The Steampunk World

Being the continued explorations of a living steampunk.

The steampunk world is all around us, lying just out of sight, in a continuous thread of steampunk builders and culture that extends from the Victorian era to the present. You'll find no science fiction here: This is real life steampunk.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Dear Diary,

I went to Joanna's art show at the South Union Arts Center. It's in a rundown church. It was nice, the people were all very art-hipster but they were kind to me. Lots of screened posters and Joanna's photography is very powerful. One little fat kid was holding up one of his raps about how much his dad sucked and how Eminem is a better father figure to him. Her photography is always about the Polish and Mexican communities outside of the Chicago mainstream, which is really the real population of this city along with black folk. Sure, it's Chads out to Ashland, Hipsters out to Kedzie, but from there on out its Polish and Mexican folks, that's the real Chicago.

Friday night there was a prom, and I wanted to go because Eric Lab Rat was being strict about the dress code and nobody ever has dressup parties and actually holds people to it. But everyone there was dressed to the tee. Misha and McD have been flirt-fighting for WEEKS and I wish they would just DO IT and stop being so Saved By The Bell but anyway she dragged him moaning and groaning there, he put on his zoot suit, he was so classy. I found myself wondering why we just didn't dress like that all the time.

I didn't have a date and it turns out Iris didn't either, I shoulda asked her to be my date. She had a dress that showed off her decollatage (not her boobs), and women just don't know how to rock the decollatage these days. I wanted to slow dance (to make up for the fact that in my actual school days I was too shy to ask anyone) but the DJ just played oom-chicka-oom music. Oh well.

There was a big punch bowl and everybody was pouring stuff in it (even sake) so I couldn't have any. The Rat Patrol was rollin DEEP that night. Apparently we left before the guy started waving his gun around. That's good.

I left at midnight to go to Exit with Chryssy and Rae. Chryssy's been sad lately because the boy she was after left her for a young dumb suicide girl. Sheesh, they're becoming like the modern-day blonde-cheerleaders. It's owned by Playboy, you know. I guess the guy was really smitten with Chryssy but this other girl was a suicide girl so oh well. That Chryssy's such an amazing woman, she deserves a good man. But every guy she finds has SOME issue that keeps her from being happy.

That club was weird. It was like the horrifying vision of what would be if you took everything about our life and commodified it into a place where you could go and folks would be wearing, say, store-bought jewelry chains instead of actual old chains, fancy vintage retro tattoos instead of actual tattoos, $40 Alley replica work shirts instead of actual mechanic's shirts. The only motorcycle out front was a BMW. The dance floor was full of hot rocker babes and loser dweebs in black metal shirts. I got no problem with you being a greasy-haired hesher dude, that's fine, but I'm sorry guy once you start wearing a pony-tail you're no longer metal. Everytime I go out with Chryssy I'm struck by how much Industrial culture allows weiners a framework in which they could be cool. I just wish they'd celebrate their nerdiness rather than trying to pose like a baddass or give up and just wear jeans and a ponytail. Jeans, ponytail, and a black Misfits T-shirt does not a psychobilly make.


Post a Comment

<< Home