the way things are and the way things should be

Event 1: Deus Ex Machina 3 at the Peter Jones Gallery (FREE)
Event 2: Saddle Champ at Bar Vertigo ($5)
Event 3: the costume party that wasn't
Things I missed to get there: Minibosses and Moistboyz at DoubleDoor, noise benefit at Enemy, Redmoon show, exgirlfriend's bodypaint party
Reasons I went: Robots, the thickness of my blood v. the thickness of water, fall is a time to reminisce (sic)

Noise enthusiasts and experimental artists are among the most interesting people you'll ever meet, and the worst conversationalists as well. That is why you make the booze cheap. For the third installment of RubberMonkeyPuppetCompany's celebration of Machines and Art they've moved back to Ravenswood, in a tucked away warehouse space on Cuyler. Among the things you'll see is a paint catapault (representing the most primal robots), an adding machine that reads the surface of a jar of water to paint seascapes, and a television built into a tidycat container that breaks down everything it sees into a dozen pantone squares. It's extremely minimalist and extremely complicated at the same time. Most of the art on the walls has never been influenced by human hands (with the exception of changing batteries and brushes). It is a festival of humans making machines making art.

For the opening reception, they loaded up on rum, Old Style and disgusting white castle cheese burgers which everyone consumed with looks of shame on their faces. Bands and video artists performed behind a curtain and asked for a 5 buck donation but everything else was free. There were slips of paper everywhere encouraging you to bid in the silent auction. Some of the art looked like Pollack, some looked like Spirograph. Shannon Korchinski dipped a robotic hand in paint and loosed it on a piece of paper. It maneuvered like you'd expect Thing Addams to move if it was binging on gin. She picked it back up off its side a dozen times before unleashing a n arachnid cupie doll reminiscent of Toy Story. It was an event done the way events should be done, I'll probably go back tonight for one of Patrick McCarthy's 3d shadow puppet shows or next week for Paul Velat (Lord of the YumYum).

Fearing an early case of White Castle shits would cripple my evening if I stuck around, I left early. My cousin's bands, Saddle Champ and Crispus Attucks, were playing at Bar Vertigo. Saddle Champ was his country band. They played really accessible (pop?) altcountry. The guitarist had a serious David Lowery vibe; it was all a little late Meat Puppets/Eyes Adrift. We didn't stay for Crispus Attucks, which is a shame because they're a lot of fun. They march out in tri cornered hats and minuteman coats and intersperse songs like "Ring My Bell" and "Surfin USA" to Revolutionary War themed songs like "Liberty Bell" and "Sunshine for Democracy." Come to think of it, there's a bit of Camper Van Beethoven to their music. Go David Lowery! (Even if that last Cracker album did suck serious ass)

We ended up lost in a neighborhood I thought I knew front to back. I guess it's been a few years since I've lived in Logan Square and I was punching the steering wheel, all pissed off, uptight and 'Where the fuck is Medill?"

Yahoo directions, I will eat you.

We finally got there and there wasn't too much costume. There was a Spiderman, an Andre 3000, a girl on girl Robin Hood and Maid Marion. The hostess was Marisa, a girl I taught improv when she was 15 or 16 and I was 18, just outta high school. She was dressed as Lisa Simpson but her Liberty spikes had fallen by the time I got there. It was her 21st birthday; she's damn near the last to go. The place was packed with old heads, all these cats who were the underraged kids at my old parties were legal. All these old Kokomo kids and Fireside kids and Wicker Park heads. Artsy fuckers who went to magnet schools, LP and Lakeview and Northside Country Dayschool, a bunch of great motherfuckers I've known for years now. It was odd to see them all still in the same groups, but it was good, too. I'll be 23 next week, and it'll be nice to see all the same fucking people I see every other weekend, and have it be every bit and not at all special.