Lovely pastiche of flabby stomachs and galloping horses ala Matt & Maria, their work with its laid-back mental hygiene feel.. work you can scratch your chin to or, like last night, liquid dance in front of to some phat beats. The music was really good all night long- never really sure who's DJing what.. it's a seamless night sonically, and the space puts the frosted DJ booth in the center of the room, throne-like, but it's impossible to see what's going on in there.. as we were leaving there was a live tabla player in there (also sampling himself and electronically manipulating tabla samples at the same time).. sounded great and people were woo'ing in his direction, but it ultimately like interacting with a limosuine. Overdue catch-up with M & M since parenthood occurred. M the evangelist for motherhood, describing how her organs were numbered during her C-section. J and I hardly got to talk to each other, but the steady stream of interesting conversations that found us made the night extraordinary.. -at one point the
bartender said we looked like talk show hosts.- bookartists, filmmakers, gallery-doers, a baker for a scientific research vessel that sailed to the south pacific and the swarthy mates she had to deal with at sea. A nanny who was lacquered in dirty martinis and at some point yelled to J, "this bitch is writing poetry! what do you do?" And except for her, only 2-3 degrees of separation between us and the others. Chicago, the biggest small town there is.