Thankfully I was ignorant of my own fear; that's the only way I accomplished anything in the early 90's. I was the dark-haired girl with low self esteem that Lori Petty beat into sensibility with her ignorant brevity. "Lexi Quay" showed me all there was to know about Chicago City Proper and it's rich and dangerous ways...famous musicians,underground smart bars, penthouse S & M clubs. I showed her all about the oppressed neighborhoods where I lived and bartended after graduate school (during the recession), and introduced her to my gang-banger boyfriends and shiftless boys who liked to beat on women. She was the icon for courage and the metaphor for emotions. I was the icon for the stereotype of the starving artist, sacrificing any remnants of normality and comfort in the pursuit of the meaning of reality. We drove around town in my baby-poo, green hatchback Pinto to all the finest nightclubs. We usually came away in a fine limo with "wanna-be's" who threw us out for drinking their fine champagggggnee. She was from an "upper-class" background, dying for a breath of fresh air from the mundane, and I was from a farming and now starving-artist background, seeking sanctity in the Magnificent Mile. It was a match made in heaven. Why did we not pursue the path? Perhaps too many nights begging for the Pinto back from the local impound lot.
Regardless, Lexi and I have remained friends for decades and I'm still on that journey, trying to figure out the meaning of reality while she has since lived the American Dream of raising a brilliant child and managing a brilliant family...
Interestingly enough, my best friend from Chicago is back in the recording studio again,writing and producing music as though she never left her role in "Tank Girl" and I continue to make "fine" art, forever hoping to sell it to the kind of affluent folks who frequent the Magnificent Mile.
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