balance of performance art; placid; limp

The Lab

Evanston is a nice place. As is the Northwestern campus. But there times when it becomes impossible to stay in these nice places, no matter how much they try to suck you in.

Against an entire dorm floor filled with naysayers, tonight my friends and I got on the El at 1130pm and braved the hour long ride into Chinatown. What were we looking for? For the well hidden and completely out-of-the-way warehouse club, The Lab.

Clad in strange lamé and fur attire, with garrish makeup and glitter nails we walked the midnight streets, dodging 'panhandlers' and meth addicts; trying desperately to avoid those horrible situations one hears about on local 5 o'clock news. Crossing a pathetic excuse for a Chicago river we found our warehouse, wandered in through a door marked 'Lumber', and rode the service elevator up to the 5th floor.

Instant satisfaction, so to speak. Hard core electro-trash. Cowboy Bebop movie projected on the wall. Swanky couches and 'sophisticated' decor. Wasted 20 somethings and booming college students. This fabulous unnamed foreign woman. Photographs at every angle. Absolutly drenched (literally) in sweat.

Nothing in SLC could ever compare, sorry 80's night. Although, I doubt I'll go there again anytime soon. But it was more than worth it. +++

Now for sleep.

posted by Christolf @ 4:04:00 AM