serial killer road movie, blown glass in the greenhouse, sock puppet sex and violence, doing it like a robot.

recent obsession: catch up on all those whacked out flicks i never saw in the theater, leaving me with that empty feeling that i'm missing something of supreme pop cultural significance. typically, these ideas manifest themselves as double-features or mini-film festivals. this weekend? kalifornia. juliette lewis. this role must have been a primer for the Other Sister. sweet, simple adele. she is really the only reason to see this movie about david duchovny writing a book about serial killers, michelle forbes as his provocative-photo-taking gal and their road trip to famous american serial murder sites. oh and brad pitt as the violent psychopath they unwittingly invite along for the journey. needless to say, it fueled my film festival fire. true romance and natural born killers are next on my list.

saturday morning, we rose with the sun and schlepped our way out to the west side and the garfield park conservatory, someplace i've been wanting to check out even before it became artistically augmented environs. chihuly's blown glass sculptures throughout added much appreciated blasts of color to the greenery and unfortunately brought out the tourists in droves. required a quick shift of gears from checking out nature to checking out the nature of people. narrow walkways and strollers made for a challenging afternoon. on the way out, we witnessed, not one, but two wedding parties waiting to be photographed amongst nature's splendor. i made me slightly ill. adored the edible room. papayas, bananas, vanilla, chocolate. yum.

when you think of showgirls, you think of pasties and poles, tumbles and tassles, raunchy and risque. i mean, everybody's gotta sell it sometime! what you do not think of are sock puppets. until now. trained it to the far north side to indulge our fantasies. scores of up-for-anything punters filled the cramped space, holding our breath for what seemed like eternity. and then, it began. yes, that's right. joe esterhaz's vegas baby masterpiece "showgirls" performed by sock puppets. it was crass, it was vulgar, it was witty, it was inspired. special guest stars cookie monster, elmo and big bird whipped the crowd into a frenzy during the pivotal cheetah's pole dance sequence. big bird with a twenty dangling from his beak was an image that will haunt me for the rest of my life. be warned. this show is interactive and not for the faint of heart. remember gallagher? bring a plastic bag to protect yourself. you won't regret it. the q&a session with the puppets after the performance took the cake, exploring the sexual proclivities of elmo and the technical difficulties facing a sock puppet adaptation of time code. in the most honest and emotionally-revealing statement of the evening, nomi exclaimed "where's james lipton? somebody promised me james lipton!" of course they did.

and as for princess superstar, well, she IS. after a series of technical difficulties that rivaled an Ameritech installation crew, the opening acts threw down some mercifully short sets, leaving us primed and ready for the real deal. though, i must say the second act with the horn section and the hot lead singer kinda rocked the house in a Chicago-meets-Jamiroquai sort of way. i'm not sure if it was 25 or 6 to 4, but i was ready for the Cunning Linguist. we bum rushed the stage and got a serious groove on until almost 1am. the set was flawless and when she donned her headdress for Robot, if not for my overactive bladder keeping me in the mens room all night, i would have indeed pissed my pants. strangely, throughout, it seemed as though the ceiling was shedding. i'm still not sure i got all the grit out my wig. oh well, it's only asbestos.

now, that's what i call a weekend.

so i'm a bit run down this morning. and the building formerly known as the Sweatbox is now known as the Icebox. temps dropped about 40 degrees over the last several days and SOMEONE left their window open round here. good thing i brought a cardie.

-finn