon. 

And really, who am I to condemn it? Just because it's here doesn't mean that I have to take part in it, as an obeserver or a participant. 

It's kind of like olives. I've never really enjoyed olives of any kind or colour, even on pizza. Sure, I've tried the odd one, but I've never acquired the taste. Meanwhile, I know they're out there, available openly to me, just down the street on the supermarket shelves.

I must make the effort to go to the olives because they are not going to bang down my door and shove themselves down my throat (a comforting thought indeed). 

At the same time, my roommate might love olives, it does not affect me whatsoever if she has them with her scrambled eggs for breakfast and sits down beside me. It's not me eating them. Just like strip clubs.

I can drive down Oxford Street, glance at the sign and ignore it completely or I can dwell on the controversial issues surrounding such entertainment and lose sleep over it, only to upset myself over something I have little control over. 

For me, I like my sleep way too much for that. Instead, I can make things simpler by just not caring, hence the "Who Really Cares" ground I find myself standing on. And that's where I plan on staying. 

While it is the end of an adult entertainment era, whether that be a tradgedy to the man losing his business unexpectedly or a victory to many feminists, I'll still go about my day as if nothing has really changed. Just like olives. When I go grocery shopping tomorrow, I'll walk down the aisle and just leave them on their shelf.

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