This is sort of an inside-y joke for a certain surly girl who may wander on by and see my blog. It's an entry from my old blog from last year.
FRI 4/8: THE ENVIRONMENTAL ENCROACHMENT THANG at Artists in Residence in Rogers Park.
Now it just so happens that this is where my old partner in ADHD, the missing-in-action M., lives -- or at least, used to live. She hadn't responded to an e-mail earlier in the week. So I wrote her again that morning with, letting her know I'd be there. No reply, no call. I tried her number: no answer, and the voice mailbox was full.
I arrive at the AIR building and buzz her number several times. Again, no answer. Somebody lets me in, and I go up to the apartment and knock. I think I hear some stirring within, but the door doesn't open.
Now, if M. (a former bartender) is still partying like she used to, it wouldn't be unusual for her to be asleep at 6:30 on a Saturday night. She actually missed one of our dates, a few years back, because she was still asleep at 7, when I arrived. She then spent the next 25 minutes stumbling blindly about her wreck of an apartment, searching for her glasses. Then she had to open her closet and choose between about 200 outfits and 50 pairs of shoes. We ended up deciding that I would go to the event (was that the teepee show at Wes Kimler's studio? yes, I think so) by myself, come back around 11 or so, and she'd have some Mexican food for us and we'd watch a movie or otherwise occupy ourselves for the night.
Anyway, I ended up slipping a handwritten note under M's door. I don't know if she received it. I don't even know if she still lives there.
THE SHOW, ANYWAY, was hella fun. It took place in a black-box rehearsal/performance space on the first floor. (It was bring-yer-own-booze, so I went to the liquor store around the corner and grabbed a 40.) First there was the showing of the anti-Frankenfood film The Future of Food, presented by Genewise and THONG. The film was riveting and scary and outraging in the outright arrogance and greed of the biotampering and food industries, and damn near got me prepared to go totally organic. They had delicious food there (all organic, I'm presuming), including beans and rice and some of the thickest, tastiest green leafy I've ever had. (I don't even know what it was -- kelp?) With veggies like that, who needs meat?
Afterward was the show with Encroachment, the Jungle Street Rockers, and a DJ. Good time, dancing. I sat down, grabbed some unused drums, and bongoed along with ee for awhile.
I met a few gals, of course. First there was Megha, the Indian geology student. (She switched to geology, she said, because of her concern over the environment.) Then there was Allison, the cute plump blonde punkette who was shakin' it seductively to the music, and kept givin me good eye. I went over and introduced myself. She lives in the building. She's a Columbia student. "Oh, were you at the Story Week thing at the Metro?" I ask her. "I probably saw you, but to tell you the truth, most of my attention was on the chick in the Indian sari who was handing out the programs."
"Oh," says the blondie, "That's my roommate."
What luck!
I'm a male. Certain thoughts did flash through my mind. But only for a second.
