A brief, if very enlightening article (from way back in 2004) on Harvard Professor John Stilgoe, who teaches a class in “exploration” (as stated in the article). It strikes me as less exploration and more of understanding the messages that are broadcast to us by things we encounter everyday – the critical understanding of form, function, and in a large part, advertising.

Read here: The Eyes Have It (Professor Teaches A New Way Of Looking At Things)

Having been in the employ of an advertising agency for the past four years, I’ve come to understand that all advertising has been designed for some effect. The shape of a Coke bottle, the hidden arrow in a FedEx logo, the smell of fries from McDonalds. They’ve all been designed – for you. Understanding this can radically change your perspective on the world.

I recently made some t-shirt designs for the 2007 Polecat Challenge (a handlaunch soaring contest). They are for sale on the website – pick one up! The pig illustration was done by national Addy-award-winning designed Scott “Airwolf” Schroeder, and the shirts will be printed by MonkeyDrive, a local printer.

So Art Day brought us up through Tuesday. Wednesday, we planned another full day of Chicago-ness and set out early to get Kelly some oatmeal. Oatmeal. I don’t understand it either, but apparently she saw a place that served oatmeal for breakfast with little chunks on top of it and really wanted it. Oatmeal wanted, oatmeal had.

Then we decided to go to the Lincoln Park Zoo, which in reading an Ask Metafilter query about things to in Chicago I found it to be “one of the last free-to-the-public zoos in the United States”. Awesome!

We took the Red Line to Clark and Division and walked out way to the park. We had been here the night before as Second City is pretty close to the “Old Town” section of Chicago. Lincoln Park was hosting a farmers market that day, and as we strolled through the organic bread sellers and the booth with the dozen varities of heirloom tomatoes, I heard the familiar sounds of Bluegrass. Off to my left, I heard a guitar and a banjo kickin’ out the Ralph Stanley jams. I took a seat for a moment, and they immediately ended their song, but then continued with a version of “Keep on the Sunny Side of Life” as if I they had to play down to me to get me up to Bluegrass speed. Resisting my urge to throw my Southern Heritage in their faces, I smiled and rejoined Kelly.

As we walked past the farm in the park and I snapped photos of odd goats and cows, the camera battery decided to go south. Odd, but this Canon SD400 doesn’t have a battery gauge that I am aware of. Dang! There were plenty of animals I would have loved to taken photos of, but alas you’ll just have to imagine a 30lb version of Bocephus (a serval) and lions and tigers and penguins and handlers weighing giant vultures and oh my! The Lincoln Park Zoo is a fantastic open-air old-school kinda zoo that can easily be done in a couple of hours and won’t cost ya a nickel.

We had left Nick’s friendly confines on Sunday morning, and we wanted to catch up with him again before we left, so after the zoo and before Nick’s class, we met up at the Addison station on the Red Line ’cause Kelly wanted to stop back into Strange Cargo for t-shirts and gifts and such. On the food front, we searched for tasty sushi, but alas found none. Instead, we headed down to Nookie’s Tree, a great little diner on North Halsted and caught some tasty sammiches. Side note: Nookie’s Tree will apparently be visited by the Food Network’s Rachael Ray in the near future.

We also stopped into Chicago Comics, a great little comic shop on North Clark. While there, I picked up Joe Sacco’s Notes from a Defeatist, Eric Shanower’s second volume of The Age of Bronze (the story of the Trojan War), and Found Magazine #4. The latter because we were going to see the Found “Lone Surfer of Montana, Kansas” tour stop at the Neofuturist’s Neo-Futarium later that night.

Shortly thereafter, we said our goodbyes to Nick, and Kelly and I poked around Wrigleyville for a while headed up to the Argyle stop (near Nick’s apartment and the Neofutarium). The Found show wasn’t until 8PM, but we stopped into the theatre around 7PM to make sure we could get tickets. The Neofutarium is a little confusing, I must admit. You enter the front door, and are greeted with stairs. Those stairs lead to a landing with two bathrooms, a desk and the entrance to a hallway. No signs for “Theatre”. I heard nary a voice as I tread the creaky boards into the hallway. (The hallways is decorated with odd paintings of our past presidents) Reaching the end of the hallway, I see a door that just says “Kitchen”. Hmm. I enter the kitchen to find a cute girl standing behind a counter. I timidly say “We’re here for the Found show?” She explains it doesn’t start until 8PM and that we could either pay now or come back later, or perhaps have a seat in their “reading room”. Wanting to ensure that we’d have a seat at the show (and not knowing how many people would show up), I opt to pay now. She then gives me a “receipt,” a corner of a legal pad with a hand-written note “2 tickets for FOUND”. We both chuckled as she handed it to me, as this is exactly what might be lost and then later “found” and submitted to “FOUND” magazine. I almost didn’t want to take it so that it could be found! She also recommended we check out The Hopleaf, which was around the block from the Neofutarium. Said something about “a frosty brew”, and I knew I had to go.

The Hopleaf is a great place with an impressive set of taps, set up for mostly Belgian beers. I selected a very tasty “Leffe Brune in what appeared to be a traditional goblet. A good beer — hoppy and spicy (but not overly so, like an IPA), with chocolate and malt notes and a body and head like a stout or porter (somewhere in between). An interesting sweetness to it as well, that certainly places it outside of most of the beers I have tried. Even Kelly had a sip or two and really enjoyed it. “I like beer,” she says.

After our Hopleaf stop, we headed back around the block for the Found Magazine show. The “Reading Room”, which looked like an old dance studio quickly filled with late-20s, early-30s hipster couples, and I browsed the merch table for the latest in FOUND gear. Apparently, they’ve also started publishing “Dirty FOUND”, which is all the stuff too racy for the website and “regular” found. Even packaged in a plastic wrapper! Awesome.

Later, we piled into the smallish theatre, and out comes Davy Rothbart, FOUND found-er on a bicycle and a dayglo orange jacket decorated with spray-paint. Under the jacket were no less than 3 or 4 gold chains with gold dollar-signs, etc. I’d only heard this guy speak via the radio, so this was a bit different than what I was expecting! His voice on the radio was that of an excited young man, perhaps a little self-conscious and with a hint of jittery nervousness. On that front, he was exactly what I expected. Davy is obviously the driving force behind FOUND magazine, and you can tell it by his excitement about each “find”, and the stories he tells. Despite his outward appearance of modest thuggery, his voice and eyes tell you that he truly and deeply respects the pieces he finds. Later, after the show, I asked him if he could tell the difference between pieces found in big cities (like NY or Chicago) and pieces from cities like Louisville. He thought about it a little, and then said “No – the people and emotions behind them are always real, and that never changes”.

The show was great — Davy reading some bits from his “Lost Surfer of Montana, KS” book, detailing his favorite finds and stops on last year’s major press junket for the FOUND book, and his brother Peter doing some songs based on FOUND items (most memorably his version of “The Booty Don’t Stop”, from a found cassette tape of “Booty Jams”). The Neofuturists also did 4 2-minute “plays” based on finds! I even got picked out of the audience to do a foxtrot with a girl while someone read a find. Bizzarre! Much fun was had, and even though we didn’t get a chance to see “Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind”, we did have a boatload of fun — and I got my copy of Found #4 signed by Davy himself. Awesome.

The next morning, we checked out, checked our bags and did some more walking around the Michigan Avenue area, starting at our hotel and essentially walking all the way up to the Clark and Division stop on the Red Line (far!). Kelly found a wonderful jacket at H&M that she had been looking for for-ever and we made it to Midway Airport with plenty of time to spare for our cattle-car ride back to Louisville.

As it turns out, Jason Clark and his lady were on their way back from seeing a show and were on the same flight. We chatted with them a bit, and then sat through our flight home with the loudest and most garrolous group of air-filter salesman I have ever been in listening distance to behind us. It was seriously the Bill Brasky sketch from SNL for about an hour! I learned many things I didn’t already know, like the fact that the J. B. Speed Museum uses a 3-stage filtration system for their archives and that the guy that taught the one guy “all he knew about filters” was a “really arrogant asshole” and a “terrible drunk” but was a hell of a salesman.

We arrived home to find that the cats hadn’t sold out earthly possessions for small fishes, and were glad to be back.

As promised, today was Ben and Kelly’s Chicago Art Day! We took some photos and put them in the 2005.10.11 – Chicago Marathon: ART DAY! gallery.

We slept in until about 9:30 or so and I ran down to Chicago Take-Out in the bottom floor of the hotel to get Kelly a “thing with things in it” which I took to mean a veggie omelette. Me? I was in the mood for pancakes and bacon. I don’t each much bacon, but I do love it, especially with maple syrup.

I should also make a note about the “family” of people who run the Chicago Take-Out. If pressed, I’d have to say they aren’t Russian, and they aren’t quite Greek — somewhere in between. Maybe Armenian. They are all very short (save for the one) and have the demeanor of folks who have been short-ordering to we gringo tourists for a little too long. So when the young cook (perhaps a young Turk?) told me “I make you best breakfast in town — any time of day! You get up 3 PM I make you chicken — BOK BOK BOK!” and smiled a shivvy smile, which made me smile after I realized he was joking. I want you to think of a cross between Eddie Munster and Squiggy from Laverne and Shirley. Then when I reminded him that I also had two coffees, he said “Not me, man – you tell her!” pointing his thumb in the direction of the older lady behind the counter, who earlier had said “Your machine is broken! No paper! No paper!” in regards to the short-order printer. Tee-hee, I’m a sucker for ethnic banter, I guess.

I was hyped to get down to the Art Institute of Chicago, so we took a right turn out of the hotel and down to Grant Park for a scenic route and a snapshot of the fountain. On the way, we passed by some of the many art students that are in this south-end of the Downtown. These happened to be apparently shooting something in 16mm film involving a wooden cross. I’ll admit to thinking “Oh, please! 16mm and a cross? Art preschoolers do that every day before they take their naps! Go have a milk.” But they are here in this big city sowing their artistic oats before the crushing reality of the real world shoulder-checks them into designing whimsical cocktail napkins for Bunco parties. But I shouldn’t be so cynical. Or maybe I should be — cynicism about art is what keeps high art high and low art profitable.

The Art Institute is a fabulous place, if not terribly confusing. Large, parquet-floored wings with no real obvious pathways which lead to a lot of map-looking and backtracking to ensure you’ve seen everything. I haven’t been to many art museums, though, so this might be par for the course.

Considering I had been here before, I knew what I had wanted to see again, and found myself saving certain wings for last – savoring them, I guess. Kelly and I have in the last few days been having an ongoing conversation about what is art and what is not. For grotesque instance, shitting on a canvas in front of an audience to Kelly is not “art” because it follows her dictum that “If [Kelly] can do it, it is not art”. I understand that idea and I used to think that myself. However, as my consideration of art as a thing and art as an idea changed that rule faltered. Let me explain…

A good example is the apparently time-honored tradition of the peformance art shitter. Shitting on things is really what humans do best. Literally anyone can do that. And anyone will do that. So then, the real art of shitting on things — canvasses, flags, other artist’s pieces of shit-art — is the whole production of the piece. Who in their right mind would shit in public? Very few — hobos and artists come to mind. Hobos do it out of necessity. Artists do it to remind you that everyone shits — or if they are wearing a star-spangled top-hat, that America is the shit. The point is is that they actually did it, for you to see, and that according to one woman’s account, if someone paid to see it, it is art. That said, shitting on flags is not gonna get my dollar. Shitting on flag shitters maybe — a documentary on the design, preparation and ultimate performance and cleanup of a sucessful flag-shitting — yes! I love documentaries.

Anyway, back to the Art Institute. We saw all that could be seen, and certainly took photos (no flashy). The great exhibit of papal artifacts in the “gun and knife show” wing that was there a few years ago when Hunter and I went was sadly gone, as were many of the awesome combinations of sword-and-gun that we observed last time. Sad! But I was really there for the Magrittes they have on permanent display. I can’t really say what it is about Magritte that interests me so, but I think it has something to do with the amount that some of his work transfixes me. You may have seen his paintings like “Time Transfixed” or “The Son of Man”, which when compared to the fantastic images that Dali painted are rather… pedestrian. In fact, the man in the painting “The Son of Man” could very well have been a pedestrian -and the argument could be made that Magritte painted such subjects in a surreal way to get just that effect. But there are many Magritte works that are not as obviously surreal and play more to his mastery of light and shadow, like “The Voice of Blood” or “The Empire of Light”. The one painting that I think mixes both of these sides of Magritte the best and makes for the simplest yet most indelible of marks is “The Banquet” (shown above) which is on display at the Art Institute. Upon first encountering it in the flesh a few years ago, I was completely captured by it. As with many paintings — it does little to impress when shown 3″ x 4″ on a computer monitor. They may as well throttle you by the throat in real life. I used to think that art could be seen in books on a screen — but that is not the case.

After the Art Institute, we decided to check out the Museum of Contemporary Art specifically for the Dan Flavin Retrospective there until October 30, 2005. I saw a subway poster for this on an L platform in Chicago, and was immediately reminded of the NPR piece I heard last October entitled Dan Flavin’s Fantastic Lights. The premise sounded simple enough: one man uses off-the-shelf fluorescent lights to create his art. What one can’t fully grasp on the radio or even on the web is just how much his art relies upon it’s surroundings. His medium is truly light, and hence, reflection is the eventual outcome. Paintings are graced by frames, but his art can be recreated in any room and will thereby become a different piece altogether!

The entire 4th floor of the MCA was without any lights save for Flavin’s works. (They had even gone so far as to remove the fluoresecents from the ceiling fixtures!) The longest work in the hall stretched before a long series of windows facing the street — reflecting it’s beautiful green glow upon not only the ceiling and walls of the floor, but the museum itself – a beacon to all that passed by.
To enter that floor was to enter a world of otherworldly lights. At first it was difficult to stand, but after a few moments, you got used to the 60Hz pulse of the lights and passing between rooms (which often housed a single piece) meant changing the tint of the world in which you operated. Inspecting a piece close-up was to ruin the spectre of what the hardware had created. Each person in the room became part of the piece, part of the canvas and it was breathtaking. A sidenote: photography was not allowed in the gallery, so I had to be sneaky.

Later that evening, we went to go see The Second City’s Mainstage doing the show The Red Scare, a long-running show playing with the differences and similarities between the left- and the right-wingers in the world. Absolutely hilarious! Some really great stuff there and a visit to Chicago isn’t complete without seeing the Second City. I’ve been there twice (once to the Mainstage and once to one of their “lesser” shows”) and have been totally destroyed by the funny both times.

It’s just about that time, cats and kittens for another installment of “What has Ben been listening to?”. I’ve been getting good response from a number of folks about my past installments, and I’ve got a backlog of stuff to dump now. (Update 2005/10/03: see end of post)

First up, I can’t say enough about The Heartless Bastards, a steady and loud trio from up-river in Cinci. Fronted by a diminutive straight-up hottie chick name of Erika Wennerstrom with a just huge voice. As with fellow Fat Possum alums, The Black Keys, their sound is the pounding blue-collar-and-denim romp that comes out of so many great industrial towns (think White Stripes out of Detroit / Black Sabbath from Birmingham UK). You couple that with Wennerstrom’s strong, steady and yet expressive voice and you get something that is truly great. I suggest you find out their debut Stairs and Elevators and give it a spin. (Also, they are playing at Uncle Pleasants on October 14th here in Louisville. Ticketweb will get you in.)

The Matt Pond PA was something I stumbled upon thanks to Pitchfork’s free MP3 singles a few years back. That section of the site I came to find out as a dumping ground for small labels (like Polyvinyl). You can imagine there was a lot of listening for the ultimate rewards, but I did manage to find Mclusky and the Matt Pond PA in there, and considering my appreciation for both bands I’d say it was worth it.

The Matt Pond PA single I picked out was “Fairlee”, the excellent opening track on their 2002 release The Nature of Maps. At the time the MPPA were just a really good multi-piece conglomerate band that rarely toured outside of their home-base of the Northeast. But now, they are opening for Liz Phair on her tour and have readied Several Arrows Later, their 4th or 5th full-length album, for release. Thanks to the wonders of the intarwebs, I have managed to get a listen to this new album.

On Several their songs still remain as yarns about the changing seasons, or perhaps snapshots of wasted fall afternoons, but now with a bit more polish and weight. Something that originally drew me to MPPA was their obvious talent with the modest arrangements to match the subject matter in the songs. A good match, and having been to Vermont, I guess I’m pining for such humility. With Several Arrows Later they’ve made a heavier, more lush album. This jump in production and sound might ordinarily strain other indie bands, but the Matt Pond PA have the talent and patience to take on that load, and do it well.

Self-references: 2003.01.07 – Rainer Maria Rocks, mclusky breaks up, mclusky.

A few weeks back, I joined Brad and Hunter to go and see Clutch in Indianapolis. I was already hyped to see Clutch (though I’m not the biggest of Clutch fans) because of their “awesome live show” reputation. But, as we were driving up, Brad and Hunter told me of the opener (which they had seen at the Louisville Clutch show) — a band called Stinking Lizaveta, fronted by a bearded man-beast named Yanni Papadopoulos.

Milling around before the show, Brad would occassionally point to some dark corner off-stage and say “That’s him! That’s the YANNI.”. Glancing in that direction, I only say a dark mass of hair above what appeared to be a Hawaiian shirt. Some sort of dark yogi not on a hill-top but in the dingy green room of the Vogue. Still, I had not been witness to the Lizaveta.

Finally, the show began and out came someone who appeared to be a young Edgar Allen Poe (actually Alexi, Yanni’s younger brother). His weapon of choice? Upright electric bass. I knew this was going to be good. Behind the drums sat a woman who Brad described as having “huge guns!” – her name is Cheshire Augusta. And then, out from the shadows behind the stage – pot-bellied, unshaven, shirtless, haggard and wearing ripped jeans came… Yanni.

Being an instrumental band, Yanni spoke few words. He didn’t need to. He’d simply walk over to the mic, and say things like “Day of Dust” or “Caught between worlds” or “Man-day. This song is about going to work.” and then proceed to crush our souls with some of the best punk-metal-jazz fusion I’ve ever heard or seen. He enjoyed the crowd and the crowd enjoyed him. He even passes his guitar around the audience at the end of the set. We all converted to Papadopolism that night, my friends. We all agreed we’d easily pay the $20 cover just to see the Lizaveta. Hunter dropped the $10 for their album III, and we listened to it on the way home, but it lacked a certain urgency and certain visceral element that I think raises Stinking Lizaveta to another plane.

Thanks to my buddy Jackson, I managed to get a pre-release version of My Morning Jacket’s soon-to-be-released album Z. It is good.

Let me say that MMJ has all of the hallmarks of a “Southern” (read: Lynyrd Skynyrd) band – the big bearded lead singer, the drawl, the multiple guitarists, the jams. They have all of the hallmarks save for one thing: their actual music. You can’t peg it down easily, especially on Z, their most ambitious outing yet. (“Ambitious” being rock-criticism-speak for “what-the-fuckitious”) They still throw down the jams like they did on their true “breakout” album, 2003′s “It Still Moves“, but they’ve added more depth, more dynamism and more just plain weirdness “a kitten on fire / a baby in a blender” perhaps in reaction to their “Southern” label. Losing two founding members in the last year or so probably had something to do with this “ambitousness”.

Z is a great mix of the old and new – which any “ambitious” album really should have in it’s mix. The songs are varied, with enough rock jams with catchy riffs (“Off the Record”) and enough new, more adventurous fare (“Into the Woods”) to make this a good album and a good step onward for MMJ. In this creative “fanning out” that I heard in the album, I also heard some of their more varied influences cropping up — from Nirvana to Elvis Costello to the Clash to perhaps even a little Pink Floyd. And for those wondering, yes, MMJ is still friends with Mr. Reverb.

It is a time for many happenings in the MMJ world, and so the very different newness of Z seems fitting. For instance, they feature prominently in Cameron Crowe’s newest film Elizabethtown, where they play a local band and yes finally, after years of taunting by that one drunk dude in the audience, they play Skynyrd’s “Free Bird” (which they have never, ever played live). How’s that for irony? Anyway, if you get a chance to give Z a listen, be prepared for something different, something so Southern it’s un-Southern, and enjoy. P.S.: They are sporting on the front cover of Velocity Weekly this week, and Z comes out next Tuesday. Jackson is also hosting a pre-listening party at The Outlook on Bardstown Road tonight from 6-8PM.

I was introduced to Explosions in the Sky after having re-discovered and re-evaluated fellow Austintonians …And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead (another post all together) at the urging of Jackson Cooper. Explosions in the Sky is such a great name — how could I not listen?

On the matter of appropriate names for bands, Explosions in the Sky is certainly at the top of the list. For that matter, Stinking Lizaveta and Clutch might be up there, too. At the bottom end of the scale, …Trail of Dead will probably roost. Explosions in the Sky do sound like the fireworks that name might invoke — both the percussive, gasp-worthy delight that a light-show and chest-thumping report would cause, but also for the falling sparks left behind and the inevitably drifting clouds of smoke. The rising crescendo of light and sound with great ends that leave you wanting for more. The dynamic impact of Slint, with a dash of the ominous God Speed! You Black Emperor, and with the silken touch of perhaps the Rachels. Careful, masterful work by a shy group of dudes from Austin, Texas.

How Strange, Innocence, their most recent release, was actually recorded in early 2000! Less that 100 pressings were made and considering their growing foothold on the indie conscience (they contributed heavily to the Friday Night Lights soundtrack — did you know that?), they’ve released this as new material. Do yourself a favor, and check them out at your earliest convenience. I’d also recommend their The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place (2003) and Those Who Tell The Truth Shall Die, Those Who Tell The Truth Shall Live Forever (2001)

So the other day, I was contacted via AIM by a guy named “Jerrod” in Orlando, Florida, asking my permission to use a photo I took of a performance of the “Lysistrata” (with Nick Smith and Ken Troklus of the world-famous Project Improv). Well, today he sent me a PDF of the photo in use on the front page of the indie, the “arts and entertainment section” of the University of Central Florida newspaper. Thanks Google Image Search!

I am no art fanatic. I have been to one and only one “art museum” in my entire life (yes, it is sad). I just saw a photo taken from Joseph Beuys‘ How To Explain Pictures to a Dead Hare (1965), and it struck me.

Beuys and “Hare” are explained in this passage from an Encarta article on Modern Art:

One of the most prominent members of Fluxus was Joseph Beuys, a German sculptor and performance artist. In the spirit of dadaism, Beuys’s gestures were often intentionally absurd, such as his suggestion that the Berlin Wall be raised a few centimeters for better proportion or his attempt to found political parties for animals. In How to Explain Pictures to a Dead Hare (1965), Beuys tied a piece of felt to the sole of one foot and a piece of metal to the other. He then covered his head with gold leaf and proceeded to explain works of art to a dead hare that he cradled in his arms. Hidden within this apparent absurdity were more serious questions about the boundaries between life and death, human being and animal, the rational and the irrational, and finally between art and audience.

He is also known for his 1974 piece entitled “Coyote, I Love America and America Loves Me” wherein he wrapped himself with felt and stayed in locked room with a coyote for 5 days.

Further reading: Artchive article on Bueys, Beuys’ 7000 Oaks Project

I’ve leafed through a couple of issues of AdBusters magazine a couple of times, and have always been intrigued by the layout and the complete deconstruction of branded® America&tm;. How should I best explain AdBusters? Well, I think they do it best:

Based in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, Adbusters is a not-for-profit, reader-supported, 120,000-circulation magazine concerned about the erosion of our physical and cultural environments by commercial forces.

Yeah, pretty much. So are there ads in the magazine? Nope. The layout is fantastic and entertaining, but they somehow manage to stay away from having a “brand” themselves. I really don’t know how they do it, but they seem to stay on that razors-edge of having a good, gripping, competent design, but yet don’t fall into the trap of “no image as an image”. Also, culture jamming is a great idea (not to mention a great name), and I suspect that Warren Ellis knows well these busters of ad.

I do believe I will subscribe.

point in case. Yamaha touches your heart.

This just in: the transformers have nothing on these trucks. and somewhere, optimus prime weeps in fear.

Thanks to the j-kizzle for the links.

tuesday hunter and I were left to our own devices as nick was working and joey was doing errands of some sort. so, off to the Art Institute of Chicago (you know, the one from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off). again, we managed to utlize public transportation in a fashion becoming a pair of adults, and the “L” dropped us off a block from the art museum. now, despite the fact that I studied (and lived for a short time) near the J. B. Speed Art Museum, I never actually went it. Oh, and my mother was an art teacher for a while, but that didn’t get me in to an art museum either. so yeah, it was fairly overwhelming. you can look at photographic reproductions of art in books all you want, but that just does not do these paintings justice in the least. Degas mastery of light and shadow are breathtaking to see. Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist” when reproduced on the page is a bland shadow of the true color of the work. I am a big fan of Magritte’s work and they had plenty of his works there, as a number of other surrealists and modern artists. I could go on for days, but I think I’ll keep this short: you need to go. On Tuesdays, ’cause then it’s free. But even on normal days, it’s only $10 and that is a suggested donation. I should point out that non-flash photography is allowed in the Institute, but my forgetful self forget to bring the memory card for my camera.

After 3 hours in the Art Institute, we decided to nab a bite to eat at Potbelly Sandwich Works, so we hopped the train back a couple of stops. Potbelly’s is like a Quizno but with the old-timey flair of Another Place Sandwich Shop in Louisville. The sandwiches were tasty. The root beer cold. Yum.

Now, our next stop requires a little explaining. Hunter had bought issue #2 of Found Magazine (a magazine filled with “found” notes , pictures, letters, etc) along with a couple other ‘zines (hipper, cooler magazines than your mama’s) while at Chicago Comics, and was interested in finding more. Knowing this, I happened to see an ad for a ‘zine distro down on Augusta Boulevard near downtown. Thinking “hey, this would be a cool little side trip”, we decided that would be our next stop. Having had procured directions from the venerable and always trustworthy MapQuest and peeping a CTA map we felt confident. Well, I figured that the CTA’s Green Line trains were the closest alternative, so we got off at the Ashland stop. Well, some many many blocks later we arrive at Loop Distro at 1357 W. Augusta #1. It is apparent that this is, in fact, someones apartment. Thinking that “this is the ‘zine way of life man!”, we checked around. No other doors say #1, and the one that is #1 has photos inexplicably taped all over it. Check the knob — locked. Hmm. Well. Checking the website, it would seem that this joint is really just a distribution point. The ad wasn’t so clear. Ah well. We had an exciting time rolling through “Little Mexico City” anyway.

Turns out the Division Street stop on the Blue Line was far, far, closer to Loop Distro, so we ended up taking that home. I took a nap, because I’m old and walking is tiring.

Hunter contacted his friend Patience and his cousin Jeremy and Nick checked out the deal on the Second City show (Second City Unhinged) we were planning on seeing that night. Plans were set. Off to the Second City Etc. theatre. Jeremy was leaning against the building, as is his want, and we headed upstairs to find Patience, uh, patiently waiting. Patience is very charming, and appears younger than her age (which I won’t mention, well, yeah, i mean, it’s not everyday you meet a 600 year old woman that looks 29). Also, Patience complimented this very site, so she’s A Number-1 Top Dollar in my book. She is also a fan of Magritte, so yeah, Patience, you mah dogg. (BTW, Patience works for the Cape Cod Community College bookstore, owned by Follett, and is in town for a conference of some sort. Limos were provided.) Anyway. As mentioned, Jeremy was there and Hunter and I related that I had called him a “political mercenary” in a previous post. He said that consultancy is really more like whoring, and I rebutted that whores are just “sexual mercenaries”. Jeremy is cool, but he needs to accept his role in life as a kick-ass take-no-prisoners political mercenary. Soldier of Fortune sorta stuff. Yeah. Heh. Seriously folks, Jeremy is way cool. WAAAY COOL. Rad, even. Okay, now that I’ve finished lathering platitudes on these folks I just met, I’ll get on with the travelogue.

This Second City show involved 3 different improv groups all doing fairly different shows and mixing up styles and whatnots. Adding to the spectacular comedy was incidental piano music on the side of the stage, and coordinated lighting, which made things all the more fluid and interesting. The improv was great and very fluid. I think that the true key of improv is knowing what your fellow actors are going to do without having to say a word. When that happens, it really clicks. The first group, “Tuesday Night Special” did a rambling long-form (a la Project Improv), the second group “The Dirty Half Dozen” did about a half-dozen sketches each based on a single suggestion. My suggestion for “something you find in the kitchen” was “my wife”, which I think stunned the performer who was asking for the suggestion, but the sketch turned out funny as hell. The real ha-ha is that neither Kelly or I spend a lot of time in the kitchen. So, the groups interpretation of this animal-like “wife” character that has to be flushed out of the kitchen by fire was all the more funny to me. And the girl playing “the wife” was hot and funny and had glasses. Real tall, though. The last group “Train Wreck” was just two guys, one playing the part of a lifeguard, the other as a towel rental clerk. Metaphysical pondering about alter-egos across the sea have never been funnier. Also, killing dead air with the line “So… You remember when you killed that guy?” always has a good outcome.

We hit an Irish pub sorta thing after the show, but they weren’t serving food, so we downed a round and found a Subway. Jeremy split, as a good mercenary needs his beauty sleep, and we ate our sandwiches while listening to overnight AM sports shows. We had passed a cool little dive called the Old Town Ale House. A jazz-laden jukebox kept time while we sat in the front window conversing over pints. A good time was had by all. We decided to split up, and Patience took a cab back to her hotel, which was probably going to be expensive, so Nick and Hunter chipped in (hey, I bought the drinks).

So — what’s ahead for today? Well, Hunter and I will be driving back to Louisville leaving here sometime mid-afternoonish (to beat the Chicago rush hour, and hopefully the Indianapolis rush hour as well).