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Underbelly Diaries

by Aaron Berg
SF Examiner Review March 16, 2004 (Bill Picture)

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PUMPING IRONY

Aaron Berg isn't embarrassed to admit that at one point in his life, he was "gay for pay." Not familiar with the term? Well, just think of it as an example, albeit a seedy one, of capitalism at work.

You've got what someone else wants, they're willing to pay for it and even though it may go against everything you believe in, you just can't resist the temptation to cash in.

In his early 20s, you could say that Berg was just putting what he thought was his best asset, his chiseled physique, to better use. In the opening scene of his one-man show, "The Underbelly Diaries," the straight, Canadian ex-bodybuilder shares a hilarious, albeit graphic and totally off-color, story about the time an older gay Austrian man approached him at the gym and offered Berg money for a private show.

That's how this nice Jewish boy from the suburbs ended up dabbling in the sex trade. He'd later doff it all and jiggle his wares nightly in front of crowds of screaming, grabby bachelorettes -- he'd even do a few of them on the side for a little extra cash -- before hanging up his G-string for good.

But it's obvious just minutes into Berg's show that his best asset isn't his ripped body, it's his ability to tell a story.

Berg's not only able to paint a vibrant picture with his words, his vivid descriptions allowing the audience to see, hear and, in a few cases, to even smell and taste his fleshly experiences, he's also able to play on the funny ironies that slip by most people in not-so-funny situations.

In fact, Berg points out that his short-lived stint as a steroid-injecting man-ho was replete with irony. For example, the reason he sold his body in the first place was so he'd have money to impress girls. Now, how many nice girls do you know who would go out with a guy who they know has sex or even strips for money?

But unlike most of his sex worker peers, Berg was never a victim. He admits that customers did try to take advantage of him from time to time, like the female client who asked after he was through if she could pay in installments. But Berg appears to have spent his time clocked in society's seedy underbelly studying it and, like a researcher, making thorough mental notes to be published, or in Berg's case, to be played out in front of audiences years later.

Even his use of steroids comes off more like an experiment. Berg carefully documented the changes in his appearance and demeanor -- the hairy back, the acne, the shriveled testicles and crippling mood swings -- and turns those disturbing notes into a smart but funny public service announcement-style monologue extolling the joys of hormone injection.

It's precisely that skillful balance of light and dark, or rather, light through dark, with which Berg is particularly astute. You see, being a stripper, a gigolo or "gay for pay" isn't particularly funny stuff. In fact, it's really quite sad.

But while the laughs are admittedly at Berg's expense, he lets the audience know that it's OK to laugh because even he recognizes the abundant humor in these typically unfunny and, frankly, rather icky situations.

You could say that Berg, to some degree, is still pimping himself out. The difference is that now, instead of his body, it's his experiences that he's putting out there and anyone with a slightly twisted or "off" sense of humor would be crazy not to take him up on the offer.
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