For about a month before the inauguration I’d been fantasizing about throwing eggs at Bush’s car on his special day. But then I decided to save money and stay home. I could always commiserate locally–at the candlelight procession from Wicker Park to the Anti-Inaugural Ball at Acme Art Works, for instance. But I didn’t feel like walking that far in the snow, and truth be told I’m still in denial. So instead I went out for a night of drinking and dancing under the auspices of a certain corporate sponsorship that’s been chapping my hide for about a year now.
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Black Thursday seemed pretty much like a regular ol’ night at Sonotheque, a narrow box of a place with no dance floor. The DJ roster included some big names: MF Doom, the Twilite Tone, Tone B. Nimble. The crowd was a good mix of hip-hop heads, hipsters, ravers turned store owners, and yuppies. Oh, and two French airline pilots–one with a neck tattoo–who were in town for the night.
On my way over to introduce myself to Alexander, I stopped to watch the video screens above the bar. A three-minute Scion commercial ran on a continuous loop: car pornography of the Scion models, which look like toasters with wheels, close-ups of headlight titties and bumper asses interspersed with scenes from a dance party and phrases in giant block lettering like EXPRESS INDIVIDUALITY, BREAK THE MOLD, and REVERSE BORING.
Christian Alexander throws parties with 1,500-person guest lists at Sonotheque, a club with a capacity of 264–the line of young scenesters down the block makes the whole thing seem more exclusive and, by extension, makes the Scion seem cooler. But, as Alexander puts it, “parents buy Scions,” which sell for $13,000 to $17,000.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photos/Andrea Beno.
