Thursday, September 20, 2012

Tae Kwon Flow

I went to an art show in the Ukrainian Village neighborhood of Chicago, which I pictured was a bunch of aristocrats in a giant white room, discussing paintings while loosely gripping their wine sifters, not looking at one another, just transfixed on what looks to the untrained eye to be a sloppy figure eight, but in reality you could bullshit your way through convincing someone it's a statement about America's caloric intake.  I really wanted to be that guy for the evening.  I even put on a (probably fake) velvet sport coat that a guest left in my old apartment a few years back.

It turns out it was just a hole in the wall bar with PBR on tap and a few paintings on the walls, one above the CSI pinball machine.  But this place was familiar to me.  Yes!  That was around the third and for sure the last bar I made it to the night of my first marathon.  When you run that much, a few beers can knock you on your ass, but I do remember being there because there was a stocky Latino and/or Black (can't remember for sure) guy sweating his ass off dancing around by himself tirelessly from one end of the bar to the other in a style that was equal parts rave party and Tai Chi.  He seemed to really annoy the bartender every time he would come within a few feet of him, but you can't really throw him out because he wasn't drunk or causing any trouble.  Dude just liked to dance.  He told my buddy HLP (Heterosexual Life Partner) and myself that it was his own brand of dance that he invented.  He didn't seem to have many friends.

Here is the shit hole in question.  An unlikely spot for a high class art exhibit. 

I texted HLP to ask him if Rainbo Club was the same place we went into that night with the silly man dancing around like the place like a sweaty karate raver.

"Ah, yes.  Tae Kwon Flow."

After that I just left because HLP made it clear that there was no way I was going to have a funnier night in that joint than that night. 

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