The Crawling Chaos...

I fear that I may soon abuse this mode of information dissemination. As there was nothing to see this night, I felt it right to go home and resign myself to the joys of the silver screen. Oh, klatu verat nicto, you saved us from destruction. I will have you all know this: I can trace my obsession with horror back to my pre-birth. For this was the only time my mother ever read King, and she read his books for the entirety of her pregnancy with me. I thank her now for this, though I acknowledge that it has in no small way impacted my view of the world as a dark, dire, and apocalyptic place. Perhaps this entry begins another part of my interaction with all of you, interaction on the subject of literature. H. P. Lovecraft, like our other dear departed Johnny Cash, is one of a few venerable men whom I would blow, but for their corpse state. I am currently entangled with H. P. Lovecraft's "Book of Horror." This tome is not another anthology of Lovecraft's work. Rather is is a selection of stories he himself put together as referents to his dark genius. It is, in the most eloquent sense, FUCKING AWESOME! Read it if you dare.

OK, enough with the flowery language; what the fuck are all of you doing for New Years Eve?

Openings for Friday, Dec. 26th...PSYCHE!

Yes, yes, I know the proclamation of "PSYCHE" is a bit juvenile, but come on. The day after Christmas and no one takes advantage of post-holiday hangover to dazzle us with pretty colors and allegorical imagery that can sometimes cause us to compare a family holiday to "The Raft of the Medusa." Nothing, that is what is opening tonight, absolutely NOTHING. Soooooo...what's to be done on such a day? That, my dear friends, if for you to figure out.

Goodbye.

In the beginning, there was drunkenness in the streets...

Well, hello ya'll out there in TV land!

Your fearless gallery crawler here, letting you know that you can now receive endless diatribes, reviews, pontifications, and drunken rants about not only the Chicago gallery scene, but my own little sphere of life. Worry not, my friends, you will not hear drab waxingings over the antics of my pet parakeet Bobo (who does not actually exist), nor with you be endlessly berated by play-by-play accounts of my frustration with the internet. No no, my dearest collegues, you will only recieve the finest in cronological and geographic listings of Chicago art openings, alongside my (sometimes) eloquent and (sometimes) shit-canned reviews of said openings, with the occasional pepperings of my own "special" viewpoints on the world at large (I'm talking about things like the 2/3 Club, for those of you who know what I'm saying. Don't bother Googling it, ya just have to talk to me.) My next posting will likely be a combination of Gallery Crawl Listings and a discussion of my incredibly awesome home-made Christmas tree. On the edge of your seats, my friends, ON THE EDGE.

Love and shit,

Steph