Tales from the Stump

Inspired

2009-07-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

In case you haven't noticed, Old and I haven't been around these parts in a while. I come with no excuses, though. Instead, I want to offer a somewhat inspiring tale; one that I experienced while riding the bus home from work one day. I offer it to you, the readers of 'Tales From the Stump,' as a unique Portland tale; a tale that could easily have happened in any other large city, but makes perfect sense to have taken place in our little City of Bridges, Portland, OR.

As I waited at 39th and SE Powell Blvd for the 75, I lost myself in the blistering heat and anonymity of an urban street corner. Only when my bus came did I come to, responding quickly to the race to find standing room at the peak of rush hour. As those boarding shoved their way on, making it nearly impossible for the ones exiting to escape, the bus driver began yelling at people on the bus to move to the back. In hopes of accommodating everyone trying to board, he instructed everyone to cram together and continue pushing their way toward the rear of the bus. Clearly exceeding capacity, the bus driver continued to yell, only amplifying what misery the riders already felt inside the hot, muggy, sardine can of a bus. When the bus driver's voice reached its peak, just after I made my way on, a passenger, clearly fed up with being yelled at, and in sheer defense of his fellow riders, voiced up, "Quit yelling at us, we can't move back any further." Given the circumstances, and various factors at play, I did not foresee this situation playing out well. I couldn't help but add up all the variables: extreme heat, cramped environment, rush hour, disgruntled bus riders, and fascist bus driver. Oy vey!

Unfortunately the dialogue did not end there. The bus driver responded, "You're gonna have to keep moving. This is my bus." To this, the passenger again voiced, "We're trying, but you don't have to yell. You're being an asshole." Immediately, other riders nodded their heads and agreed with their own chiming of, "yeah" and "that's right."

And that's when I thought it was going to happen, an all out revolt. Right then, at 4:00 pm, on the 75 heading North, Portland bus riders stage a mutiny and overthrow Nazi bus driver. Something happened, though, and another force turned the tide.

In addition to it occurring to our rush-hour tour guide that he had gone over the edge, another scenario was beginning to play out, which forced the good in our driver, as well as the majority of the passengers, to manifest itself, as we were all about to become good samaritans.

Before the dust even settled from the exchange between the fascist bus driver and the peoples' champ rider, another series of events began to unfold, in which our 'collective good' was to be challenged. Here's what happened....

Nearly cutting off the aforementioned dialogue, a middle aged woman, too, raised her voice. This time, however, the raised voice had nothing to do with space on the bus. Actually, she was alerting everyone on the bus that she believed a man just stole something from her purse. In fact, she stated, "Hey, that guys just took my DVD!" With the various raised voices, most riders looked a little confused, but the familiar peoples' champ wasted no time in asking who she was referring to. When she points to a man on the other end of the bus, she says, "The guy in the hat." For a minute, everybody looked at a young man wearing his hat backwards. Again, the people's champ chimes in, while looking at the teen, "Who, him?" while pointing menacingly. Realizing he was possibly being falsely accused, and nearing a public lynching, the teen sheepishly said, "Me?" The lady who was robbed shook her head and said, "No, the guy behind him." Now everybody was staring at a middle-aged Hispanic man. Clearly understanding where all the commotion was going, the accused man pretended as if he didn't know what was going on. The more people stared, though, and began grumbling about the possibility he was a thief, the man shrugged his shoulders and acted as if he didn't understand English. His act only gave credibility to the accusation. This is when the other passengers stepped up and began to assist the lady even more. The bus driver, too, decided to help out, as he stopped the bus and said he'd call the cops if necessary.

One passenger looked in the bag the man was carrying, noticing he had a DVD in it. He loudly said, "He's got a movie in his bag." Now the accused man was seriously showing he understood what was going on, as he shook his head and put his hands up like he was innocent. At this time, I asked the lady what the name of the DVD was. This sealed the deal, as I asked the guy standing next to the accused what movie he saw in the bag. When the titles matched up, we told the man he needed to return the DVD to the lady. At this, the man pushed open the back door and hopped off the bus. At least 6 people shouted simultaneously, "Stop him!"

Without hesitation, the guy closest to the back door jumped off, along with his friend, and chased after the thief. With the bus stopped at the busy intersection, all the passengers turned into onlookers, as they peered out the windows to watch what would happen next. It wasn't long before the man who ran off with the DVD turned around and tossed the stolen good to the two guys chasing him. Pleased with their securing off the DVD, and not interested in further becoming vigilantes, they came back to the bus as the other guy kept running down Powell. Within seconds, the two "heroes" were back on the bus and returning the lady's DVD to her. Once on board, the entire bus erupted in applause. The clapping seemed to last forever, as time seemed to stop, as it usually does in those rare and unusual moments. The applauding passengers, as well as those who played a vital role in helping the lady get her DVD back, bus driver included, seemed to exude an excitement for witnessing such an act of rare goodness. It was inspiring to say the least. While I took from this experience a hope for our collective good, it wasn't long before the bus was rolling along 39th Avenue, and everybody had their heads down while they continued on with the monotony of their daily commute, almost as if nothing had happened. To me, it wasn't a regular occurrence, yet it seemingly came and went in the minds of everybody else. Whatever the impact was on everybody else was, it left me feeling inspired, as I realized that people will come together in each others' aide. This was, to me, very reassuring.

Soap Moguls, back up in this mutha

2008-12-16T19:56:00.000-08:00

Yep, not only is the blog up and running, but Old and I are inching closer to having a complete corner on the market. Which market, you ask? The soap market, suckas! Yep, Old came over yesterday and we concocted a sweet Christmas-time soap recipe: Cinnamon Solstice. This is just the latest batch under the umbrella of Stumptown Suds Corp (aka, The Honestly, We're Not Gay Soap Company). Unfortunately, for all you eager consumers, this batch is purely for gift-giving purposes. This will come as good news for close friends and family in the Northwest, but, I'm sure, a disappointment for those ready to throw money at us for our cleansing and hygiene needs. Fear not, loyal customers, our next batch will be our most innovative and marketable yet. Be on the lookout for some Stumptown Suds after the New Year.

Booyakasha!

Dwarf Ride The Whip

2008-11-27T00:22:00.000-08:00

Once again, the rains have come and settled into the Stump for at least the next 11 months. With this damp chill comes a deep desire to hibernate and absorb the world of the moving picture from the comfort of a soft sofa, warm blanket and enormous mug of coffee on hand. Around this time of year, I tend to max out my hold allowance at the library, amassing an amazing list of classic films to last me through the dank depths of drudgery that is the Portland Winter.

It was during a recent screening of one such film, Werner Herzog's first full-length picture, Even Dwarfs Started Small, that I stumbled across what is likely the original inspiration, if not the first actual occurrence, of the phenomenon known as "ghost riding the whip."

Observe:

From Old to Young

2008-08-15T18:37:00.000-07:00

Fear not, Tales from the Stump lives on, it's just that I'm going to be taking an indefinite hiatus to work on my latest project, From Old to Young, a daily journal detailing my wifey's last days of pregnancy, the impending birth of our soon-to-be son, and the next year or so of my adventure as a stay-at-home dad. A sort of love letter from me (Old) to my son (Young Old) to reflect on later in his life, when one begins to care about these sorts of things. I'll still be pooping out an article or two here every few weeks, since the fun just don't stop here in Stumptown.

If you've got the time, please check out the new site:

http://fromoldtoyoung.blogspot.com

Stay up, folks.

Guest Editorial: Oldie's Obsession

2008-07-31T14:07:00.000-07:00

[The following guest editorial was written by my dear wife, Kes, who, upon being asked to write an article, immediately struck upon this tribute to an embarrassingly obsessive tic of mine. Enjoy. -Old]

Jeff once eluded to the note taking master in a past blog…well that, folks, is my husband. Now you will say to yourself, "Well sure, I write lists and take notes to help myself remember things" …but I think that the note taking abilities of my husband, better known as Old on this blog and to friends, is quite an incredible skill of his. It is rare to be hanging out with Old and not have him break into a search for a bit of scrap to jot something down on…in fact it has become an integral part of his way of being.

I would like to share some of these amazing notes/lists that I have managed to collect.

Who knows what these refer to! But Old apparently knows, as I recently watched him jot them down into his little black book of notes…yes folks, he keeps a little black book full of notes that are organized and neatly printed, unlike the scrappies (my fond name for his notes) he takes on the daily. Mind you, this transfer of scrappies usually takes a full evening, since he takes so many notes in a week's time…it could be a full time job.

Now many of you know that we are having a baby soon---3.5 weeks to be exact (if baby Jasper comes on time) and this was a list of things that Old wrote recently. I think he partly feels as though we are dying when the baby comes…the list is titled “Do Before I Die.” One thing I want you to notice is the line that says “finish road trip journal”...that is because we took a 6-month roadtrip after graduating from college (over 5 years ago), and he took diligent notes which he then had to transfer into our journal…tedious and, well, unfinished, of course…but the notes live on!

To exemplify Old's ability to save his scribbles for future writing projects, here is an example of notes from December of 2007 that were taken during one of his great PDX adventures: SantaCon. They still have yet to grace the pages of Tales From The Stump. So my question to Old is, why spend such time on notes that may never be published?

Old leaves notes on everything...newspaper corners, receipts, empty or full sugar packets, plant leafs, basically any flat surface…making my life of discarding scraps of paper a dangerous one such as this reciept that if I had not closely inspected would have been recycled. The other side of this obsession is that Old has a thing for pens. We have an entire drawer in our desk chock-full of pens, 10'' deep, no exageration...and if Old can't find his pen that he keeps in his pocket at every waking second of the day, he becomes quite distraught.

One good thing I can say, is that he's responsible about taking notes. If he's driving, I'm frequently asked to take notes for him, rather than him texting or note taking while driving, like many of our friends do. [She's refering to you Jeff, I'm sure. -Old]

One day Old called me and told me about his great new sleeping plan as a way to save time on his life (again, I think this stems from our baby coming soon and his unconcious "we are going to die" mentality)…here are the notes that he presented to further his description of this new sleep plan (mind you this plan lasted about 2 days)….

For a year we lived with opposite work schedules and notes were our lifeline…but to this day
he still takes diligent notes on what he does on the daily when I'm away.

More recently, I realized how vital a part of our life his notes are when he presented our 3 year plan to me on this note below...and, my friends, that is how we ended up pregnant…

But best of all are his notes that he takes/keeps for this blog, which sit in the untouchable cubby next to the computer, piled about 3 inches thick. Some day, if you are lucky, you may get to read about all these scrappies…that is if he ever gets around to it.

Long live the master note taker/list maker!!!! For without him, life would be a day of bland minutes simply passing by…

Kennedy School

2008-07-22T08:25:00.000-07:00

For those unfamiliar with Portland, we love our movies. More specifically, we love our movie theaters. And to go further, we love our funky, second-run and independent film playing theaters. The McMenmin brothers capitalized off of this when they combined their success in the brewpub industry with that of local love for cinema. In addition to their numerous pubs, they started opening movie houses by the dozens (maybe not that quickly, but they probably outnumber Starbucks...although that's not hard to do in Portland). These pub/theaters show independent and second-run movies at a much discounted price: $3.00. What's more, they serve up locally crafted beers to be sipped (or chugged) while sitting in front of the big screen.

One of the more popular brewpub/movie houses is the Kennedy School. Originally an elementary school, dating back to its opening in 1915, the building at 5736 N.E. 33rd Ave closed in the 1970s due to declining enrollment. In the late 90's, the McMenamin brothers snatched up the property and decided to sell beer and movie tickets at the location. What a novel idea. During the renovation of the property, they added space for a couple bars (one is in the old detention hall), a restaurant, an area for private parties, a dozen hotel rooms, a soaking pool, and a movie theater (in the old cafeteria).

A few weeks ago, Syd and I went to see a movie there. While walking around, giving ourselves a tour, we stumbled across one of the employees who was just finishing the cleanup of an empty room. As he walked out of the room, we tried to get a peek inside. He noticed our interest and let us in, while also informing us that they had one room left for the night (hint hint). Syd and I, in the interest of spontaneity, decided to snatch it up and stay the night. Who cares that we didn't have our toothbrushes or a change of clothes?

The rooms look like old classrooms, with chalkboards and all (you can imagine some of the naughty things we wrote with the provided chalk...think immature hangman). The hallways resemble how they would have 50 years ago, giving it an eerie feel of little school kid ghosts running up and down the corridor. The restaurant and bars have a lot of character, too. We ate in the restaurant before seeing a movie (which we enjoyed with a pitcher of beer), and afterwards took shots in the bar. While stumbling back to our room, we managed to grope the statues in the hallway, climb the fire steps leading to the roof, and convince an employee (who took our picture) that we've been pen pals for five years and just met for the first time that night. It wasn't long before we crashed and had to vacate the room the next morning. Although the hangover wasn't pleasant, the stay was well worth the money.

Glacier

2008-07-16T07:42:00.000-07:00

While we're on the topic of road trips and national parks, I thought I'd share the highlights of a recent trip Syd and I took to Glacier National Park. Located in the northern part of Montana, just south of the Canadian border, Glacier boasts some of the most beautiful scenery I've seen. The park is full of mountain goats, grizzly bears, little merganzers, and, yes, glaciers too (only 28 remain, though, from 150 a century ago).
Syd and I hit the road for Montana on a Wednesday night, just after ending our work week. Thinking it would take just 9 hours, we (I) thought a 10pm departure time would get us to the park at 8am, just in time to get the primo camping spots. What I forgot to take into account, though, is that, one, I drove like an old lady and, two, I like to sleep when it's late and dark. So, after a couple hours of driving, and not even making it outside of Oregon, I had to rest. Being the stubborn person I am, I refused to relinquish the car keys to Syd, so my need to rest turned into "our" need to rest. We pulled over at a trucker stop and slept for about an hour and a half.
After hitting the road again, we only made it another hour and half before I had to sleep again. After finding another truck stop, we pulled over and slept for a couple hours until the sun rose. Upon waking, as if being blessed by the grace of god, we found ourselves beside Templin's Way-In, a trucker stop paradise, where you can stock up on all your junk food needs, get a greasy breakfast, load up on gas, and get your fill of caffeine. If the sarcasm wasn't obvious, let me tell you how terrible this place was. First of all, it is the same truck stop that you find on some desolate, dusty road in Texas, as well as the one you find while lost on a rural highway in Arkansas. Yeah, that one. Now, with only two needs to satisfy (to potty and get caffeine), we figured even Templin's could not fail. Upon filling our first need, using the bathroom, I found racist writing and other various redneck propaganda sprawled all over the walls. When leaving the bathroom, and meeting Syd in the market, we attempted to fill our second need: caffeine. Even this became tough, as the coffee was served out of an automated machine, marketed as cappuccinos. We got our cups, placed them under the dispenser spigots, picked the flavor of cappuccino, and hit play (or serve, or start now...whatever). As if being witness to the early wonders of the industrial revolution, this cappuccino machine started squirting boiling water into our cups, and then without warning, spewing a snowy blizzard of cappuccino dust all over the place (some made it in the cup). When the dust cleared, and we realized we were no longer interested in a cappuccino, we asked the clerk if they just had regular coffee and real creamer (they only had non-dairy, powdered creamer on display). She made it clear that if we didn't pay for the cappuccino, and pile of brown snow that came with it, she'd call Vern, the longtime, bitter sheriff who would most certainly hunt us down on the desolate highway and let us know what the locals think of city folk driving through their little stretch of town (squeal like a pig, boy). So, mostly out of fear of aforementioned (fictionalized) Vern, we reluctantly bought the cappuccinos and split.
From Templin's, we drove straight to Glacier, filling our time with the alphabet game, talking into our tape recorder, and making fun of my slow driving. During this time, I was impressed with Syd's ability to tell me when to pull over so she could pee on the side of the road (how could you not love a girl who uses a car door as cover while she pisses on the side of the highway?). We finally made it to Glacier at about 3 in the afternoon (only 7 hours off our mark). Upon our arrival, we learned from a ranger that most of the campgrounds were closed due to snow (did I mention this was in May/June that we went?), as well as many of the hiking trails and the main road (the Going to the Sun Road is one of the most scenic drives in the country) cutting through the park. I almost cried. It was all made better, though, as the ranger gave Syd a junior ranger pin, stating that it would give her the power to scare grizzly bears away.
Anyway, we drove up the road a little bit to the Sprague Creek campground. Because of the weather conditions, tourist season hadn't yet started, so we pretty much had the place to ourselves. We found a great site situated just off of Lake McDonald. We set up camp (actually a village, fully intact with a hanging tarp for rain protection, a tent, and a little kitchen/dining room setup) and began to plan our stay. Before too long, though, I felt the need to freshen up after the long, sweaty drive. Without much thought, but definitely against Syd's motherly advice not to, I hopped in the glacier-fed lake. It didn't matter that it was about to rain and wasn't that hot out. What did matter, though, was that I nearly got hypothermia and was so delirious from the cold that Syd had to instruct me how to dress myself after drying off. Scary.
After they hypothermia scare, Syd and I got firewood and began to get dinner and a fire together. Because of the wet weather, much of the wood was damp and not very flammable. This required us to burn more crossword puzzles than we would have liked. While the fire burned and we munched on chips and salsa, Syd and I played rummy and cherished the high of knowing we were away from work and civilization for 5 days. After getting my butt kicked, as is usually the case, we decided to cook up some kielbasas over the fire. First, though, we had to find some rurey sticks to wield (widdle) as skewers. With pocket knives in hand, we widdled like mad and got our cooking utensil ready. The kielbasas didn't take much time to cook, and before long we were on to desert, making s'mores with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate. The cleanup that night was pretty intense, as Syd was certain that the local grizzlies would all be attracted to any scent coming from our campground. So we made sure everything but our tent and sleeping bags was in the car, as well as every bit of food crumbs or spilled cooking juice cleaned up. Her diligence to keep the bears away was equally cute and hilarious (more of this to come later).
On our first morning waking up in Glacier, we took the opportunity to sleep in and catch up on some sleep. By the time we woke up, it wasn't really morning and, in fact, we were the only one's left in the campground because everyone else had packed up and moved on with their day. While I got our supplies ready for the days hike, Syd made us sandwiches. We eventually set out for a drive to the Avalanche Lake trail head, where the Going to the Sun Road closed due to weather conditions. Along the way we stopped to take pictures of a river and waterfall, while also waiting for thunder and lightening to rumble our way. It didn't really happen, but we got a couple good pictures (albeit with some degree of difficulty, as a couple tourists had a hard time relinquishing their vantage point, and took offense to us requesting to take a picture). Anyway, we continued along and eventually hit the trail to Avalanche Lake. By this time, it had started to rain, so Syd and I put on our rain gear and marched on. We hiked along the trail through thick forest, alongside a creek, and amidst deer, mountain goats and grizzly bear. The fact that grizzly bear were in the area can not be substantiated, but Syd's ability to scare them away with yells and clapping noises at 2-minute intervals certainly kept us safe from what dangers did exist by their presumed presence. We got a little wet, but the hike was nice and oddly unique in the sense that we encountered a few strange folk. First, we briefly walked alongside a couple who were in the area for a computer convention. Actually, only the guy was there for the convention; she flew out to meet him for the weekend. The man, overweight and ill prepared for a back country hike, sported expensive sandles that had already allowed the rainy mud to soak into his socks. His girlfriend, equally as odd, and eerily resembling an alien, looked like she had endured 17 plastic surgeries. In addition, her blush looked more like she lost control of her lipstick and drew circles on her cheeks. At least they made it to the lake, for without them we would not have had our picture taken.
While taking in the view of glaciel fields, rugged peaks, and crazy mountain goats, we munched on some rurey snacks and sipped on some wine. It was a perfect location for a picnic, but unfortunately the rain kept our stay to a minimum. We hiked our way back to the car and headed back to camp, where we made dinner, played some cards, and poked at the fire with our rurey sticks.
The next morning we drove out to East Glacier, where, upon the advice of our camp hosts (who were really fucking awesome, by the way), we camped at the Rising Sun campground alongside St. Mary's Lake. The view from our tent was unbelievable. We had an unobstructed view of the mountains that sat above the lake (which was only a hundred yards away from us). This was our base camp for the night. During the day, we hiked to St. Mary Falls. This was a beautiful hike that led us around the lake, through creeks that fed it, and to a waterfall that rumbled through the rocks with amazing force. When we reached the waterfall, we sat for a bit, snacked, and talked about how fortunate we were to be able to take off on a moment's notice and go to Glacier. We truly were blessed.
After spending the night at Rising Sun, we headed back to Sprague Creek for our last night. Because of how friendly our camp hosts had been our first couple days there, we decided to spend our last night back at Sprague, where we could visit some with them and tell them about our trip to East Glacier. We set up another village, as it was raining and we needed cover. When the village was complete, we played some cards and enjoyed the sound of the rain hitting the tarp, while also overlooking Lake McDonald as the rain created thousands of little ripples in the water. Before it got dark, our camp hosts came by for a quick visit. With them they had cupcakes that they had made. Knowing that we were in the mood for some fresh baked desserts, they gave us a couple and wished us a good night. Syd and I finished the night with some rurey making, some good conversation around the fire, and a sad farewell to Glacier. On our way out the next morning, we caught up with the camp hosts, exchanged emails, and told them we'd see them again next year.
The drive home was a sad one...and very long. The good news is, we accidentally stopped at Templin's Way-In, for we were low on gas, starving, and had no other options. This time we stayed long enough to get a meal, which was cooked by the waitress who was pissed that her cook had not yet shown up. After filling up, we were back on the road and, before too long, returning to Portland.

Arches/Zion/Bryce/Grand Canyon Flicks No.2

2008-07-11T18:13:00.000-07:00

Here continues my selection of photos from Kes and I's trip earlier this year to the Southwest. See the previous post for more details.

The Navajo Loop Trail in Zion. Simply awe-inspiring.

Chilly evening in Bryce.

Hoover Dam.

The Grand Canyon.

Yuma Prison. Run Russell Crow, run.

Pure Americana. Stare long enough and you can almost hear the heavy metal.

Arches/Zion/Bryce/Grand Canyon Flicks No.1

2008-07-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

Earlier this year, Kes and I decided to head out on one last big road trip, knowing that gas prices were about to skyrocket and that the little one Kes was carrying in her rapidly expanding marsupial pouch would soon keep us housebound for at least the next year or two. We began by heading east on Interstate 84 towards Utah, our ultimate destination being the central Southwest and it's plethora of natural wonders, an area that we hadn't been able to squeeze into our epic six-month road trip back in 2003 due to empty bank accounts and our then-looming wedding. This time around we were only gone for ten days, but managed to visit several National Parks that had been tempting us for many years...Arches, Zion, Bryce, the Grand Canyon, along with a few that I had previously never heard of like Canyonlands, Great Basin, and Cedar Breaks. We stayed in hostels most nights, something neither of us had really done before, and fell in love with this more communal, less commercial, form of temporary residence. Here are a few pictures from the first half of our trip, with the second batch coming up in another post later this week.
[As always, click on the images to enlarge to their full beauty.]

Gargoyle Park and Portland Pork

2008-07-06T18:38:00.000-07:00

My homebwon Steve was in town many weeks back, coming up for his first visit to our fair City of Roses. Along with him came a cast of crazy motherfuckers, comprised of Maniac Lee, Nate the Coke Lord, DANDAVE, and Slumbering Brian (who, of course, napped the entire trip...next time you want to come up, you're uninvited...just kidding, I'll have plenty of pillows, blankets and chamomile tea waiting for you). Though it was a short visit, and I worked one of the days they were here, we still got deep into the lifeblood of the Stump.

We were faded the entire time, so details are fuzzy. Suffice to say, they greeted Jeff and I with cans of Pabst (what good Portlanders) upon our entrance into their room at the Jupiter Hotel...where they proceeded to display the most impressive drug collection witnessed by man since Hunter S. Thompson's infamous trip to Las Vegas. The room was soon destroyed with 707 area-coded and thizzzz-related chalk tags (thanks Jupiter, brilliant amenity!). Over the next few days we went on a whirlwind of fried dough, strip clubs, and assorted smoky dens of alcoholism. We attended the Blazers v. Mavericks game (Sergio hexed Dallas back to the Stone Age, and we loved it), smoked danky in the heat at Waterfront Park, checked out the view from Big Pink, and visited Yam Yam's, featured prominently in a Mac Dre (these guys are his disciples) verse on Cool Nutz's second album Speakin Upon A Million..."I met this bad bitch/she was comin' out of Yam Yam's". We walked around the city at 2am with four cases of shitty beer, drinking with any and all street denizens we happened upon, including a bike cabby, Tookie Williams' fellow death row inmate (not sure how he escaped a similar fate), and some guy named Glen, who was cool until he started trying to get Lee to molest him and throw him out a sixth story hotel window. We also brought forth our inner Gaaaarrrrgoyles and visited the Mecca of Gargoyles aka Mill Ends Park (henceforth known as Gargoyle Park by our fellow acolytes)...there we paid homage to His Gargoyleness by sacrificing Glen's still-beating heart.

Oh, and did I mention the cops? No trip to Portland is complete without a firsthand experience with the unchecked brutality of our local boys in blue. Stumbling past the clubbing crowds near the Skidmore Fountain MAX stop on our way to the Steel Bridge, out of nowhere, as if magically initiated by a finger snap from the God of the Police State, at least a dozen bacon-wrapped cops appeared, dressed in black armor and equipped with riot shotguns, and homed in on a single unidentified black man, hitting him with mace and Tazers, without warning and seemingly without any provocation or reason whatsoever. They then proceeded to rough him up...all the while a massive crowd is forming, we're filming video and taking pictures, the pork patrol is telling us it's illegal to videotape police operations, we're telling them it's actually not, Maniac Lee is trying his damnedest to get any cop within view to shoot him in the stomach with a plastic shotgun pellet, I'm shouting out the name of James Chasse (a relatively recent victim of unprovoked police murder) and Kendra James...thankfully, cooler heads amongst us prevailed and we slowly walked off before arrests began to occur. Steve recently posted video of the attack, taken from his cell phone, on YouTube (search Crooked Portland Cops, or click here for videos 1 and 2)...the quality's pretty, well, cell phone-ish, but you can certainly feel the chaos erupting.

Thanks for coming up, homeloccs.

Rapture Rhapsody

2008-06-30T22:12:00.000-07:00

Though the situation in which this originally came up in discussion has since been lost to the fog of an old man's memory, I thought I'd share the eternally cheerful lyrics of a fundamentalist rapture tune that my father used to urge his Christian flock to sing. Anyone who knows my Pops now would be hard pressed to imagine him as a preacher man, but indeed he was...creepy aviator glasses that would have made David Koresh proud, creased/dog-eared/note-filled black leather Bible, Serpico-style bushy black beard, and the myriad other trappings of a crazed Sin-Saver. Sometimes for a good laugh, I picture him once again dressed up like this, frantically belting out this heart-warming song:

I Wish We'd all Been Ready

Life was filled with guns and war

and everyone got trampled on the floor

I wish we'd all been ready

Children died the day grew cold

a piece of bread could buy a bag of gold

I wish we'd all been ready

There's no time to change your mind

The Son has come and you've been left behind

A man and wife asleep in bed she hears a noise

and turns her head he's gone

I wish we'd all been ready

Two men walking up a hill one disappears and

one's left standing still

I wish we'd all been ready

There's no time to change your mind

The Son has come and you've been left behind

Life was filled with guns and war

and everyone got trampled on the floor

I wish we'd all been ready

Children died the days grew cold

A piece of bread could buy a bag of gold

I wish we'd all been ready

There's no time to change your mind

How could you have been so blind

The father spoke the demons dined

The Son has come and you've been left behind.

Almost makes me want to start going back to church to get my fear on.

Everyone needs a kiddie pool

2008-06-24T08:03:00.000-07:00

With the longest day of the year just behind us, we are officially in summer. Although that just means Portlanders can now expect approximately 12 days of sun before the 10-month winter rains begin again, it is still time to rejoice. And what better way to celebrate than to risk skin cancer and soak in some Vitamin D (it cures colon cancer...I just read it in the paper).

On a recent weekend in which temperatures soared into the 90s for two full days (that takes care of 30% of our allotted sun for the year), Syd and I did our best to fully energize our solar plexes. It was a two-day adventure that resulted in 12th degree burns, near fatal traffic mishaps, and a lot of cursing (ironically, wishing the rain would just come back). I'll explain all of this in depth below.

Day one:
Syd and I went to Freddy's, where we realized all of our shopping dreams. We bought a cooler (for beer to dehydrate us, and water to rehydrate us), a whiffle ball and bat, a hacky sack, a tennis ball with accompanying velcro mitts, beach towels, and some snacks. After navigating through the hordes of people who also take great pleasure in shopping at Fred Meyer, we set off for Sauvie Island. For those not familiar with Sauvie Island, it is an oasis just outside the city. Indeed, it is an island, mostly inhabited by hippy farmers, but also home to some great country scenery, as well as small beaches. After getting lost in some farmland, Syd and I finally found a beach. We parked, sans permit (we wrote a note for the rangers, informing them we didn't know where to purchase them), and took our goods to the sandy shore. Because of the heat, and mostly due to my sweet, sensitive Irish skin, we were pretty diligent about applying sun screen...sort of. Somehow I managed to protect my back, shoulders, face, neck, and legs with lotion, but I forgot to apply sunscreen to my stomach, chest, feet, and the top of my hands. I didn't realize this was a problem, though, because Syd and I were too occupied playing catch with our velcro mitts and forming our own floater mob gang (simply done by getting enough people in the water on floaty devices...however, they must display certain carefree, gypsy-esque, and slight pirate qualities). By the time we got done picnicking, playing with our various novelties, doing a crossword, playing in the cold water (Syd discretely warmed the water with her pee...thanks, babe), and despising the growing crowds, I noticed a sharp pain on my hands, feet, and front torso. I also noticed a curious and alarming change in color on my skin. What's more, this new, red coloring on my skin had finger prints, marking where I had applied sunscreen to the rest of my body, but leaving a vulnerable void on the other half. Yes folks, I was burned. Syd managed to escape the sun's wrath because, for one, her pigment allows her to tan and, secondly, she was smart enough to put sunscreen all over her body. While our field trip to the Island of Sauvie was an enjoyable one, I'm still debating whether the weeks of snowing dead skin from my chest and stomach was worth it. Oh well....lesson learned.

Day two: After sufficiently frying my skin and over-energizing our solar plexes the day before, we needed a down day. Even though I was in extreme pain, and not able to completely stretch out my body for fear my skin would rip off, I still felt the need to enjoy the sun. That was before 11 am, though, when the heat was still fairly tolerable. By noon, we were at a loss for an escape route from the sun. Our apartment was bloody hot, and if we went outside, we would have melted; also, I could not handle going to a movie or the mall, despite the temptation of their air conditioners. After cursing the heat for an hour or so, and realizing we were close to getting so grumpy we would soon start kick-boxing each other, we had to do something. Gelatto sounded good and refreshing, so we took off to NE 28th Avenue and hit up Stecatto Gelatto. After devouring our faux-Itallian treats, we drove to a forested park, where we thought we'd be able to nap in the shade. However, even the 90 degree shade was untolerable, so, thanks to Syd's brilliant idea, we went to Fred Meyer to find what they had to offer for alternatives to heat stroke. Syd bought us a kiddie pool without any hesitation. In our immediate fulfillment, we didn't realize that this thing was too big to put in the back seat of her car, nor did we have any way of tying it down. So, as we lugged the hard plastic shell through the parking lot, we discussed what would be the best way to get it home. In our infinite wisdom, we figured we could just put the pool on top of the car, roll the windows down, and each grab a side to hold it down. And that's what we did. With the hard shell on top, now making the car look like a turtle, we drove up 39th Avenue to our street, barely making it home without causing some traffic snafu. Without delay, we placed the pool on the lawn behind our apartment complex, filled it up with water, grabbed a couple beers, and hopped in. And how joyous it was. It didn't matter that we looked liked a couple go-tards hanging out in a kiddie pool outside of an apartment complex, for we found refuge from the heat. I would seriously recommend you all go out and get one yourselves.

On both of these hot days, we were able to stay out late and enjoy the clear skies and cooler weather at night. To make ourselves look even nerdier, we camped outside the apartment complex at night and looked for UFOs. We didn't see any, but we did see bumbs scuffle by, as they collected bottles and cans from our dumpster. This was enough to take the party inside, ending our first weekend of summer fun.

Holding it Down in the Stump

2008-06-21T21:23:00.000-07:00

My brother Dan (aka MC Roofless, one half of the world-renowned Weapons of Mic Destruction) rolled through the City of Roses a few weeks back, fresh off a trip to Seattletown, fiance Marie and friend Colleen in tow. It was Marie's first time in the Stump, so we had to hit the streets hard, embarking on a non-stop whirlwind tour of all the city has to offer...after thinking of all the shit we did and jotting down some infamous "Old's Notes" (keep an eye out for scanned copies in a future blog post), I realized only a literary genius or someone with untold hours of leisure time could squeeze a detailed and descriptive narrative out of this mess of an activity list. Instead, I'll simply reproduce the list below, in full, and add a few colorful bits of commentary wherever I deem necessary...

Their week in Bridgetown in no particular chronological order:

-Hotel Monaco...Colleen works for this chain of hotels and was able to put Dan and Marie up for mere pennies. Though not much time was spent here, we did appreciate the French/Arabic/Northwest vibe and the free wine/beer/martini/massage/canvas painting-filled happy hour. The owner of Voodoo Doughnuts was also on hand, setting up shop next to the booze, handing out freebies (There is a God!). Of course, we both grabbed a Bacon Maple bar, the equivalent of a complete breakfast in each bite. "I recommend a BM a day," he spake. We concur, good friend.

-Chin Yen...the best goddamn Chinese food in Portland. But really, the green tea is extra? Seriously? That's like paying for hot sauce at a taqueria; it just isn't done.

-Stumptown Coffee..."and on the eighth morning, the Lord figured he'd like the most delicious cup o' joe, and he created Stumptown." Genesis 1:29.

-Costello's Travel Cafe...euro vibe, good coffee, good enough.

-Kes and I found out we're having a boy. We've named him Jasper. He already hates us for it. Hey, it's better than Sue.

-Staccatto Gelatto...the tasty flavors of ice cream's cousin sure hit the spot on a very warm day, one of four we're likely to have all year.

-Columbia Gorge...we made a day out of this, motoring up into the hills on the old Colombia River Highway, stopping at the Crown Point overlook, Latourell (my personal favorite), Upper Horsetail and Multnomah Falls (second tallest in the States). We attempted to get arrested at the Bonneville Dam, and admired the whale-sized sturgeon guarding the fish hatchery.

-Stood by helplessly as Dan purchased a Bluetooth Cyborg Cochlear Implant for Marie. I now officially hate her and Dan for populating this earth with one more of those pieces of Mongoloid Machinery.

-Marinepolis Sushi Land...cheap sushi, cheap tempura, cheap sake, FREE green tea...Haaaaii!!!

-Citybikes...great bike repair/parts shop. Unfortunately, they don't sell bikes, losing out on a few hundred bucks from my wallet. Dan tried to become an apprentice mechanic, but they sneered at him to get the fuck out.

-Upper Playground...Frisco-based T-shirt shop/art gallery (did anyone see the wonderful Usugrow show?...it was off the chain-link fence). I recently purchased a mock Sesame Street shirt, that reps our local Couch (that's Cooch, for you's not knowin') Street, featuring the show's cast swigging Old E and smoking crack pipes. Got to be a role model for the baby boy, right?

-Crema...my favorite coffee joint, serving Stumptown and homemade nuggets of pure delight. The kalamata olive bread is not to be slept on.

-Pioneer Courthouse Square...checked out the Festival of Flowers. An interesting enough temporary addition to the city's living room.

-Laurelhurst Park...our very own mini-Central Park. Met up with my homie Robinson Crusoe the Raccoon. He looked so lonely, I just wanted to swim out to his island and rescue the poor little mammalian castaway.

-Kes took Dan to the Saturday Market, the Hollywood Farmer's Market, and a HOST housing fair (where we might be purchasing a house...maybe?) while I wasted away at work, taxiing monkeys around at ZooDooLand.

-Checked out the new "hydro park" in the Sabin neighborhood up the street...not worth the hike, but we were dizzy drunk and just happy to be moving. Unfortunately, our Speedo swimwear was completely unnecessary, as Raging Waters this was not. We did take a dip in the drinking fountain to cool off.

-The Italian Joint...waxed nostalgic about about our homeland while guzzling olive oil and hearty mountains of pasta. I love this place, but the prices are starting to get out of hand. Chalk it up to the rising cost of oil and food, I s'pose.

-Buffalo Exchange...bought a gently used suit for 20 bucks. No complaints.

-Multnomah County Library...discussed religion and philosophy with a trio of homeless heroin junkies while slurping Tom Kah Gai from my favorite Thai food cart. Obviously, my library is better than yours.

-Cellar Bar at Ringler's Annex...this French Resistance hideout/speakeasy is such a great place to drink McMenamin's shitty beer. At least Tony wasn't lurking about this time, smashing bathroom mirrors and acting all Armenian.

-Crystal Ballroom...I dragged the gang along to a fundraiser for music programs in Portland Public Schools. We were the only folks in the house over 18 (I'm not even going to elaborate on the irony of this). The initial acts (Typhoon, Shaky Hands, Y.A.C.H.T.) didn't win my companions over, but I managed to quell their budding rebellion and feel they enjoyed the second half of the show much better, nodding their wee little hip hop heads to the likes of State of Mind, Gray Matters, Sandpeople, and the unfuckwittable Blue Scholars. Is it just me or are these two cats the best act in the Northwest right now? Left right left/goes the pendulum...

-Powell's City of Books...this place is to bibliophiles what Mecca is to Muslims.

-Broadway Bar & Grill...I've been avoiding this place since it opened, believing it to be another yuppified den of over-priced food and drink on Broadway, and I can't say that I was far from the mark. The food was average and expensive, while the beer (organic, Old Market brew) was fairly hit or miss. However, we did order the sampler, and unsurprisingly, left the place feeling contentedly faded.

-Oregon Zoo...I was obligated to take them on a free tour of ZooDooLand. Unfortunately for Dan's-sake, there was nary a self-fellating critter to be seen. Next time, bud.

-Blue Nile...50lbs of Ethiopian food (an oxymoron right?) for $30. My kind of math. Not my kind of bowel movement, however.

-Ole Ole...best tacos in the Stump that don't come from a cart (that'd be the one on 122nd and Powell, in case you're wondering).

-Doug Fir Lounge...one of the best happy hours in the city, but a bit too hip (I'll put it this way...you'll feel guilty for not owning skinny pants and for showing up without prolific and "dangerous" neck tattoos) and much too crowded of late.

-Hollywood Burger Bar...the mother of all greasy spoons, this place has nothing but character going for it. Unfortunately, there was some gimpy children's parade and they were only doing a limited take-out menu. Next time, Dan.

-Voodoo Doughnut...hit up the SW original and the second location in NE. Same great fried dough, but not sure how their new "World HQ" is going to survive with almost no signage and very little visibility from Sandy Blvd. It was like the apocalypse when we visited. Empty school-desks in an empty room, our voices echoed in the dilapidated cavernous interior, and the only thing moving were the flies.

-Kennedy School...drank a pitcher of suds and for 3 bucks watched In Bruges, a surprisingly excellent film about midgets, dead kids, and Irish assassins. What's not to like?

-St. John's Twin Cinema...fulfilled what felt like 400 years of longing by finally witnessing a new Indiana Jones (and the Crystal Skull? Yuck.) film. Certainly ranks with the Temple of Doom in general crappiness, but this is our childhood, and damn it, we loved every second of it. Spoiler Alert: Watch for the aliens.

-Farm Cafe...the best burger in town, and it's a veggie burger. How very Portland.

-Ground Kontrol...while walking into this gamer's wet dream, we alternated between telling a British couple to "Feck off" and pissing our pants in the presence of one of the creepiest mental hospital escapees known to man. Swooping around like a bird, groaning profanities, and swinging a 12-foot rusty sword, this guy was ready to play some Qbert, but the doorman surprisingly blocked him from entering. We, on the other hand, stormed in, swilled Pabst, and beat The Simpsons on $2 worth of sweaty quarters.

-Of course, no trip to Portland is complete without a night at the Steel Bridge, where we inhaled a cheap six-pack of brewski and drifted away on the melodic tunage emanating from the infamous Boombox.

-Finally, somehow we also managed to squeeze in half a season of The Soprano's, a few hours of video games, a few test drives on my new hookah, and an awesome new art project that I'll be unveiling in a future post. Let's just say dragons and barbarians are involved.

Until next time, keep it soo fucking rell, Danny-boyo (& company, of course)...

Soap Moguls Back In This Mother Bee-Eye-Itch

2008-06-21T20:36:00.000-07:00

Put your orders in, suckas. Oldie and I are again attacking the soap market. Fresh bars of lemongrass delight, with an added dash of crushed pear seed to exfoliate your gentle exoderms, are now available at the bargain price of $3.00 per bar (actually, I think Old and I set the price at 2 bucks, but my beautiful sales rep and wifey, Syd Vicious, hiked the price up to speed up our retirement). They're selling like hot cakes, so act quick ya'll.

You can email orders to stumptownsuds@gmail.com, or, since we've forgotten our log in and password for that account, you can leave a comment here with your requests.

Word to the mother.....

A Necessary Clarification

2008-06-17T18:20:00.000-07:00

Coming home from work today, bone-weary and sleep-deprived from my sixth straight shift in ZooDooLand (and still have four more to go before a day off...groan), I finally managed to crack open the ol' email account. Not having checked the blog for several days, I was quite surprised to see that I had dozens of vitriolic messages, berating Jeff and I for going soft, for turning the blog into a poster child for the Cute Revolution, for even thinking about discussing such subjects as love and girlfriends and babies.

Please...let me apologize on behalf of both Jeff and myself for this extreme oversight. We'll try not to let it happen again. This blog will attempt to maintain its hard-earned street cred by once more bringing it to you dirty and drunk like you've come to expect.

Fear not, we're still the same folks who wouldn't hesitate to put a blind autistic retard in a headlock. In fact, by the time you read this, the invitations to Kes and I's long-anticipated Afterbirth BBQ will be en route via snail mail (look for them by the end of the week, with all the usual info such as location, date, time, and types of spices to bring to the Placenta Potluck). Yes, we roll like that.

Thanks for bearing with us during our hour of darkness.

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In other news, a baby was born with a penis on its back. Makes you think twice about accepting when someone offers a piggyback ride or asks if you want to play horsey, doesn't it?

The Move

2008-06-16T07:31:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in my lengthy apology below, part of the reason I've been absent on this blog is because I recently moved and was without internet for a while. In the spirit of keeping the blog alive, as well as to keep our readers up to date on our lives, I thought I'd share "The Move."

Prior to moving, Syd and I had been living out of a room in an apartment I shared with another person. While the apartment was fairly nice, it didn't feel like ours, so we often confined ourselves to the 12x12 box upstairs, which quickly transformed into a big pile of clothes with a bed in the middle. After living like this for a few months, Syd and I made the decision to get our own place together.

After talking about it for a couple weeks, we finally got a list of vacant apartments and made an effort to view them. On our first day of looking, just before quitting due to being discouraged by what we had seen so far, we stumbled across a complex just off of Belmont. These apartments weren't on our "to see" list, but because it was listed in an apartment guide, and we were in the neighborhood, we figured it couldn't hurt to check them out. So instead of driving by, ready to go wallow in our sorrows at my roommates, we stopped and went to the manager's office. Unfortunately, nothing was available...or so we thought. The manager initially told us there were no vacant apartments, but after warming up to us and being infected by our cham, she decided to let us know about an apartment that could "possibly" be open upstairs. Apparently she didn't particularly like the prior applicants, so she showed us the apartment and urged us to fill out an application. We did, and within a couple hours, we were on the fast track.

Although the manager made it obvious she wanted us (actually, it was as if she hand-selected us), her aloof nature resulted in a somewhat delayed acceptance, as she forgot to push the application and call us back as soon as she had promised. After a few days of anxiously waiting (we even called once and it seemed like she didn't know who we were), Syd and I almost began to give up. Then...while we were at work, I got the call (we gave the lady Syd's number, so we both expected her to get the call). I walked on to the unit that Syd was working on and told her we had to take a drive. This was a surprise to Syd because, although she was just about to get off, I still had a few more hours left on my shift. She asked what I was talking about, and I told her we got the apartment. She lost it and pranced around the unit, doing a gypsy dance in front of her kids and coworkers. Apparently she was excited.

The deal was sealed, and Syd and I had our own place. I left work to sign papers and get a few essentials from my old apartment. However, because we were in the middle of our work week, and planning to go to San Francisco within the next week, we were unable to move much furniture into the place for a couple weeks. This, coupled with the fact we didn't have a big enough vehicle, we went without a bed for a while. So in the meantime, we camped in the living room on a pile of blankets. Although not the most comfortable, it was an kinda fun.

The apartment is located in a great part of town, not too far from restaurants, bars and shopping. But, despite being so close to the amenities, it is surprisingly quiet. We have a big courtyard that gets a lot of sun and has already been witness to some outdoor napping, a whiffle ball game and some kiddie-pool parties.

It took time, but we eventually started to make it home over the next couple months. We did a lot of price comparing at different stores (we loved City Liquidators, but "no fault Walt" just didn't have the right pieces of furniture) and eventually settled on furniture from IKEA, where we bought a desk (Syd put it together), couch, coffee table, bookshelf (actually, Syd bought this at Target), and one of the those shaded balls that you put a light bulb in and hang from the ceiling (yes, I know that's not the most articulate description, but what do you call them?). Now, after nearly three months in the apartment, we are finally feeling like it's home.

We recently had our first guests over for dinner (Syd made a bomb meal and was quite the wifey), and have also hung pictures on the wall. We even have dry erase boards to remind us of bills and chores to do (actually, we just write love notes and obscenities on them). And yes, we have internet (however, no cable...instead of watching TV, we play rummy and Jenga). Aside from having a nice space to live in, though, the experience has been great. A lot of people told us we should wait, fearing living together would be a burden to our relationship. However, it has turned out for the best...even better than I could have expected. Basically, I get to have a slumber party every night with the woman I love. It doesn't get much better than that.

The Ancient Potato Eaters Win

2008-06-12T12:57:00.000-07:00

How appropriate.

The tied-winners of our most recent poll (asking what your 40 ounce malt liquor of choice is) run parallel with Jeff and I's cultural backgrounds. He's a leprechaun-faced, fuck-the-Brits, Once-obsessed, Mickey's-drinking Irish folker. I'm a rambling, geezer-toothed, shitty-diapered, wisdom-spitting Old English head. And apparently, our audience is split right down the middle, each giving props to their respective chilled bottles at a hefty 37% a piece.

-Tied at second with 12% of the vote each, we have our old standbys, Steel Reserve aka "211% Stronger" and St. "Crooked Letter" Ides. We've spent many a night together with these frothy dames.

-Unfortunately for the rest of our contestants, they each pulled in a whopping 0% of the thousands (or was that 8?) of votes received. The failures: "Hide from the Cops" Camo; Country Club, the Gentleman's Choice; Fake 40s (filled with watery swill, i.e. Coors); Some other equally tasty IQ depleter...not with this crowd; here we respect our elders and the wee-little peoples.

And what do our lucky winners receive? A trip to 40oz Heaven:

http://www.40ozmaltliquor.com/40ozarchive.html

Enjoy.

Final Push

2008-06-11T07:42:00.000-07:00

Here it is, folks; our last concerted effort to revitalize the blog. Oldie and I have been seriously slacking for the last six months. I'm mostly to blame, as I've been without internet for the last few months, and prior to that was caught up in the beginning stages of being in love. Well, I now have internet and, while still being in love, am finding more time to catch up with my literary pursuits.

So, for our readers (if there are any more out there), we'd like to fill you in to our game plan. Oldie and I have given ourselves two months to prove to ourselves that we can re-capture our passion for blogging. If we can average about 10 posts per month through August (when Old has to start preparing for fatherhood), then we will continue with "Tales From the Stump." If we do not meet this goal, then our once revered blog will be no longer.

In the next two months, please visit the blog and leave as many comments as possible. This will let us know that people are indeed still reading our ramblings. Also, it will give you a chance to provide feedback in the way of suggestions, thus letting us know if we should continue and, if so, what kind of changes we should consider making.

Alright bombaclots, stay posted. We're back with a vengence...at least for the next two months. Keep it pimpish.....

Did It Me-Self Bookshelf

2008-04-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

Taking advantage of a very brief lull in the icy, spirit-dampening rainstorms of late, I busted out the box of spray paint that had been laying dormant since my graffiti-filled youth, and tackled a project that had been on the queue since last fall. Jeff and I had taken a trip to the local mecca of hardware/fixtures re-use, The ReBuilding Center, in search of molds for our soap venture, only to come across a massive heap of sad, abandoned desk drawers in a musty, damp corner of the cavernous warehouse. Inspiration sparked, and I quickly purchased four bright-pink, Formica-laced matching drawers ($4!), and took them home where I promptly forgot about them (a mind focused solely on becoming a soap-mogul refuses to become distracted). Anyway, time passed, and there was this pause in our shitty Northwest drizzle, so I cracked out the paint, dusted off the shelves, screwed them together in an interlocking alternating fashion, then applied many many coats of, I believe, Colonial Blue Rusto, embellishing this monument to our damp grey-blue skies with swollen, leaking rain clouds. The finished product, stocked with literary goodness:

Which brings me to the point of this post (aside from shameless back-patting for how good the project turned out); I think that I've finally let Portland's D.I.Y. culture begin to permeate my mindset. More and more, I'm finding that when faced with some challenge around the house that would have normally sent me scrambling to IKEA (damn those Sweds) or Fred Meyer (not Nordstrom...sorry, Mac Dre reference) with wallet in hand, instead I often find myself looking at the problem from a more creative approach. Bored of my t-shirt? Make a stencil and paint a design on it. Ran out of soap? Make some. Running out of room for my OCD-like collection of books? Well, you get the picture (if not, see above). The benefits are numerous...aside from the obvious cost savings, you're keeping previously unwanted items out of landfills, supporting local businesses, and most importantly, participating in an act of creation rather than consumption...getting in touch again with my artistic side has certainly helped me slog through this winter (which felt unusually dreary), and has sparked my interest once more in photography and drawing, hobbies that I had unconsciously left at the side of the road sometime over the last few years.

In other words, go make something, you'll feel better about yourself for it.

[Thanks to Aurora for the photos, and her original post. Much love.]

Character Love

2008-04-21T23:20:00.000-07:00

Not sure what childhood influence (Mom, was it the lead-based paint chip smoothies? Dad's mongoloid sperm?) resulted in our need to create "characters" such as these, but Dan and I have been working away at them for decades now.

Without further ado, please bear witness to Caveman Dan, the Savage Survivalist.

As a bonus to my long-time homebwoyns out there, here's an oldie, but goodie.

Old Gollum

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Now please direct your attention to our newest poll, asking you, our dear readers, which 40 ounce variety of lovingly handcrafted malted liquor you prefer on those nights when a six-pack of Pabst just doesn't cut it.

Catching Up

2008-03-25T09:42:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure an apology would be appropriate for such a dismal effort in maintaining this blog. While Olde and I have our reasons, none should have kept us from writing at least 5-10 a month. Hopefully Olde's latest blog, as well as this from me, will reinvigorate us and our faithful readers, too (unless you've already given up on us and no longer visit our site)!

Anyway, as Olde mentioned, he's had to deal with moving, looking for a new job, preparing for a baby, and being a housewife. His excuses are definitely legitimate. Mine, on the other hand, are not as valid. In fact, there is only one real reason that I've been slacking: I'm in love and my head's in the clouds (one of the one's that looks like a castle). I know it shouldn't prevent me from writing, but since I've met Sydney, we have gone a total of three days apart (not including my trip to Colorado). As you can imagine, blogging has not been a priority.

So, in what may be a feeble attempt at re-sparking the literary greatness that is Tales From the Stump, we continue forth. The following is a summary of what I've been up to the last few months....

- Despite being in Portland for 2.5 years now, I've only been to the Oregon coast a couple of times. A couple months ago, I made my third trip. Syd and I went to Cannon Beach, where we did our best to find Chester Copperpot and One-Eyed Willy. We never found them, nor the Goonies, but we did have a good time chomping on some Dorittos, drinking wine, tossing the football around, and snuggling under a blanket. The only negative to this trip was our less-than-fulfilling dinner at Mo's. We were both in the mood for seafood, and fish and chips in particular. What we got at Mo's were perfectly cut, rectangular frozen fish sticks. It was quite disappointing.

- We've made a couple trips to Amboy recently. While the first trip was to introduce Syd Vicious to the folks, the trips have also served to clear our heads a bit and get some fresh air. In the process, Syd was able to witness an open mic at the Amboy museum; multiple nasty dogs from Wimpy; retarded roosters that cockle-doodle-doo at all hours of the day and night; Mike rant and rave about preverts; thousands of frogs having an orgy; and the daily coffee shop gossip session, where all the regulars meet downtown for espresso and the day's newest rumors.

- My best friend, Matt (aka Mixle, aka Cock Slinga), visited the Stump with his girlfriend, Tiffany. The four of us did the couples thing for much of the weekend, as we showed them around Portland trying to convince them to move up here. On the night they arrived, the four of us went to Dug Fir, where we caught up with some drinks by the fire. The next day we walked around the Pearl District, eventually settling in at Jameson Square where we watched Matt show off his parkour skills (this was one of the themes to their trip...Matt free ran all over the place. If you don't know what parkour or free running is, peep it on youtube. In short, it involves running up buildings, jumping and climbing over things, and doing flips.). While they were here, we also played some Scattegories at a park where Matt entertained us with his answers (apparently the word "mail" is a four-letter word that begins with "s." Also, in case you didn't know, mail is something you distribute). Anyway, they talked about moving up here, which gives me an instant hard-on thinking about.

- Also that weekend, H-Block was reunited as another old friend flew in to the Stump. Yes yes, y'all, Tony the Armenian was in town (leaving only Ophir as the missing H-Block link). This time, however, he spared Portland his shenanigans and left no blood or police reports in his trail. We did all get together a couple nights, though, and shared drinks while talking about old memories. He was kind enough to let Old borrow his burglars mask for the night, as you can see in the picture here. If you know Tony, it wouldn't even occur to ask why he had a burglar's mask...that's just how he gets down.

-Syd and I recently bonded with some 40s. Well, I had a 40, Syd held it down with some 22s of Steele Reserve (no, not technically a 40, but she proved she can definitely get down with some malt liquor). Naturally, we got hyphy to some Bay Area slumpers, played some cards, danced, fought, laughed, and told some of our less than proud memories from our high school years. While bumpin' the Yay Area slumpers, Syd got hyphy, went dumb, and did the gig. It was quite entertaining to see.

- Recently went to Cirque du Soleil. Syd and I got to see Corteo underneath the big-top, capping off a date night that also involved some bomb Italian at Iorio (while the food was good, the wait staff wouldn't leave us alone, as they constantly asked us how we were doing or if we needed anything. Their constant harassment caused me to lose focus, and I forgot to bring with me the bottle of wine that we bought). The main event was sicketating, though. The performance included acrobats, midgets, tumblers, and, from what I gathered from their magical ability to fly, gypsies. 'Twas a grand night, indeed...brilliant even.

In all, the last few months have been pretty fun and eventful. I'm sorry I haven't shared much in print, but I'll do my best to keep you all posted on happenings here in the Stump. After all...it is almost summer, which means Olde will soon break out his bike and boombox, 40s will be consumed at a higher frequency, and the sun will give us some much needed energy. It won't be long before you are all once again inundated with tales from the stump.

A bit of this, a bit of that...

2008-03-20T13:29:00.000-07:00

Posts have become less than frequent lately, and I apologize to you, our loyal readers. I'm still out hitting the streets, e'y day all day, looking for work, and Jeff has a girlfriend, which if you know him, explains everything. As I'm beginning to become somewhat dispirited with my employment search (not sure if it's the economy, or just that I'm that goddamned overqualified, but I can't even seem to get a job tossing pizza, moving rental vehicles, delivering coffee, packing boxes, or bussing tables), I'll try and harness some of my lack of desire to search out crap work on Craigslist and deliver a few more posts before the month's demise.

-R.I.P. Lagniappe, the formerly wonderful restaurant serving up steaming plates of Cajun goodness...you will be missed. Kes and I discovered this place when it was a itty-bitty joint on Broadway and instantly fell in love. Emboldened by its success (or perhaps rising rent?), the owners moved the operation into a cavernous space on bustling Alberta Street. Unfortunately, patrons never really came through, and on many of our visits, the spot looked to be imitating a ghost town...this lack of support killed those crazy Cajuns, and now I'm left with nothing but impossible dreams of their mouth-watering beef brisket, pleasingly-acidic collard greens, Star Destroyer-sized Po'boys, and crisply-hot hush puppies.

-In related news, one of my favorite Ethiopian restaurants, Mudai, appears to have folded, as well. Our new apartment is much closer and I've walked past the sunken storefront many a time now, and have yet to see an Open sign. The doro tibs was magical. R.I.P. Mudai? Say it ain't so.

-An updated (well, 6 month old) photo of the killacat, Frisco, mean mugging ya'll sucka asses.

- Another Only In Portland item: In a recent Willamette Week article, Kyle Burris, a candidate for Mayor, stated the following as the most pressing issues facing Portland today..."The rampant gentrification, perpetuated by yuppie scum, and City Hall. The corruption of our culture, perpetuated by the goddamn hipsters." Another great response, this time by candidate Vladislav Davidzon (perennial winner of the Coolest Name Contest)..."The biggest issue facing our city is that our media believes that we can state the issues in 20 words or less." In. Your. Face. Media. Scum.

-A few interesting websites I've stumbled across recently.
UrbanEdibles ...for if I'm having a craving for free filberts. Make sure you peep the listing for "corn niblets," as it's delicious.

Basic Instructions ...a charming little comic, full of life, laughter, and possibly corn niblets.

Guerrilla Gardening ...please, if anyone is interested in teaming up to get this done, email me, and let's go botany bombing.

Iran Graffiti ...I love repressed, 20 years behind the times, graffiti. Most of these burners and tags remind me of the shit I came across in Chile a few years back. A lot of really bad pieces, but also a few good examples of delightful Banksy-inspired rebellion.

-I really like this photo of a man slowly murdering a tree outside of my former abode.

-Some art piece that snuck out of the gallery and grabbed my attention on a dismally dark and drunken December night. I couldn't but shed a smile.
Lots of love to you all, and stay with us, we'll get back on track soon. I hope.

Alaskan Bush Journey .2

2008-03-13T18:42:00.000-07:00

Well, that was certainly more than a day or two, but who's counting...anyway, enjoy this second helping of photos from our trip to Alaska.

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First thing my father noticed upon entering town was this official City message board with a lovingly handcrafted note attached proclaiming that the water was currently unusable...though we continued to use it, and the nervous ticks have yet to diminish.

This cute little bugger is what's affectionately known as a Shit Lilly in these here parts. Put your nose in it and it really does smell like the crusty asshole of a dead hobo.

The typical trappings of an Alaskan porch: random beach finds, illegal whale bones, and a string of deceased weasels...for sale. My dad bought three.

This is Kes' father's home, one of the nicest in town. That's the boardwalk out front (PA doesn't have any cars, so no streets required). Below is a drift log we hauled into the back bay from a mile away, tied up and waiting to be chainsawed, then axed for firewood. That little row boat is David's primary form of transportation around town.

Me holding up a 75 lb. halibut. Note the rubber gloves, which are worn to ward off the notorious slime halibuts secrete...impossible to wash off and smells like Hoggle's earwax.

My dad's slightly bigger fish (he was sure to rub that in the entire trip). This picture was taken moments before the gaff hook slipped out of my hands and impaled my fathers paunch, located above that ridiculous cock-guard he's wearing. I won't say it was on purpose, but that thing was pissing me off.

The group showing off the day's catch. Our friend and guide Ryan in the back, then from L-R, Squirt, Old, Pops, Kes. Lot's of meat that we're still eating on (email me if you want some, as I'm dying to be able to put some ice cream in my freezer once more).

Pops spending some quiet time alone in the Back Bay via The Skiff. It seems peaceful, but he returned with 3,472 mosquito bites and itched like a scabies victim the remainder of the trip.

Alaskan Bush Journey .1

2008-02-27T22:24:00.000-08:00

Oh, the wilds of Canada, or as Kes and her family call it, Southeast Alaska. It's a majestic place, filled with grizzly bears the size of houses, wife-swapping hillbillies, limited public infrastructure (no electricity, roadways, running water, or government), shotgun-toting rebel fishmongers, and the most pristine silence present on this planet. The kind of silence that amplifies the residual noise of freeway traffic, alarm clocks, cell phones, TV, and the combustible engine (an invention that hasn't quite made it to these isolated islands as of press time) for a solid week after arrival. It is a land that I've been fortunate enough to have visited half a dozen times over the past nine years, as Kes' father claims territory here (he's a frontier squatter). While I must admit that upon first impression, this rugged region didn't capture my heart (I mean, who really likes wiping their ass with dried salmon skin?), over time it crept inside and took hold of my soul, kinda like a heroin addiction. As proof, you only have to look at the trail of discarded jobs I've abandoned instantly at the chance of heading up north...I hate working, and AK is the perfect place to be a lazy drunkard. Everybody's doing it. I remember Kes' father once mentioning that it costs him less than $7,000/year to live in the land not down under. I just made that figure up, but the point stands.

Anyway, we took my Pops and little sister Squirt there this last summer and frankly, we had a ball. Here are a few pictures of the trip, starting with our journey from Sitka, where we stocked up on ammunition, salted pork, and oranges to ward off scurvy...and ending up in the oatstanding Canuckian (posing as Alaskan) outpost of Port Alexander, affectionately known by its settlers as PA. Enjoy.

Totem Park, Sitka.

Mt. Edgecomb (aboot to erupt), Sitka.

The Starship Tourista...these Pluto-originated crafts are singly as big as the city of Sitka herself. And carry twice the population. It's not uncommon to see four or five docked at any one time.

A lone fishmonger returning with the day's catch (baby seal and polar bear mostly). This is what night looks like.

Typical view out the window of a flying four-man deathtrap affectionately known around these parts as a "float plane".

A man's arm. Somewhere in the background is the back dock of Port Alexander, and David's home (made completely with solid gold panned from the Klondike itself).

Arriving at the front dock in PA. This will be the last form of modern-day civilization that we'll have contact with over the course of the next 7 weeks.

A video of our fearless pilot abandoning us to a life of beach asparagus diets, twelve year-old room temperature bottles of Budweiser, murderous 40lb. ravens, disturbingly-grouchy house tigers, radiation-affected mosquitoes, 24 hour insomnia, and dozens of potlucks (Oh, the Horror!). You're right, just like summer camp. I have a vague recollection of the pilot shouting "SUCKAS!" as he gunned it for civilization.

To be continued...

Scrabble Bags

2008-02-19T09:57:00.000-08:00

On any given Thursday night, in a dark and smoky bar tucked beneath the Morrison Bridge, a battle of wit and wisdom is being played out. In this industrial part of the city, where wharehouses and homeless encampments fit in more than the aforementioned bar, a phenemenon begins...already starting to sweep the nation.

Le Merde, the adjoining bar to Le Bistro Montage restaurant, is the quintessential underground watering hole. This may seem counterintuitive to the fact that it sits next to a very popular restaurant and is full on most nights. However, because of its industrial setting, as well as dark and smoky interior, it gives off a sort of rebelious, intellectual air.

Every Thursday night at nine, Le Merde hosts a trivia in which multiple teams battle it out for pub-intellect supremecy. Anybody can play, so long as they are in groups of five or less, and have a team name. Shannon, aka Shanrock, is the hostess and provides the questions and structured format. The rounds are broken up by category, as well as the way the questions are asked and supposed to be answered. For example, one round requires you to listen to one clue at a time and, based on the number of clues it takes for you to figure out the answer, you'll receive a variant amount of points. There is also a music recognition round, and a physical challenge, too.

A group of friends and I have been going to Le Merde for a couple years now, and, until recently, have been picking a new team name every time. However, as the core group of people going narrowed down some, and our attempt to win became more serious, we decided it was time to name ourselves. So one night, in the company of Bobby, Ian, Stephanie and Olde, we unveiled the new name: The Scrabble Bags.

For the simple-minded, this could refer to an assortment of lettered tiles in a felt bag. Or, if you are familiar with Old's dad's lingo, or just plain brilliant, you'd know it is more of a reference to the male anatomy. Whatever the case, we thought the name was perfect. It now represents an approximate grouping of Chrissie, Casey, Ian, Bobby, Olde, and I. There are stragglers, of course (Stephanie, Sydney, and Maggie), but the core remains farley intact (with Bobby, Olde and I the most committed). This commitment has begun to catch on, and has now become a movement (in many ways, a force to be reckoned with). Case in point: on a recent trip to Denver, my sister (being granted honorary status as a Scrabble Bagger) and I went to a pub trivia with a friend of hers. Intent on representing the Scrabble Bags in another state, and unwilling to take on another name, we forced my sister's friend to change their team name to incorporate "Scrabble Bag" in it. Unfortunately, the outsiders tainted the force, and we fared poorly. However, the word is now out and spreading across the nation. The Scrabble Bags have arrived...and there will be no avoiding us.

Peep us at Le Merde on any Thursday night that we can get our shit together and make it out. At worst, you can get a beer and some bomb mac and cheese from Montage. Check 'em out at 301 SE Morrison St.

In a fight, Sergio would crush Roy.

2008-02-06T21:00:00.000-08:00

Surprising absolutely no one who cares to follow the Portland Trailblazers (a growing number nationally), our recent and highly scientific poll shows that 46% of readers favor Brandon Roy amongst the team's starting five. The guy is truly a gem...the reigning Rookie of the Year (there's been much comparing this title to his acronym-prone last name, R.O.Y.), he was recently chosen by the league's coaches as a reserve player in the upcoming All-Star game. The last player to be chosen with this little amount of NBA experience (it's his sophomore year) was LeBron James in 2005, which tells you something. This guy is a true leader for the other Blazers, holding the team together with a calm maturity not often seen outside of 10-year veteran players. He's single-handedly won many games with 4th quarter explosions of skill and aggressive ballerism, and has really helped the team as a whole congeal into a serious threat in their division, possibly propelling Portland towards the Playoffs for the first time since (I think) 2003. Folks in Portland who don't even give a shit about basketball think this guy can walk on water.

Other results for your "favorite starter":
-23% LaMarcus Aldridge (my personal favorite, if only for his perpetually cheerful face, like he's balling while hooked up to a portable morphine-drip)
-15% Joel Przybilla (really showing a boost in effort over last year's ball-buster of a season...sorry, I couldn't resist)
-7% Martell Webster (the guy's a killer at the perimeter, and really needs to get the ball more often)
-7% Steve Blake (welcome back, bud...your workman-like effort was sorely missed last year)

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Overwhelmingly, Portlanders love the gypsy-folk, with a whopping 50% selecting Sergio Rodriguez as their favorite back-up Blazer. This also comes as no surprise to the fans, as Sergio aka Spanish Chocolate aka El Magico aka La Pata Negra aka The Andalusian Mystic (he's my second-cousin) is leading the league in a variety of statistics. Despite averaging less than 10 minutes per game (wake the fuck up, Nate!), Sergio is averaging an astounding 13.8 hexes per game, 97.2 no look/eyes closed while meditating mid-air passes, 3.6 full court buzzer beaters (or as his best friend Aldridge would intone, "buzzahbeetahs"), and at least one opposing assistant coach fatality each quarter. Yes, you read it right, this kid is the greatest player to ever hold the rock. And apparently, Portlanders at large agree. By the way, that picture of him to the right is of him hovering from one end of the court to the other, not of him attempting a jump shot...no that, my friends, involves flips, transporting, and waves of gypsy fire.

Your other "favorite backup" players:
-25% Raef LaFrentz (my mind just exploded typing that...he's the worst player on our team and the highest paid...who the fuck signed off on that?)
-16% Travis Outlaw (frankly, I'm surprised this number isn't higher...this kid has won several games for us, and has miles of room to grow)
-8% James Jones (the sharpest shooter of the bunch, this dude is a fucking sniper...and also out for the next 6 games due to knee troubles)
-0% = the amount of love "Big Body, Itty-Bitty Head" Channing Frye and "Assassin" Jarrett Jack received. Step it up, guys.

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Now that that's out of the way, please turn your attention to this month's extremely simple poll, asking whether you like the polls we've been doing...or not. If you'd like them to continue, but feel that those presented so far have been lackluster, feel free to leave a comment to this post with your suggestions for future polls. Thanks, folks.

Welcome to the Red Flag

2008-01-29T11:27:00.000-08:00

While slowly becoming one of Olde's and my favorite bars, The Red Flag seemingly has very few qualities that would propel it to such acclaim. There are no signature drinks, no decorative themes, nor is there a pool table. What the Red Flag does have, though, is a quiet corner on NE 28th Avenue (at Flanders) and an unpretentious vibe inside. The setting is dark, laid back, and does not cater to a specific clientelle. The Red Flag serves cheap drinks, has an assortment of tasty food niblets (the rice and beans dish hits the spot every time), and, most importantly, houses one of the best juke boxes in Portland (the ones with internet access don't count). For example, one can create a cacophony of sound with the likes of Wu-Tang Clan, Tom Waits, and Boots Reilly from the Coup. Also, you can always count on some terrible B-movie to be playing on the TV screen above the bar (Snakes on a muthafuckin' Plane was playing last time Olde and I were there).

Subtly calling attention to itself with an earth-toned mural on the outside wall, the Red Flag, while being unpretentious and low-key, does have its quirks. As mentioned above, it is not uncommon to find movies such as Snakes on a Plane playing on the TV above the bar. Also, there is a poster on the wall near the bathroom paying homage to baseball's home run king. Yes, folks, there is indeed a poster of Barry "US" Bonds displayed proudly on a back wall. Across from this wall is where the juke box sits. And it is this very juke box that brings Olde and I such great pleasure (although Oldie has difficulty operating it). In fact, it is with said juke box that Olde and I plan to claim Red Flag as our own. Our plan revolves around playing non-stop Wu-Tang, E-40 and the Click, the Coup, Spice 1, and Outkast, thus forcing the erstwhile hipsters out. Hopefully we'll sneak in a Johnny Cash, too. All along, we'll be throwing back cheap PBRs and chompin' on some of that bomb beans and rice.

When you get a chance, and are in the mood for a heavy rotation of hip hop on the juke box, stop by the Red Flag. You'll be glad you did.

Dublin Eagle Tanner Butt

2008-01-28T21:57:00.001-08:00

Oregon is a beautiful place, there's no denying that. Despite our shortcomings (such as the plethora of backwards backwoods villages full of inbred racists...just kidding, Hillsboro!), our natural surroundings are some of the most breathtaking in the U.S. of A. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Columbia River Gorge and its surrounding mountainous terrain. Last summer (oh, how I wish this winter would hurry up and go the way of the Dodo) my two brothers Roofless and Briguy, Lucky, Reidseed, and I took a several day backpacking trip out into the wilderness south of the river up along the base of the Cascade mountain range...it was an epic adventure filled with raging 30-foot bonfires, lost wanderings off the poorly marked trail, clove-flavored bogue smoking, shit-shooting, and very sore anuses (thanks Dan!). I won't get into details, mostly because it was six months ago, and I can't remember much more than that the first day hiking up the Tanner Butte Trail was hell (something like 4,000 feet elevation gain over 3 miles), and the last day was absolutely stunning as we walked back towards the Columbia River on the Eagle Creek Trail...the path was a two-foot wide ledge with a sheer drop 100 feet into the creek, and amazing waterfalls at every bend in the trail. Just check out the video below of Tunnel Falls...yes, the trail actually goes behind the waterfall. Here are a few photos from the trip to help you through the rainy season and the accompanying hibernation we all experience.

Not sure what exactly I'm doing here, but seeing that I was absolutely obsessed at the time with Shaun of the Dead (and still am), this is probably me doing Nick Frost's character's impersonation of an orangutan. Yeah, I don't get it either.

Dublin Lake, full of fleet-footed fairies, and sinister leprechauns...some of the nicest camp sites I've seen in the back country and it's absolutely deserted.

Mt. Hood...about to erupt.

Luckygreen, The Rattler (great beard!), Briguy, and Oldie.
Some unnamed waterfall along Eagle Creek...there were dozens just like these.

Props to Danny Boy for the photos.

Breitenbush Hippydrome

2008-01-27T20:19:00.000-08:00

Kes is the one that's pregnant, and yet I'm fucking exhausted, too. How's that work? Anyway, this + the move next week = no blog posts lately. Sorry guys, it's just not that important in the grand scheme of things. I write this because some crazy woman has been bombarding Jeff and I's email addresses with psychotic rants about the lack of recent entries.

Get over it, one.

Really though, we have been remiss in our duties to our faithful readers. I'll try and knock out a few of these before the month is up. Take what you get, 'cause it ain't going to be the usual life-changing prose for a minute. Or two.

A good long while back, Kes and I took some much needed vacation time off from work/school and headed out into the wilds of Oregon for a bit of relaxation, crunchy hippy-style. Yes, we went to Breitenbush Hot Springs. This place certainly brings you closer to the Light, makes you feel one with the aura of your earth-brothers and moon-sisters, aligns your chi tai chi chis and all that weed-induced delusional love-speak.

I mean, just look at their mission statement:
Our Mission: To provide a safe and potent environment where people can renew and evolve in ways they never imagined.

That ganja sure was potent and soon after returning home I saw that I had grown six toes on each foot. I'm not sure one would go so far as to label that evolution, but it certainly was something I'd never imagined. Regardless, this place kicks ass. Good organic meals, a quiet contemplative atmosphere, amazingly well-maintained yards and hot spring-fed soaking pools, helpful staff, and lots of naked buttocks...what's not to like? Not sure what their rates are like, since we have a good friend who works there and let us stay in her cabin for free (score). It comes highly recommended, especially as a way to shed some of the stress and frantic tics that come with urban life. (You know..."The Portland streets ain't nothin' nice, get caught up, another figga gettin' smoked tonight..." - Cool Nutz/G-Ism)

I'll let the pictures say the rest...

Sunrise upon the River.

Some lovingly crafted handmade monument to the powerful stench of Sulphur.

A typical soaking pool...it was here that I discovered the meaning of life.

An absolutely unfuckwittable view, no?

King Muhfuckin Cool Nutz

2008-01-17T14:17:00.000-08:00

When Northwest hip hop finally gets its due, it may be too late for Cool Nutz to capitalize off of it. However, his legend will be cemented nonetheless, as he has been to the Portland rap scene what E-40 is to the Bay. Since founding Jus Family Records in 1992, alongside fellow Portland musician, Bosko, Cool Nutz has released multiple records and appeared on countless other albums. But, being victim to a small market and a less than well known Northwest hip hop scene, Cool Nutz hasn't been able to bring his success to the main stream level. Perhaps that's by his own doing, though, as he has been able to sell more than 60,000 units independently. And maybe this is where his greatest success lies. While grinding independently, Cool Nutz, the "voice of Northeast Portland," has been able to propel his label into a legitimate business, while also garnering the attention of major recording artists. For example, E-40 was in town not too long ago to celebrate the release of his most recent album, King Cool Nutz.

What's admirable, too, is that Cool Nutz has not abandoned his down-to-earth, street hustle and grind. A few weeks ago, Olde and I were at Berbati's catching a Blue Scholars show (see blog)when we ran into the man himself. Without causing a scene or demanding any kind of attention, Cool Nutz was posted in the back of the bar handing out fliers and promoting himself...just as he probably did when he began his career 15 years ago. And what's just as admirable is that after blogging about running into him, Cool Nutz posted a comment on our blog.

So even though the rest of the world hasn't caught up to Cool Nutz, and maybe never will, he'll always be remembered for bringing "harsh game to the people." The Portland rap scene will always be indebted to Cool Nutz, as will true rap fans in general.

Much love to Cool Nutz.

If you get a chance, peep his myspace page, as well as his label's website:

www.myspace.com/coolnutz

http://www.jusfamilyrecords.com/

Scattershot Scribblers

2008-01-16T19:28:00.000-08:00

Apologies for the sheer negligence Jeff and I have shown this blog...not sure what Jeff's excuse is, but I've been knee deep in preparing to quit my job again, the discovery that I'm going to be a Dad (oh, the horror! Can we say rat traps and Tabasco sauce?), epic road trips (another day, another blog), and one absolutely hellish apartment search, which, as any Portlander knows, is in itself a full-time job...

So I've got a stack of things to chatter my phalanges on. A brief sampling:

The Blazers just lost to the Celtics, 90-100. I know, big gigantic stupendous surprise. Roy, however, demonstrated yet again that he can hang with the likes of Allen, Pierce, and Garnett...the dude's that good.

Portland has to be about the only city in the universe to do such a thing, but throughout this week our very own City Hall is setting up shop at our lowest-performing public school, Jefferson High. Publicity stunt? A way to shine a spotlight on the failings of a campus that is constantly bombarded with the lowest common denominator staff and the most draconian policy decisions (the only school in the city-wide district that requires name badges and has split male/female academies with uniforms, and is also, coincidentally I'm sure, largly comprised of minorities)? Too soon to tell...but make sure you keep your ears open for Mayor Tom "Mr. Irrelevant" Potter's State of the City address this Friday. It's sure to be excitsnnnnooooooorrrre.

On an absolute serious tip, this has to be one of the more interesting social experiments I've heard of in years. I'll just quote the text from the Portland Tribune: 'The city of Portland has donated land for the proposed housing subdivision [foster-home project Portland Hope Meadows], which will be built pro bono by Legend Homes. Families who live there will adopt three to four foster children, receive free housing, and one parent per household will be given a small salary and health insurance. Senior citizens in the development will volunteer as "granparents" for the community and be given below-market rent for their housing.' I'm speechless. Talk about passing feel good warm fucking fuzzies all around...unfortunately, the pessimist-cynic in me thinks that once the development is completed, it will be available exclusively to upper-crust Yupsters at prices 300% above the current market rate, and will feature rooftop altars on which to slaughter poor children and the homeless. Bummer, foster-dude.

In the wake of the 4th Ave./Chavez Blvd./Interstate Ave. street renaming debacle, a group of cats are trying to get 42nd Avenue changed to Douglas Adams Blvd. Yeah, that's the guy who wrote those awesomely dorky sci-fi books. Anyway, the campaign website is here, just in case you'd like to drop them a bit of support for the cause. You have to love this town...

Impressions of Portland [Guest Blog]

2008-01-14T10:21:00.000-08:00

My sister, Kate (aka Slug), was kind enough to add to our blog with her impressions of the Stump, based on a recent trip to the Northwest. We only had two and a half days, which was cut short but my ill-timed flu, but we made the most of it.

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So, I have been promising Jeff a Portland visit for the past 2.5 years. I finally did it! Over the Christmas holiday, I flew into Portland and stayed with Jeff and his roommate for a few days. I also brought a little friend of mine – my cat (aka: The Puss). This was her first plane ride and visit in her 16.5 years and she was pretty calm and collected – but don’t mess with her mojo, you hear? Though she loves her uncle Jeff, she found his roommate’s lap to be her Portland choice of comfort. And so it began, Jeff took me out on the proverbial town…showed me around a bit.

Jeff drove me around the different neighborhoods on my first afternoon, showing me such wonders as the bowling alley where Kes’ car was stolen and the 4-corners of artistic embellishments (Sunnyside Piazza, SE 33rd & Yamhill ). We then went to some funky little café (Laughing Planet) where the seats were benches backed up to the wall and cushy pillows hung from the vertical for ‘back’ comfort. This place reminded me of some random, eclectic, funky hot-spot in good old San Francisco…ah, home-sweet-home! Then we walked down the street to enjoy some of Stumptown’s finest grounds – yes, I’m talkin’ ‘bout coffee, man! Seattle may have Stabucks but they have no bragging rights over Portland’s own java delights. So, while we were delicately sipping our coffee-cinos I looked over Jeff’s left shoulder and noticed a woman wearing flip-flops. Now, I know some people are hot-blooded but, really, it was pretty cold and rainy (and I ain’t no wuss – I live in Colorado). Okay, fine, but here is the catch…she was wearing these half-sock things that were all wooly and patterned, allowing only her toes to peek at the world. Thus, they worked magnificently with flip-flops. Being an avid flip-flop wearer myself and always begrudgingly switching to more practical shoes in the winter, I was in love (with the socks, not the woman) . Turns out she got them in Nepal but suggested a few "hippie" shops around town that I might check. I dragged Jeff on my quest but never found them. Ah, well.

Bellies satisfied, we set for home to figure out our next plan of action. A movie at one of Portland’s quaint theaters, perhaps? Well, unfortunately, I had seen everything playing except for some movie about an Irishman falling in love with a Czech girl that Jeff wanted to drag me, Kes, and Olde to. Knowing Jeff’s predilection for the Irish, we thought he might just be a bit biased on the plot. But maybe Olde owes him! Olde suggested an Afghanistan restaurant that none of us had ever tried. After much deliberation and curiosity, we were all game and met there around 7p. Turns out that Afghani food is a cross between Indian and Mediterranean food. This place served free chai (equals good) that was lip-searing hot and needed about 14 packets of sugar (equals bad). Never the less, I think that Olde, Jeff, and I drank about 3-5 cups, each, not realizing how much caffeine was in this stuff. We never made it to a movie but should have because none of the 3 of us chai drinkers could fall asleep…until maybe 4am!

When Jeff and I woke the next day, we found that my furry little friend had not been using her newly appointed litter box, but rather the entire floor space around it. In fact, I don’t think that she managed a single drop in the appropriate place, but she did get her message across. You see, Jeff wasn’t sure what kind of litter to buy her so I told him, "Scent-free and self-clumping". After about 45 minutes in the cat litter aisle and not finding this combo, he settled on a scent-free, non-clumping brand. Didn’t I say not to mess with her mojo? After the mess was cleaned and feelings were hurt (again, we’re sorry, Jeff), we left to meet Olde at the Travel Café. This place is another typical café but untypical in that it has large screens on the walls that played footage of various vacation spots (minus Rick Steves). We had arrived either just in time or seconds too late, as Olde needed to relieve himself but didn’t want to lose our table. Either way, Olde excused himself as soon as we got there.

The 3 of us then embarked on a journey to the Columbia River Gorge region. We did some minor hiking up to a couple of different waterfalls and stopped at a few scenic spots. Olde was kind enough to point out the bridge where some bright guy decided to jump and kill himself last summer (completely accidental, mind you). And then…it was on to view the giant sturgeon, which Olde warned, "…like the epilogue to the Star Wars movie, it might take a few minutes."

Later that evening, I got my first Christmas present from Jeff – a coveted ticket to the Nuggets vs. Blazers game. Now, this was a big night – and not just because it would be 10-in-a-row if the Blazers won, but it was also Sergio Rodriguez bobble-head night. I was excited to see this Jeff-proclaimed (maybe self-proclaimed, we don’t know) gypsy do cartwheels down the court. Jeff told me that I might even get to see him fly. Even though I am a complete Nuggets fan (and was actually told to go back to Colorado by some guys seated behind me), I had a great time. The energy was high and every seat was filled. The Nuggets played a much better game than I had expected, having just played a double-overtime game in Colorado the night before. I guess, if truth be told, Iverson and Anthony played a better game than I thought. I think that the rest of team just sat on the sideline in their warm-ups. Anyway, I was pretty impressed with how Jeff played both sides (being a Nuggets fan for 11 years and only a Blazers fan for 2). He was a mute the whole night. Also making the evening fun, we had started by meeting a Colorado-friend of mine at a downtown sushi bar, where much sushi and a couple of tall Asahi’s only cost us $16 for all 3 of us (my friend’s brother works there). Then Amy joined us for the game.

After the game, Jeff took me to Voodoo Doughnuts, a Portland landmark. This place is open 23 hours a day and has some great and some bizarre flavors of doughnuts. They had one called "Cock and balls" and I can only assume that doughnut holes were involved. He and I ended up sharing the Memphis Maffia which was a giant banana fritter covered in chocolate and peanut butter. I can still feel the sting on my teeth. Although seeing and tasting this place was good, the best part came as we were leaving...two guys were walking into the place together and one of them said aloud, "I want the penis doughnut!" Yes, Portland has a lot to offer!

Jeff and I had plans to visit the Saturday market on it’s last Saturday of the season but with the rain and my brother’s cold, we decided to skip it and just meet up with Olde and Kes at Beaterville Café (notice Portland has A LOT of cafes?). This place has car paraphernalia all over the place with a quarter-car mounted on the outside as a small dining table and hub caps decorating the walls. Another eclectic gem. And this was where I actually witnessed the phenomenon known as "Olde’s random napkin note-taking". I have no idea what ended up on the napkin but I have evidential, photographic proof of this mystery and I have plans to send it to the Discovery Channel.

This about sums up my 2.5 days (1 day per year that Jeff has been there) in Portland. Needless to say, I have to get back there soon. We had a few plans that didn’t quite happen because Jeff was sick, but that gives me just one more reason to plan another visit (that and maybe the hopefulness of better weather).

Your first place Blazers

2008-01-10T11:26:00.000-08:00

The Blazers are getting stingy. They've been hoarding wins by the handful for over a month now, and show no signs of sharing them any time soon. After an amazing 13-game win streak, they've been able to snag four more consecutive wins after the original streak was snapped by Utah last week.

There are a few things that make this feat so impressive. First, the current Blazers have the youngest average age in the NBA. So while most young teams are developing their players with an eye on the future, the Blazers are winning now...and at an alarming rate. Also, the sloppy, selfish, and disorganized play that is characteristic of young teams, is not evident in the Blazers.

Secondly, they are playing as a team and finding different contributors every night. In Denver, Iverson and Carmelo score 75% of the team's points every night; in Los Angeles, it's the Kobe Bryant show. In Portland, however, everyone has contributed to the 17 wins in the last 18 games. Naturally, Roy and Aldridge are making things happen. But when they don't have a good game, Martell Webster or James Jones steps up. Or Jarrett Jack. Or Joel Pryzbilla. Or Travis Outlaw. Get it...they have depth and can share the load.

Lastly their only loss in the last 18 games came at a time when their head coach, Nate McMillan, was attending a funeral and couldn't be at the game. What if he had been there? Hmmm?

Here are a few of the standout stats:

* James Jones is shooting just under 54% from three-point range.

* As a team, the Blazers lead the league in three-point shooting percentage.

* The Blazers have the 9th best assist to turnover ratio, which means, despite being a young team, they are not turning the ball over easily.

* Among point guards, Steve Blake has the 6th best assist to turnover ratio. Among shooting guards, Brandon Roy is 1st.

* They have a real, live-in-the-flesh gypsy on the team. His name is Sergio. He can fly and one of his favorite foods is Spanish ham.

Portlanders Vote "Down With Whitey!"

2008-01-05T12:29:00.000-08:00

The results of our latest poll, asking fellow Stumptowners what Portland is missing in its quest for Greatness:

43% chose "Less honkies, more diversity." Amen, down with Whitey.
25% chose "Another professional sports franchise, preferably MLB."
18% chose "Less Gresham." We just lost two readers, both the only technologically literate folks in that fair city to the east.
12% chose "A dedicated arts-driven Civic Center."
0% chose "An iconic building...Big Pink doesn't cut it." I guess we have those two shiny new flying suppositories to be proud of.
0% chose "A permanent, year-round public market."
0% chose "More sun. Please." Roundly defeats the idea that we hate us some rain (actually, we really do).

Be sure to vote in this month's two polls, asking who's your favorite Trailblazers starter and backup in honor of their hot shitness of winning 15 of their last 16 games, apparently due to the sheer magical splendor of Sergio Rodriguez's hexing abilities and his fondness of pata negra.

Portland, meet Olde...part 2 [Guest Blog]

2007-12-31T09:41:00.000-08:00

A while back, I wrote a blog giving an in depth look into the
deep dimensions of Olde. Now, thanks to Ian, our readers are getting another look at the mystic himself.

______________________

Not much is known about the renowned wizard by the name of Olde. Here is what is known:

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry was, until recently, an actual school dedicated to teaching magic to adolescents with magical abilities. However, once Olde took a tour of the grounds, he decided the school catered to too many gypsy teachings and Olde destroyed the school, and all of its students, with a simple flick the wrist. To make sure no witch or wizard would question his power, Olde killed Dumbledore with a karate chop from his mind. The Harry Potter series is the government’s elaborate cover-up to conceal the truth about the non-existence of wizards in today’s world.

When Olde was a child he decided to skip puberty and gave himself the ability to grow a beard. As a true testament to his power, Olde decided to wait to grow facial hair until he was 18.

Olde invented a cure for both cancer and AIDS. When he was 12. He only uses the cure for people he views as “interesting” or “helpful to mankind.” This explains Magic Johnson, Tom Green, and “Hacksaw” Jim Dugan

The Twin Towers did not fall because of terrorist actions. The Towers actually fell because Olde felt they were blocking the view of the ocean from his enormous, invisible mega-castle located on top of the control tower of JFK Airport.

On Olde’s voter registration card he marks "Alchemist" as the political party he associates with.

Exploding Lather...On Sale Now

2007-12-21T10:07:00.001-08:00

So it begins; Olde and I have jumped head first into the soap business. No turning back now. Last week, just in time for the holidays, Olde and I, despite the ribbing and teasing from friends (prompting us to unofficially title our venture the "Really...We're Not Gay Soap Company"), made our first batch of soap. It won't be long, now, until we take over the industry and secure our positions as soap moguls.

Our first batch was a glycerin soap, fully concocted with lavender bits and vanilla scenting. The process went off without a hitch (unless you consider our lack of inspection of the unsealed molds, or the failed attempt to layer our bars with the lavender on top). We started by separating the lavender leaves from the stems and weighing the glycerin with our coke scale. Next, we melted the glycerin down to liquid form, at which point we added our essential oils, scents, and dye. When it was all mixed and stirred in, we poured it into our molds (which were, as mentioned above, unsealed and leaked, thus leading to a thinner bar than anticipated) and let it cool/harden.

Half an hour later, to speed the hardening process, we placed the tray of soap into the freezer for an additional 30 minutes. It was now time to remove the soap from the mold. Unfortunately, we didn't plan ahead for an easy removing process (we could have placed wax paper underneath, for example), so it became a difficult task to get our soap out. Actually, because it took so long to get it out, and as we were in a rush, I gave up and took a shower while Olde chiseled away at it. By the time I was out of the shower (sans exploding lavender lather), Olde had the soap out of the tray, cut up, and separated for our respective distributions.

Labeled with an official seal, and professionally wrapped, our soap was soon ready to hit the market. With a keen sense of marketing and promotion, we have decided to make our initial product available at no charge. Actually, we are unsure of the quality of our first batch, thus did not want to charge people for getting rashes and having allergic reactions. As a cautionary note, you may want to limit the use of our soap to just hand washing. However, our next batch will be made to perfection and our users will be able to enjoy its exploding lather body-wide.

To place your orders, you can leave us a comment or email us at: stumptownsuds@gmail.com

Photographic Nuggletts

2007-12-19T14:47:00.000-08:00

-As many of our friends know, this year's Santacon has already come and gone. We're still reeling in holiday cheer (aka Drunkenness), frantically trying to piece together our respective notes scribbled on the outside of crushed beer cans, elf panties, and various other unmentionables. For a taste of what's to come in the weeks ahead, please visit the link below, for what is surely the gayest (holiday-cheeriest?) display you're ever likely to see from Jeff and I.

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1158036614

-My dad, Kes and I were made famous the other day on East PDX News' website. The pictures were taken from our visit to the Portland Streetcar open house last month. I can't believe how knowledgeable I look...I was actually just wiping a booger on the map of Stumptown for lack of a better disposal method.

-Here's a nice picture of Jeff and I celebrating the anniversary of the end of Prohibition with some flapper floozies. Don't worry Kes, hands were kept firmly in pockets.

-Here are a few pictures from a recent camping trip on the coast of Oregono to celebrate our buddy Bobby's birthday (I think that's why we were there...it was a few months back). Please note Ian's pseudo-tuxedo shirt, the infamous boombox, and the proudly displayed bag of exotic nibblets.

Portland is hecka bloggy

2007-12-15T16:18:00.000-08:00

Don't let our seemingly small viewership fool you. Yes, few people vote in our polls (it's on your right...take some time to make your voice heard), and even fewer leave comments (thanks go out to the faithfuls that do). However, without the efforts of Olde and myself, the Portland blog scene would be like Gladys Knight without the Pips (if only that were true).

Actually, as it turns out, Olde and I are quite the small fish in Portland's big pond of bloggers (hard to believe, huh?). I say big pond because, as pointed out in a recent Oregonian article, Portland is the "bloggiest" city in the States after the number-one-ranked Austin, TX. The numbers state that 1 out of 7 Portland residents has "read or added to a blog in the last 30 days." That's a lot.

Knowing that blogs are so popular in Portland only fuels our dogged determination to reach the masses. We are against some stiff competition, though. In fact, "Tales from the Stump" is just one of 370 Portland blogs registered on the Oregon Blogs website. And that number hardly represents the sheer size of Portland's blogger community! Rather than competing, though, Olde and I, in the true spirit of Portland community mindedness, would simply like to add to the blog culture and carve out our own niche.

How many of them talk about drinking 40s on the Steel Bridge, anyway?

Honky Indian Cuisine and King Cool Nutz

2007-12-09T15:24:00.000-08:00

As much as I dread the first week of December, when I inch closer and closer to the ripe age of 30, I can't deny that I was treated to a very nice birthday this last Thursday, the 6th. My folks came down from Appalachia (um, Amboy), WA, and spent the early evening with me in the Stump. We took the MAX (dubbed the "chatter train" by Mike, referring to the bilingual voice instructing riders which doors to exit from, etc.) to Oldtown/Chinatown, where we spent some time at the Chinese Tea Garden. Squeezed into just one city block, the garden has a lake surrounded by various trees (amazingly, some were growing pumpkins on them), traditional Chinese architecture, and over 500 species of plants. The garden's peaceful charm is a nice refuge from the downtown bustle that surrounds its walls.

Before heading back to the east side of the river, Pork, Mike and I got some tasty niblets at Voodoo Doughnuts, where the "magic is in the hole." Mike got an old fashioned chocolate, while Pork and I split a maple bar layered with bacon strips. Mmmm...

For dinner, the three of us met Old and Kesia at Vindalho, a restaurant serving modern interpretations of classic Indian fare. While the restaurant was very nice, and the food tasty, one couldn't help from noticing that not one person of Indian descent was working. Not that it changed the quality of the food, but it did prompt Mike to openly refer to everyone in the restaurant as "honkies." This extended to the clientele, as well, all of whom appeared a bit, shall we say, white-bred. As I mentioned, though, the food was great.

After dinner, Pork and Mike made their trek back to Yonder Mountain, while Old and I hopped on a bus and went downtown. We stopped first at the Cheerful Tortoise, where, with the aid of a $10 gift certificate and $1 drinks, we stuffed our bellies again before going to Berbati's for a second night of free music (see post below). Before leaving, though, Old and I watched the Blazers take out the Miami Heat.

On the bill at Berbati's were the Blue Scholars, one of Seattle's more gifted and well-known hip hop groups. The group, consisting of Emcee Geologic and Sabzi (the DJ), has been representing the Northwest hip hop scene for five years now. The duo graced the stage of Berbati's, performing songs that covered themes of Filipino pride, the war in Iraq, and the Northwest hip hop scene. In contrast to other rap shows that Old and I have been to, where usually no more than six people show up, the Blue Scholars drew a large crowd that packed most of the dance floor. The fact that Berbati's charged no cover probably had something to do with the large crowd. However, the group created a vibe and definitely attracted some of their following, as evidenced by break dancers practicing their moves and spectators singing along with Geologic. As the show ended, the two were beckoned back to the stage by fans chanting "encore." To accomodate, the duo peformed a couple extra songs, displaying more of their strong lyrics, good stage presence, and nice command of the turn tables by Sabzi.

As good as the performance was, the night was probably highlighted by a cameo from Cool Nutz. Yes, the godfather of Portland hip hop made an appearance, albeit very low key. He did not perform, rather he chilled in the back collecting dabs from passersby that recognized him, while also handing out flyers for his new CD, King Cool Nutz. His appearance was both impressive and disappointing. I was impressed that he would show up at an underground show sans entourage and, although well known and in the game for more than a decade, promote for himself. I was disappointed that, despite his longevity and relative notoriety, he still has to promote in such a fashion. Cool Nutz still gets love, though, and Old and I made sure to say what's up and let him know we support him.

At the end of the day, my anxiety of growing old subsided with the company of loved ones, a good meal, a Blazers win, and, finally, a good hip hop show in Portland. Much love to Pork, Mike, Old, Kes, and Cool Nutz...you made my day.

Portland Repeals Prohibition

2007-12-06T13:49:00.000-08:00

Okay, so maybe not...but they did celebrate the 75th anniversary of Prohibition's death throes, with an all-locals music/entertainment ear/eye-feast at Berbati's (is it just me, or has this club been just killing shit this year?) last night. Thank you, Portland, for yet another free show (make sure to check out tonight's free sets from the Blue Scholars, Sleep, and some cats from Sandpeople, also at Berbati's @9:30pm)...you make it possible to be both poor and entertained. A great crowd, filled with fedora-sporting gents, boa-wearing flapper girls, and believe or not, Beck (who I overheard whispering in Allen Ginsberg's ear, "Yo tengo chicle en mi cabeza."). I also managed to pull in a ton of free swag...hell...yes.

The amazing line-up:

-Things started off with my good friend, alcohol. Whiskey and ginger ale happened to be the night's special (and our frequent choice until we ran low on funds and switched to our old $2 standby, PBR), which was particularly appropriate, as ginger ale was advertised as the alternative to alcohol during Prohibition.

-Portland Mercury Pizzazz Talent Show finalists, Kazum, took center stage with their sex-charged acrobatics...short and cringe-inducing (I remember thinking "Oh, man, he's going to drop her on her neckface like a handless wetnurse!"), their three mini-performances quickly won over the drunken crowd.

-Boy Eats Drum Machine killed the stage with their frenetic instrument-switching, and amazing beats...great energy. I haven't heard much from these guys before, but now I think I'll have to buy an album or two.

-Stepping outside for a tasty bogue, my eardrums promptly exploded by the sheer concussive force emanating from the Last Regiment of Syncopated Drummers, who then marched inside and blew the shit out of the club. These gals and dudes are a must see, which isn't hard to do if you live here, as they seem to be everywhere (peace marches, roller derby games, soapbox derby car races on extinct volcanoes). I love these folks.

-One of my favorite locals, Ohmega Watts, was up next, bringing with him fellow Lightheaded crew member, Braille, and recently transplanted Theory Hazit. Ohmega is just solid, with both his lyrics and beatwork straight out of Pete Rock's School of Inspiration. He's got a new album out, Watts Happening...I just bought it and haven't yet given it a spin, but I'm sure it's bound to be solid CD gold. Braille is fucking energy encapsulated (did anyone else see this kid at PDXPopNow! besides Jeff and I?), and is always fun to watch. New in town via Cincinnati, Theory Hazit wasted little time in impressing folks with his mathematically relentless rhymes. Luckygreen and I had a chance to chat with him for awhile, and he really impressed us with his sincerity towards the music he creates, as well as his deep love of Portland...he visited once and found he couldn't stop thinking about the City of Roses, so he convinced his girl to make the move, just like that. He hates the rain, though. Oh, don't we all, my friend, don't we all.

-Last and far from least, superfuckingstar husband/wife combo Viva Voce set up shop, and proceeded to incinerate the very air we breathed. Kevin Robinson dropped atom bombs on his drum kit, while Anita Robinson seared souls with her intricately destructive guitar work. This duo rips shit. When solos were being tossed at the crowd like grenades, I'd look around, and people had their eyelids peeled back, stoopid grins on their grills, and I'm pretty sure they weren't breathing. Good work, guys. Kevin wrapped up their set with this cheerful holiday proclamation: "Merry Chewbacca or Happy Buddha Kitchen or whatever you do."

You too, man.

David Bragdon is Most Hilarious

2007-12-05T15:37:00.001-08:00

To give folks outside of Portland a taste of how we do politics here, peep this recent official press release (seriously a top contender for the best of its kind, ever) from David Bragdon, the Council President for Metro, our regional government. This guy is awesomely good.

========================

BRAGDON NOT TO RUN FOR MAYOR OF ANY CITY IN 2008

For Release: December 1, 2007

Metro Council President David Bragdon announced that he will not run for Mayor of Wilsonville, Milwaukie, West Linn, Damascus, Portland, Durham or any of the other cities in the metro region in 2008. “For some reason, people keep asking me about Mayors’ races,” Bragdon said. “Speculation is natural, because Mayor Hammerstad is retiring in Lake Oswego and Mayor Thalhofer has not announced his intentions in Troutdale. To end any suspense, I am announcing I will not run for anything in 2008.”

“Besides, there are already three well-qualified candidates for Mayor,” he observed, referring of course to Beaverton, where incumbent Mayor Rob Drake will face challenges from Councilor Bruce Dalrymple and Councilor Dennis Doyle in the May primary. “Voters in every city in the region deserve such a competitive choice,” Bragdon said.

Bragdon indicated he would stay in his current esoteric post until he figures out what his job is or his term expires, whichever occurs first. While recycling the canola oil in the popcorn popper outside the Oregon Zoo penguinarium as he does each Saturday, Bragdon shrugged, “I’ve got a decent gig, which has something to do with garbage and trees and the urban growth boundary, stuff like that, I guess.” He reminded reporters that the Metro Council also owns the Expo Center, and said one of his unrealized goals in office is to “hang out more at Expo with the fine ladies of the Rose City Rollers’ Derby.” He cited the Rollers as “the most awesomely kick-ass” of his agency’s many kick-ass stakeholders, ranging from environmentalists to real estate developers. “I care about the region’s quality of life,” he commented, “but this decision is about my own.”

Bragdon’s lack of qualification for city office was inadvertently revealed earlier this year when he failed to have his surgery televised and then did not champion a non-binding resolution appointing a 79-person task force to re-name S.E. Division Street as Gertrude Stein Boulevard. “Nor am I ready to handle the duct tape issue,” he admitted, “so I settle for little job satisfactions instead: like buying 5,000 acres of natural areas and preserving them forever, helping build one light rail line and getting another started, or leading one of the few governments in Oregon with a Double AAA financial rating.”

Bragdon’s only specific comment about the upcoming Mayoral transition came in a written statement issued from Camp David, the Metro Presidential hilltop weekend retreat near Oxbow Park: “The city is a better place because of Tom’s leadership. As Mayor, he focused relentlessly on the city’s economic health and downtown revitalization. Tom also converted ‘visioning’ into specific, practical actions. Indeed, Hillsboro will have big shoes to fill when Mayor Tom Hughes leaves office next year.”

Bragdon’s term as Metro Council President ends in January 2011, at which time he hopes to get a decent job in a hotel, preferably near the Oregon Convention Center.

========================

After reading that again, it probably doesn't make a lick of sense to those outside of our metropolitan area. It's one big insider's joke. Sorry about hyping it up to all you foreigners out there. We thought it was funny.

Dinglebits

2007-12-03T23:32:00.000-08:00

A few tidbits covering the last couple days:

- The Clinton Street Theater continues to impress with its wide array of obscure and cooky films. While dining at Subrosa, across the street from the theater, Old, Kes, and I noticed the following two movies were playing: Electric Apricot, the Quest for Festeroo and Blood Feast. The former is a mockumentary of a Jerry Garcia-loving rock band attempting to get themselves in the Festeroo jam-band festival. No doubt, a winner. Blood Feast, on the other hand, is a bit more, well, imaginative. I'll let the theater's description of the movie speak for itself:

Egyptian caterer busies himself collecting body parts from young maidens in order to bring Ishtar, an ancient goddess of good and evil back to life. When he has prepared enough parts for the ceremony, he hypnotizes a woman giving an engagement party for her daughter, at which he plans to perform the ancient rites of summons, using the daughter as his final sacrifice.

- While taking advantage of 2-for-1 coupons at Subrosa, Old and I managed to also get a little tipsy off a bottle of wine. Although not very significant, I can't think of another time I've ordered wine at a restaurant, let alone split an entire bottle. It almost made me feel grown up. To immediately rid myself of that grown up feeling, we finished our meals and walked across the street to the Clinton Street Pub, where we drank beer, listened to punk music, and made fun of the Giant Women from Turkmenistan.

- Old made it clear, later that night, that he is adamantly opposed to the Starbucks empire. Also, he apparently does not like Paul McCartney. Old made these two facts known by doing the following: while driving by Starbucks, he rolled his window down and screamed, "I hate you Starbucks." He promptly spit in the direction of said demon, and continued shouting, "Fuck your motherfuckin' Paul McCartney display." Word!

- Straight from the Valley-Jo, E-40 Fonzerelli was in town last week to help Cool Nutz, the godfather of Portland rap, celebrate the release of his newest album, King Cool Nutz. The Ambassador of the Bay, 40 Water himself, showed his support for the Portland rap game at the Roseland Theater, alongside Cool Nutz and Maniac Loc. I would have gone, but nobody "told me when to go."

- So much for the Monster Storm of 2007. What was billed as the biggest storm to hit Oregon in over a decade, turned out to be just a little rain and some wind. Not exactly atypical for Portland, no? I hear the coast got a few big gusts of wind, but the "hurricane force" storm that was supposed to wipe Portland off the map did not nearly live up to the hype.

- The Blazers won a game on the road. Yes folks, to avoid matching a franchise-worst winless streak away from the Rose Garden, the Trail Blazers beat the Memphis Grizzlies 106-105 Monday night. Brandon Roy found his game and led the team with 26 pts. and 9 rebounds, while Travis Outlaw (that's your boy, Kes) played Mr. Clutch and hit a buzzer beater (Aldridge's favorite phrase) at the end to win the game.

Portlander's Love Gluttony and Drunkenness

2007-12-01T16:50:00.000-08:00

The results of our latest poll, asking Portlandites what their favorite rainy day activities are (multiple choices were available for simultaneous selection, thus the total percentage adding up to well over 100%, you sleuth, you):

48% will get re-acquainted with their favorite pub/restaurant/coffee shop
44% will camp out in their local $3 movie theater
28% will remain indoors smoking dope, drinking 40s, getting artsy, etc.
28% will sink further into clinical depression until June 2008
28% will catch a Blazers game (go Sergio!)
16% will explore the local music scene

Certainly a few surprises here, namely that as indie music-friendly as we claim to be as a city, not even a quarter of you plan on catching a local act one of these rain-filled nights...disappointing. I wonder if this is indicative of our music scene being over-saturated with talent, or if it simply means we aren't yet ready to be that arts-driven, burgeoning cultural mecca that we keep hyping ourselves as.

Well, at least we like to eat, drink coffee, and do drugs...

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Don't forget to vote in this month's new poll, which attempts to discover what Portland is missing in it's quest for Greatness.

Portland to close this weekend

2007-11-30T13:31:00.000-08:00

As we see every year here in Portland, a severe weather pattern swipes into the region and causes the city to shut down. As we've seen the last few years in a row, even the slightest bit of freezing, and an accompanying snow, will send Portland residents into a frenzy, somehow losing all their ability to drive, go to work and school, and function in general. To non-natives, say, from the East Coast or Midwest, it is a laugh...but, hey, at least they know they'll get time off at work at least once during the winter.

Well, this year, actually this weekend, the state of Oregon (yes, Portland, that means us) will be treated to a once-in-a-decade storm that, some forecasters say, may exceed the severity of all storms dating back to the 1960s, thus prompting the National Weather Service to consider issuing a hurricane wind warning.

Although no stranger to rain and shitty weather, Portlanders, for some reason, lose their ability to function when the clouds throw us a curve ball. This can be seen in the numerous schools that close, the employers who shut shop for the day, the mail that doesn't get delivered, and the countless accidents that happen on our roads and highways. Well folks, embrace yourself for a big one. The storm, which now covers the entire Northeast Gulf of Alaska, is expected to bring sustained winds of 90-100 MPH (74 MPH puts it into hurricane wind status), as well as 3-4 inches of rain in its aftermath. The kicker, though, is that prior to the wind and rain, Portland is expected to get snow as soon as Saturday. That means we can expect our mail to be late, newspapers not delivered, and, if you're a communist and send your kid to school on Saturdays, no school.

For more information on the "monster storm," peep the Oregonian online: http://www.oregonlive.com/news/oregonian/index.ssf?/base/news/1196396711223810.xml&coll=7

or, weather.com's coverage at: http://www.weather.com/newscenter/fcstsummary.html?from=wxcenter_news

RAG Mens Style (Shameless Plug)

2007-11-27T14:04:00.000-08:00

Here are a few pictures from the opening of my sister's upscale men's clothing boutique, RAG Mens Style, located in Bellvue, WA. Their website is still under construction (hurry up and remedy that, Seren!), so she'd probably appreciate it if you ignored its existence.

Now, I must admit, I generally despise anything even remotely akin to a shop such as this...however, it's impossible not to feel something deeply satisfying upon entering into this homage to manhood. From the slate-gray cracked concrete floor emblazoned with their kingly lion emblem, to the dark polished-hard wood cabinets and shoeshine chair, the store speaks to the primal desires of a testosterone-filled soul. Complementary alcohol certainly doesn't lessen that feeling. While you wait to be custom-fitted for that elegant designer suit, feel free to play a game of pool or catch the latest Trailblazers game (okay, so maybe they're more inclined to root for the Sonics, much to their loss) shining forth from what must be a 372.6 inch plasma screen TV. I'm sure other amenities are soon to be on their way...

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves (ignore the dorks, including myself, in the geeky suits, as the only one sold in the store itself is the silvery-grey one that Seren's boyo is wearing).

Hey Dan, is that you? [Guest Blog by Mike]

2007-11-25T23:53:00.000-08:00

To celebrate the 26th anniversary of Dan Cooper's successful hijacking of a plane departing from Portland, our main man Mike (my paw in Amboy) has shared a little piece about the man himself.

Bugaboo Man

For the law enforcement community, especially the Feds, Dan Cooper is like a wart right on the tip of your nose. No matter where you go, all folks see is that damn wart. Even after it’s removed, no one can ever forget it. They still stare at the end of your nose, just waiting for it to reappear. When you look in the mirror, there it is, even when it’s gone. That wart may not change your essential nature but it sure redefines what others see in you. And it does so for a long, long time.

For many people, Cooper is a folk hero, a man who has become myth over the years. He’s one guy in American history who was able to leave behind a truly unique legacy – the only unsolved airline hijacking since the Wright brothers started the big bang. There’s always something special about being first, always something that folks seem to admire, or hate. When you’re first, and break the law, and walk away from it, well, that’s what makes for warts or myths. It all depends on your point of view. Whatever you’ve done becomes a piece of history and people are bound to talk about it, even when they don’t know what they’re talking about.

The truth about Dan Cooper, wrongly called “D. B. Cooper” by an enthusiastic reporter with a half-glass of facts, is very different. He’s neither wart nor myth. Cooper put his pants on one leg at a time, although he may have done so with more bravado than the usual fellow. He was a man on a mission, whether or not it was crazy, inspired, or just plain weird. He was an original.

There’s no getting around his place in history, whatever you may think of him. The trick is to put Cooper in the right place, somewhere between wart and myth.

If you live in Southwestern Washington, Cooper lurks behind every tree. He’s occasionally seen on the rural roads near Mt. St. Helens and talked about over beer in the dozens of one-room, smokey bars that dot the plains and foothills out here. Someone’s cousin knew a woman who once knew Cooper. One of the old-timers had a beer with him back in the late 1980s. He looks a heck of a lot like the rancher’s cousin who lives up in the foothills, somewhere north of Lake Merwin. It goes on and on. In fact, Cooper even has his own special day in the small town of Ariel. Out in these parts, his legend just grows with the years. It ripens and becomes unnecessarily bountiful. It remains a fascination.

But what about Cooper himself? He’s the one person who has never told his own story. He’s the silent Buddha sitting in the middle of a noisy, confused folk legend, grinning. Everyone who even thinks about Dan Cooper for more than a minute, or talks about him over a drink, can guarantee you he would have a hell of a story to tell. So, Dan, what’s taken you so long? We're still celebrating your anniversary out here, near ground zero. So, let’s get this wart thing cleared up and meet down the road for a beer and a good story.

Turkey Day

2007-11-23T22:53:00.003-08:00

Either I'm really getting into the holiday spirit, or I'm at a loss for more important stuff to write about. Whatever the case, I thought I'd share my Thanksgiving.

As is becoming tradition now, my mom, Mike and I spent Thanksgiving with some old friends from California. Wheels, a good friend and former coworker of Mike's, retired at the same time as my folks. Wheels and his wife, Vicki, along with their son, Michael, moved to Vancouver, WA shortly after. Continuing the friendship up here in the Northwest, we all get together from time to time, often for a barbecue and to catch up.

Most recently, on Thanksgiving, we went to their place, where the Cooks family put together yet another great meal. Yes, there was the customary turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes, but what made this a signature meal were Vicki's famous greens, wonderfully marinated in vinegar with little pork shreds mixed in, and, of course, her sweet potato pie. Wheels also filled in as a more than serviceable bartender, offering to fill any empty glass with an alcoholic concoction.

I didn't bring a camera, but I have pictures of last year's feast, which was nearly identical (I think Wheels even wore the same shirt), with the exception of Old and Kes not being present (so pretend they're not pictured).

While Old and Kes were missed (they were with family in Cali), we all had a good time visiting with each other. Although Michael hid away in his room for most of the night, he did sneak up for some food and to give me a burned copy of The Federation's (had to drop the Bay love) newest album. Wheels spent much of the night bragging about how cushy his job in Portland is. See, he drives a school bus in Portland, but because the job is contracted out by an independent company, he is not technically employed throughout the school year. So, while on school breaks (Thanksgiving week, Christmas, summer, etc.), he gets to collect unemployment. And, when he is working, his 7 hour shift consists of only a few brief pickups in the morning and a few more in the afternoon. It's a great gig for someone who is, for all intents and purposes, retired and just looking for some extra income.

In addition to the Cooks family and the three of us, a couple of their friends joined us, as well as Mike's brother, Bruce. As the evening went on, we did the belly-stuff and liver-poison, capping it all off with Pork's famous pumpkin pie and homemade whipped cream (stored in some funky spray contraption that Kesia introduced to her). While I'm having a difficult time convincing myself that this event was blog-worthy, I can say with certainty that the food was great and it was good to catch up with old friends. Go Blazers!

Vory V Zakone vs. Roscoe Orman

2007-11-21T21:35:00.000-08:00

Your monthly fix of Oldie's nuggets:
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-Think the Bush administration's latest funding request for the war in Iraq is unreasonable? Well, combine it with the (publicly-acknowledged) total cost of the war so far, and we're looking at a meager $611.5 billion. Wanna know what we could have gotten with that money instead of a world that hates us (among other things)? Check out the story, here, that investigates just that. A few that stood out for me...if oil is the reason we're over there, it may strike some as ironic that we could have provided every U.S. gas-guzzling citizen with 18 months of fuel...or sent 3.5 million folks to Harvard with a full-ride scholarship...or better yet, we could have fed and educated the world's poor for seven years. We salute you for your patriotism, Congress.

-I know I shouldn't speak for my fellow Portlanders, but man, does this city seem excited to host the numerous presidential candidates planning on campaigning in our fair city over the next year. Especially when we think about the $600,000 check they'll stiff us with (nothing new for Hillary Clinton there) to protect their primadonna asses with security details, motorcades, and police overtime. Apparently this is common practice around the country...rich, mostly white, men (and now a woman!) stop into town to dip into the pockets of the public for campaign donations, then leave without forking over a dime to the very same public for the required security. When is enough really going to be enough?

-On a lighter note, the two most important musical acts in known history have both come out with new albums. Yes, I'm talking about Seal and Duran Duran (featuring production from Timbaland...oh how the mighty have fallen).

-If you haven't seen Eastern Promises, and can't still catch it at a local $3 theater like we can in Portland (suckas), make a note to rent it when it comes to DVD. A serious contender for this year's best film (if you don't count Hot Fuzz, which I do). Cronenburg kills it, scene after scene, line after line...and if you don't laugh at the Borat-like bathhouse violence, your soul is dead.

-Volunteered at this year's celebration of literature, the Wordstock festival, and was honored with the chance to chat (briefly), while manning the writers workshop rooms, with Christy George, Eve Epstein, Cheryl Strayed, Steve Almond, Tom Spanbauer, Tom Larson, and Poe Ballantine. I've never read any of their work, but they all seemed like swell people. Did sit in on a few readings, including Lance Williams & Mark Fainaru-Wada (the guys who inexplicably hate Barry Bonds' rampant steroid usage), and Harry Shearer, who is best known as the voice actor for many of The Simpson's characters (Mr. Burns, Principal Skinner and 492.1 others...if you're a fan of the show, you know what a wet dream this was. Skeet skeet.), as well as a frequent participant in the all-improv films of Christopher Guest (This is Spinal Tap, Best in Show, etc. Also a fan.)...he was very, very funny, and read from his also funny new book on "Indian" gaming. He also dropped that he was mentored by Mel Blanc (the voice of Bugs Bunny and a Portlander), and that the reason for the success of The Simpson's is that the writers have never accepted any creative input from the FOX network. It was a great festival, but I've been losing sleep at night for passing up attending Rosco Orman's reading, the man better known as "Gordon" from Sesame Street. I'll bet it was life changing.

More weird Portland

2007-11-19T11:26:00.000-08:00

A lot of what makes Portland funky and unique are the subtle things. For example, I wrote a blog a while back about a movie theater that played "Suppressed Vicious War Cartoons" (see The "weird Portland" myth). Now, the Clinton Street Theater, which played the cartoons, is a quaint little movie house. When passing by the theater, as well as the charming neighborhood around it, one wouldn't think twice about the obscure, or flat out weird, movies and performances (they also do a weekly, interactive performance of Rocky Horror Picture Show) that take place there. A closer look, though, would reveal something far from normal and mainstream. That's why I say subtle.

Another example might be that random unicycler who passes you on his way to work in the morning. I mean seriously, a unicycler? It happens, though...and it's weird. However, because it isn't out of character for Portland, and not so radical and shocking, it is just accepted as one of those subtle quirks of our social fabric in the Stump.

To expand on the subtlety of "Weird Portland," I wanted to share something I just discovered: the stencil people in the city's bike lanes. You know what they are, stenciled markings of a two-dimensional figure on a bike, indicating where the bike lane is. However, Portland's "bike people" are, naturally, a little different. Apparently they've been around for almost 10 years, when Todd Roberts, an employee of the Office of Transportation, took the liberty of expressing his creativity while on the job. While marking Portland's bike lanes with the customary stenciled bike rider, Roberts began making minor adjustments to the figures. The first of his "bike people" was created when, with extra reflective tape, Todd added a hat to one of the figures. This created a whole new phenomenon of street art. And, as I said earlier, it is so subtle that I hadn't noticed them until recently (with the aid of an article in PDX Magazine).

Anyway, take a look at these photos. I think they're great. To read more about the art and the artists, or just to check out more photos, go to:http://bikeportland.org/2005/09/29/meet-portlands-bike-lane-people/

Although brilliant, I don't know how they get away with these, as they are in officially designated bike lanes, and I would assume are viewed, technically, as street signs. Whatever the case, it's fucking great that they exist and are accepted by the city and Office of Transportation. Maybe it just speaks to Portland's bike culture and artistic breeding ground, but it definitely adds to what makes the city unique.

Tunnels, Tubes and other Dark Spots [Guest Post]

2007-11-16T13:26:00.000-08:00

The following tale is my father's take on his most recent visit to Portland, briefly described in a previous post of mine, Seven Days of Portland Life.

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An odd mixture of religious zealot, scientist and pervert with more than a dash of anarchism thrown in I do not readily fit in anywhere, but I belong in Portland! Spending a week there I was impressed by the social if not racial diversity that abounds in Portland. There is so much life to enjoy on every corner at every hour of the day and especially at night. Olde chronicled some of our exploits in his recent blog but I think a few particular experiences deserve more elaboration. While we exposed ourselves to the snobbish boutiques and cafes of Hollywood/Broadway and NW 21st streets, I much preferred the more lascivious and dark side of the city.

For instance, we attended The Portland Mercury’s annual “talent” event called “Pizzazz!” It was a sordid mixture of the talented and the talent challenged. You haven’t lived till you have seen a unicorn rip its heart out of its chest and squeeze blood all over the stage and the audience, nor till you have seen a middle-aged fat guy sing badly while wearing nothing but a sock over his dong. Put it away sweet cheeks. On the more talented side there were some dancers and tumblers. What impressed me the most though was that the Portlanders in the audience genuinely enjoyed the show! It was cheesy; it was trashy, and certainly campy but it was great fun. There was no jeering though it would have been well deserved a few times.

The night before Halloween we decided to go on the Portland Underground ghosting tour... We met downtown at the Skidmore Fountain at ten pm. Our well meaning and educated host who did look an awful lot like the porn star Jeremy what’s his name did his best to conjure up ghostly images for us while parading us around for an hour or so on the freezing streets of the Portland above ground. Strangely, I was comforted in my misery and old age by a lovely twenty something woman who appeared without explanation, became attached to my arm and in the ethereal mist accompanied me down the steps into the darkness of the underground, to do the unspeakable in my mind, only to disappear abruptly later on in the tour leaving me standing fully clothed and again in my right mind (though into the night I continued to hear the voice of the siren beckoning me to imbibe with her). We explored the maze of corridors interconnecting the basements of many of the buildings; saw the remnants of an opium den, and the cells used to break the will of women to force them into prostitution. We heard the tales of the poor dumb drunk bastards who were drugged, clubbed or otherwise shanghaied by the white slavers. Hmmm, being sold into slavery and loaded onto ships to do forced labor to earn profit for the rich white guys sounded oddly familiar. Oh that’s right Halliburton, yeah the U.S Army… boy things haven’t changed at all.

We decided to go see Jeff, my newly adopted son! We drove to Amboy, Washington about an hour and a half northeast of Portland on the slopes of Mt. St. Helens. After picking up Jeff we drove on to the Ape Cave. Actually there are neither apes nor any cave. What we found was North America’s longest lava tube. A Lava tube is formed by the extrusion of molten lava through itself as it cools on the outside while flowing down an incline. Picture an old fashioned car radio antenna that telescopes out upon itself. Climbing down the stairs from the surface we proceeded to the left down a large open tube approximately 20 feet in diameter and surprisingly flat on the bottom. A very easy walk approximately one half mile downhill to the end then a return trip to the stairway. But now we had a choice. Either go up and out into the warm sunlight or continue to explore the more challenging upper two miles of lava tube. You know that Jeff, Oldie, Kesia and Don Dada chose darkness over light. We proceeded on into the much less-traveled upper tube. No longer was the floor open and passable but rather strewn with huge boulders that had collapsed from the unstable tube roof over our heads. Hand over hand climbing and jumping from one boulder to the next we climbed up into the heart of the mountain itself. At one point scaling an ancient waterfall within the tube we were exposed to the gaseous vapors emanating from the very depths of Mordor itself [That would be my Dad’s anus leakage –Ed.]. As a party we began to despair, considering even the embrace of a perilous escape upward through a vent hole, with the certainty of falling to our deaths if we tried such a foolish venture. We encountered strange beings moving in our direction from the other end of the tube, from our destination. They were unable to speak with any meaning or intelligence and their words were a mere whine in our ears. We suspected their minds had been taken captive by the ever present and croaking rock picas. Having no guidance, no hope, no 40 oz beers, we pressed on agreeing to end our lives together if we didn’t reach the golden ladder in 30 more time units, this latter destiny being avoided when on the 28th unit of time we beheld the spectacle of light, and proceeded up the ladder and into the fresh air, the grip of the rock picas on our minds lessening with every rung. We found ourselves fully clothed and in our right minds, over a 1000 feet higher in elevation than where we had started.

Olde trying hard to find new amusements for his demented father, and being too hung over to consider doing anything else that involved alcohol for at least 8 hours suggested a trip to (Scrabble)Bagby Hot Springs about 65 miles southeast of Portland. Amazingly easy to locate given its relative remoteness, I promised the caretaker of this treasure that we would never tell our friends of its beauty and serenity; that we would never describe the unique single hot spring cone that feeds the 136 degree crystal clear odorless water into hand-hewn troughs that distribute the water between five private tubs (for the modest) and into the original four hand-hewn log tubs out in the open air for the naturists among us. The natives reportedly would travel over 100 miles to enjoy this holy, healing spring. We were fortunate to visit here on a quiet, cool, misty morning. It was a delight to lay out in the log tubs watching the billowing steam waft around us, letting our minds recall the simplicity and integrity of nature, the benefits of focusing on friendships, family and forbearance, the hope of a future based on cooperation rather than exploitation…..Then as if we were in Gorillas in the Mist a hoard of tourists descended on the hot springs, suddenly, noisily, devoid of introspection or reverence. Soon we found ourselves fully clothed and in our right minds hiking on the trail back to the parking lot, expressing our gratitude for the experience by relieving the forest of discarded beer cans [Pabst Blue Ribbon. Thanks, hipsters, I bet you found it ironic to enjoy nature, and then trash it. –Ed.], burned underwear and other signs of the blight called mankind.

On one of my evenings with my boys, after biking around downtown and drinking in Kells’ basement, after over-indulging (make that gorging) on nearly every appetizer on the happy hour menu at the lounge [Portland City Grill –Ed.] on the 30th floor of Big Pink, and after generally having a great time, my soul was still not satisfied. Leaving Olde and Kesia at their apartment, I set out on foot at 1:45 am. I believe you can only see the soul of a city at night, only by experiencing its reality after 2 am: when the only bar open in the neighborhood was Holman’s (a friendly, dark spot); when you can no longer get back from downtown on the Max; when the loudest noises heard are not gang bangers but rather the occasional crash of a dumpster being emptied into a garbage truck. Though I am completely at ease, I must appear to be a threat as the lone pedestrian crosses the street before passing me on the opposite side. Looping up along Sandy Blvd., I discover additional signs of life: Men (only men) coming and going from Steam Portland [Probably had something to do with it being a gay bathhouse. –Ed.]; Men and women entering, but not leaving the Fantasy for Adults Store. No visible police presence. No violence, just people seeking meaning during a too short lifespan. I continue on up Sandy, and then cross back over the highway and head west into the Hollywood district, no longer snobbish, the decent folks having retired hours earlier, the boutiques dark save an occasional window display. I stop for a moment to visit with a man who rides his bicycle by me, rather intoxicated but quite lucid and amicable. On his way to work… I thank god I am not. I pass the Travel Café [Costello’s –Ed.], wishing they were open for a traveler now, but to no end. I console myself by pilfering a hot off the press, still in the bundle copy of the Mercury. At the next shop over, an interior decorator, I am suddenly brought back to reality by the fourth chime of a grandfather’s clock. Finding myself again fully clothed and in my right mind I wander the few blocks back to Olde’s place. I am tired, at peace and impressed by the serenity of Portland at night.

-Don Dada

Reader Recognition

2007-11-14T13:15:00.000-08:00

To all of our three readers, we want you to know you don't go unnoticed. This blog is dedicated to you, our oh so faithful viewers. For without you, there would be no "us."

We realize that in a busy world such as ours, three minutes can be a lifetime. It is no wonder that most of our friends and family cannot find sufficient time to check in on us by reading our blog...and understandably so, since catching up on our favorite TV shows and/or surfing the net for other mindless websites takes an obvious precedence. We also realize that in an age of information, it is easy for facts to get lost in the abundance of new information we are bombarded with, thus most can't even remember our blog URL.

So, to Pork, Aurora, and Gibby (our three cherished readers) we commend you. You go above and beyond, and for your efforts we continue to write (with passion, I might add).

For your loyalty and support, we want to give you some well-deserved recognition. Pork, as most know, is my mom (yes, my mom is an avid reader of Old's and my drunken tales). In addition to being a great mom (and all around person), she is also the (unintentional) queen of one-liners, a great cook, an artist (her handmade cards can't be fucked with), and a die hard Giants fan.

Aurora is Oldie's mother in law. She, too, is an artist and fellow blogger. When not creating art and keeping the spirit of the 1960's in vogue, she can be seen frantically chasing Jesus and professing her feminist ways (I know, quite the mix). Some of Aurora's art can be seen on her blog: http://foxyartstudio.blogspot.com/ Show her some love, folks.

Gibby, a functional alcoholic and all around maniac, is a life-long friend who now lives in Boston. When not drinking or selling stocks (his profession), Gibby puts in work by representing for San Francisco and the Giants on the East Coast, while also harassing me to write more than my fragile little fingers can handle. He is one of our biggest supporters. In fact, he recently visited Stumptown and promised to document his stay by writing a guest blog (how long must we wait, Gib?)

So, to say it again, we thank the three of you. We appreciate your support and hope to, someday, bump our viewership up to 4 or 5.

Drunken Baby Campfest

2007-11-13T15:06:00.000-08:00

I know it's lazy to just throw up some photos, but blog or die, right? Anyways, force yourself to get over it, as you'll be seeing a lot of these kinds of posts from me over the next few weeks as I blaze through my backlog of photos I'd like to share wit'chya'll (that means "with all of you" for those not accustomed to the dialogue of Oklahoman Mongoloids).

The following photos are from a relatively recent camping trip (translate that to "over a year ago") that Kes and I took out to the lovely Oregon coast, namely Sunset Bay and Shore Acres State Parks.

-Arriving in Deuce-One-Seis, we had's to get thuggity thuggity thuggity.

-In all seriousness, this was a great campsite...green, secluded, next to a babbling brook, already stocked with firewood and banana-loving monkey dorks...

-There were dozens of these old tree root canals, preserved by the salt water after this ancient forest was submerged in a rising sea many hundreds of years ago.

-Lots of neat little honeycomb hideouts to, well...hide your honey in? Somebody shoot me in the face for that, please.

-In your face evidence of extra-terrestrial visitations to our corner of the world.

-Talk about a good reason for forced-extinction. Sea urchins recently developed a highly intelligent brain (it's been all over the news), and the best use they can put it to is discovering how to eat rubber bands, something the human race mastered millenia ago.

-Future site of an IKEACOSTCOMART, unless, of course, you vote for Albert Gore in '08.

-Pausing on the way home to direct a Three-Fingered Shocker at Oregon's rival, the State of Washington, better known internationally as Canada, Alaska, or Russia.

You call it meth, I call it soap

2007-11-09T14:40:00.000-08:00

Ahh, the wonderul process of saponification. Much like turning powder cocain into crack rocks, or cooking up some meth, making soap requires some basic preparation similar to the aforementioned home-chemist pursuits.

Oldie and I have decided to embark on a promising and lucrative soap-making venture, one that involves honing our creativity while also embracing our respective entrepreneurial spirits. If all goes as planned, you'll be able to find our product at the Saturday Market, Freddy Meyers, and any locally-owned, stinky hippy shop. If, on the other hand, the soap business does not propel us into economic elite status, it will, at the very least, provide us with homemade Christmas presents to distribute to friends and family.

While not at liberty to share our unique ingredients, I can say that in buying some basic materials, we were recently mistaken for one of the many meth cooks in the Portland metro area. To limit our expenses, and consequently increase our profits (see how easily we've grasped the basic principles of money-making), we decided to buy all of our supplies at the Dollar Store and Goodwill (don't worry, this will not reduce the quality of our soap...rather it becomes more appealing to the green community since we're using recycled goods). On our recent trip to Goodwill (SE 6th St.), we stocked up on most of the essentials: a glass beaker, a measuring cup, a couple cooking pots, a set of goggles, a block cutting instrument, and, of course, a scale.

Now, if you were one of the former homeless/street people that Goodwill employs, what would you think these materials were for? Keep in mind that meth is a huge problem in Portland and, as is widely known, can be cooked up in any kitchen with all store bought materials. So, here we were, Old wearing a shirt with gold chains imprinted on it, buying all the basic materials for preparing meth, or even crack rocks. While I couldn't contain the excitement of soon becoming a soap mogul, it was also difficult to avoid looking like a couple of petty drug makers. I also felt bad for the cashier who I caused to relapse by the site of the goods we purchased.

In any event, if you want to place an order for some soap, leave a comment. Also, if meth is your thing, we have yet to make our first batch of soap, so you can persuade us to alter our venture if you'd rather get high than clean. Follow the money, right....

Seven Days of Portland Life

2007-11-06T15:35:00.000-08:00

Damn you, Dad.

You see, my father was in town last week for seven days, and he wore us ragged. I haven't consumed so much alcohol, eaten such a quantity of rich food, and stayed so busy in what seems like over a year...

In the few days since he went back to his home town of Crescent City (a sleepy ocean-side community in Northern Cali), I've mostly lain about in my pj's avoiding contact with the outside world, fasting to lose the 15 lbs. I gained, and nursing a persistent hangover.

Now I don't want to spoil his blog (coming soon, hopefully) detailing our adventures too much, but I thought I'd paint some broad brushstrokes, toss in a few tidbits of interesting trivia/observations that he may miss, and leave the meat of the story to his forthcoming, sure-to-be epic tale.

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Where to begin...I've got this Ticketmaster pouch stuffed to the gills with napkin scraps, bar receipts, ticket stubs, sticky-notes, and Djarum box inserts, all hurriedly scribbled upon with notes from the week Dad was in the Stump. This isn't looking pretty...

Thursday

-Dad rolls in around midnight:30, we share a few bottles of Mac's Amber Ale, shoot the shit, and hit the hay fairly early in comparison to all nights from here on out...

Friday

-No trip to Portland is complete without rolling to Freddy's (Fred Meyer for all you ignoramuses), stocking up on beer and food, the latter item being completely unnecessary, as we ate out nearly every meal.

-Did the Powell's City of Books thing, another mandatory stop. Dad purchased every Umberto Eco book written and spent the next week wondering what the fuck was going on in Baudolino. I picked up Michael Munk's The Portland Red Guide, J. Maarten Troost's The Sex Lives of Cannibals, and Jonathan Lethem's Men and Cartoons, and Orson Scott Card's The Crystal City (Jeff told you I'm a nerd like that).

-Grubbed on Reuben sandwiches, matzah ball soup, and phosphates at Kornblatt's Delicatessen.

-Happily got lost driving around Portland's many great North and Northeast neighborhoods.

-Stopped off at an Ethiopian market on MLK, and almost purchased a 6 lb. bag of injera (their culture's staple food, made from teff flour).

-Very much enjoyed the happy hour at Cafe Wonder (stiff $2 well-drinks, killer fucking fries).

-Assaulted mounds of southern food at Russell Street Bar-B-Que...Beef brisket w/Classic Virginia Sauce (heavenly, perfectly cooked and seasoned), corn bread (a bit too dry), collard greens (come on guys, it just doesn't work without the meat!), and some of the best mac'n'cheese I've ever devoured.

-Attended the Portland Mercury's annual talent show, Pizzazz, at the Wonder Ballroom. I'll leave it to Pops to report more on this. Suffice to say that City Commissioner Randy Leonard was judging folk's talent (or lack thereof), and the word "Scrabble Bag" was uttered by the host, Wm. Steven Humphrey, in reference to a man's scrotum. Obviously, this quickly became the word of the week.

Saturday

-Rode our bikes down to Rose's for lunch. A better Reuben than Kornblatt's down the street, in my opinion. I also spotted former-Mayor Vera Katz enjoying a meal at the table next to us, dressed incognito with a long-billed gardener's hat pulled down low upon her brow. Wow, she's so tiny...I just wanted to reach out and crush her between my forefinger and thumb.

-Burned off our recent acquisition of an ungodly amount of calories by biking down to the South Waterfront development, then back home along the Eastbank Esplanade (which is named for Vera Katz).

-Tried very hard to order almost everything on the menu at La Terrazza to take advantage of a coupon Dad brought with him, and ended up leaving disturbingly stuffed, a bit soused from the wine, and not very happy with the fact that they advertised freshly-made limonata, but got caught pouring it from a San Pelligrino bottle. Busted, dudes.

-Watched the classic Tarantino/Rodriguez collaboration, From Dusk Till Dawn, at the Laurelhurst, accompanied by a pitcher of Pabst. Such a great movie, but seriously, Sex Machine is the worst character to ever appear on the silver screen. And that's what makes him awesome.

-Hit the bottle hard on a whirlwind tour of some of my favorite bars downtown...

Shanghai Tunnel: If vampires are real, this is where their hipsters hang out.

Kells' cigar basement: Thank you, Mr. Security Guard, for sneaking us in the back door knowing full-well that a $9 cover-charge makes about as much sense as someone giving G. W. Bush his high school diploma.

Someday Lounge: We didn't actually go in here today, but it just reminded me of a time that Jeff and I saw Pigeon John perform here. That dude is a crazy mix of Freddie Kruger and Andre Nickatina. Trust me.

Backspace: Popped our heads in to show Dad this coffee bar/music venue/World of Warcraft geek network/art gallery/tree house.

Ground Kontrol: Tallboys of PBR and TMNT. Unfuckwittable.

Ringlers Annex Cellar Bar: A French Resistance underground honeycomb hideout.

Sunday

-Kes, Dad and I went up to Amboy, WA, grabbed Jeff, then journeyed to the Ape Cave in the heart of Bigfoot country. I'll let Dad fill in the details, but needless to say, there were frog pikas in the darkest depths of the lava tube (one of the longest in North America), my Dad's fart seepage is still killing lost spelunkers, and inexplicably, a sign at the entrance to the cave proclaimed the prohibition of "Butt Raping" down below. Aww, shoot.

-Recharged our cave-weary bones at Sushi Land Marinepolis, a hotbed of Sun Myung Moon cultists. Fuck it, I'll join 'em if they can keep my $1.50 tempura plates coming.

-Relaxed at home with a bottle of wine and watched the romantic comedy, Why We Fight. That affair between Ike and LBJ sure was hot and heavy...if only JFK hadn't of come between them.

Monday

-Politely nibbled nachos and chowed down on chimichangas at the neighborhood Cha! Cha! Cha!, then cradeled cups of coffee at Costello's Travel Caffe up the street.

-Met Kes at Parkrose High and attended the City of Portland Office of Transportation's open house on future Streetcar plans. Geeked out, gave a few suggestions, then stole a couple cookies and a cup 'o Joe on the way out.

-Rode our bikes to Belmont Station's Biercafe to meet Jeff for an Asian beer tasting. Over the next hour we sampled several Indian (Golden Eagle, Haywards 5000, Krait), Chinese (Yanjing), and Laotian (BeerLao) brews, all of which were quite tasty, featuring qualities not usually found in our domestics, with flavors of roasted banana, smoky ash, vanilla malt, and peat bog. The BeerLao was a personal favorite, invoking such varietals as Old English and St. Ides.

-Got our cowboy on at the Laurelhurst, with the so-so 3:10 to Yuma. My friend Matt S. is a major supporting actor, but unfortunately couldn't save this film.

-Enjoyed another drink in the cigar basement at Kells, then headed up to the 30th floor of Big Pink, and dove into the late night happy hour (10pm-close) at the Portland City Grill, ordering 9 appetizers and enough drinks to convince me to steal a lint-roller (what!? why!?) out of the men's bathroom, which I also somehow misplaced on the way home.

Tuesday

-Nursed our hangovers at Costello's once more, lounging about at the house until the evening when we set sail for the Jolly Roger to catch the Blazers' game and watch flies breed. We heart you Sergio (our team's resident gypsy wizard), even if Coach doesn't.

-Joined the Ghosting Tour lead by Portland Underground Tours, a real stinker that I'm sure Dad will fill you all in on. Ron Jeremy was our tour guide, a couple of gypsy girls shanghaied us, and Jeff and I discovered an old opium den while sneaking away from the rest of the group.

Tuesday

-Got up relatively early (1pm) and went on a spiritual journey to the Bagby Hot Springs, located in Yarlsburg, Kentucky (not really, but I don't want to so easily give away it's location...you'll have to do the research yourself if you want to find it). Easily one of the coolest things I've done since moving up to Oregon. Once again, I'll let Dad provide the details on this magical spot. It was featured prominently in last year's Old Joy.

-Smoked a bit of puff on the porch, developed a major craving for ribs, got our hopes dashed when Yam Yam's (made famous by a Mac Dre lyric on local rapper-gone-bad Cool Nutz' Verbal Porn album) was closed due to something called "vacation" and finally landed back at the Russell Street Bar-B-Que.

-Satiated our alchoholic jitters at my favorite dive bar, Lucky's (what Gale's is to Petaluma, Lucky's is to Portland), attempted to drink booze with Johnny Cash at Esparza's (closed...apparently cowboys can't stay up past sunset), and finally settled in for the hard shit at Beulahland, another favorite watering hole.

-Ended the evening, and the adventure, for Dad left early the following morning, with the greatest film ever created, Shaun of the Dead. Oy, prick! Thanks, babe. It's not hip hop, it's electro. Cockacidal maniac. I'm sorry, Shaun. OK, but dogs CAN look up.

==========================

This is how we roll in the 5-0-3. The couch is always waiting.

Rip City Rising?

2007-11-05T10:14:00.000-08:00

A new era in Blazers basketball?

Maybe, but the early results remain eerily similar to the previous year's campaign. After three games, the Blazers have yet to chalk up a win and look as lost on the court as Darius Miles looks in the gym. While the season is way too young to draw any conclusions about the team, it is not too early to point out what is wrong and what needs to change.

For one, the point guard position is up in the air, leaving leadership at the position in question. The starter thus far, Jarrett Jack, has managed to make only three shots in as many games. While the point guard does not always have to be counted on to score, his measly three baskets are a cause for concern because he's attempted more than four times that amount. And worse, the most important stat for a PG, the assist, has also eluded him. He has eight assists in 3 games, compared to nine turnovers. And because the point guard is expected to run the offense, his game has effected the rest of the team.

What seems to be troubling the Blazers is their adjustment to a new, fast paced offense, as well as the lack of defense. When the team attempts to push the ball and run the court (again, the PG plays a huge role here), they look confused, tentative and not completely confident in their attack. This often leads to a turnover, poor shot selection, and/or a cluster fuck of people running around without a clue. This is true on defense, as well, where players seem lost or disinterested. This is another reason Jack has disappointed thus far, as his backup, Steve Blake, appears much more suited to cover opposing guards.

Our big men, too, have shown much to be desired when it comes to pounding the ball inside and grabbing rebounds. Joel Pryzbilla is by far our best rebounder, but due to a weak offensive unit, he is often replaced early by Channing Frye, who subsequently plays poor defense.

There is hope, though. Our two prized draft picks from last year, Brandon Roy and Lamarcus Aldridge, are both averaging about 18 points a game. And not too far behind them is Martell Webster, who, in his third year out of high school, has found some confidence and consistency, while averaging over 16 points a game and showing hustle on the defensive side of the ball. I think that with some consistent play from the PG (a committee of Blake and Sergio Rodriguez most appeals to me), and letting Pryzbilla log more minutes as a defensive-minded, veteran center, we should be able to string some wins together. Our core of Roy, Aldridge and Webster, look to be great, but getting smart and consistent play around them will be key. Let's hope the PG question gets answered soon, and that the rest of the players find their grooves. The home opener is on Wednesday, and it would be very sad for them to lose their fourth in as many games.

Billy Mitchell is God, and I'm a fool

2007-10-24T10:49:00.001-07:00

Oldie did it to me...again. You may have read, a few months back, that Old tricked me in to seeing a movie without telling me what it was. He got me to the theater under the pretense that the movie's description would not do it justice, thus it should remain a secret. It was implied it would be a pleasant surprise. That movie, The Host, was a foreign film that takes place in Seoul, South Korea, where a mutant sea monster terrorizes the city.

Had he told me the plot in advance, I would not have gone. He knew that. He knows I wouldn't go to a lot of movies that he gets thoroughly enthused for.

Fast forward to the present. Last week, Old pulled out the, "Hey, there's a really good movie I want you and Kes to see" card. Now, I've been down this road before, so I was immediately reluctant. However, in the past, I've actually liked the obscure movies he coerced me into seeing. So, being the open minded and hopeful person that I am, I agreed to go. Not without conditions, though. I had him clarify that we weren't seeing one of his fantasy wizard movies, full of magic and sorcery.

When he told me the name of the movie, I tried to imagine a story line. However, with the title, King of Kong: a Fistful of Quarters, I got contradictory images in my head. On the one hand, I was thinking about a giant ape climbing the Empire State Building; on the other, I was thinking about a spoof of the old Spaghetti Westerns with Clint Eastwood. Never did I imagine I would be watching a documentary about two video game legends competing for the world record score in Donkey Kong.

The movie revolves around video game legend, Billy Mitchell, an ego maniacal gamer from the "Golden Age of Arcade Games," and Steve Wiebe, a nice family man with unbelievable Donkey Kong skills. Billy was the first ever to record a perfect score in Pacman and, until recently, was the world's highest scorer in Donkey Kong. Steve is the one who took Billy's record, causing Mitchell to get his panties in a bunch and try to destroy Wiebe's credibility.

The story follows Weibe as he attempts to beat Billy's long-standing record. Billy, on the other hand, shows his sinister side as he argues against the authenticity of Wiebe's eventual high score, while also making attempts to outdo the newbie. It is apparent in the film that Mitchell fears losing the reputation of the "king of kong," as his self-righteous attributes shine brightly throughout. In fact, Billy, at one point in the movie, likens the controversy surrounding him to that of the abortion issue. In multiple scenes, Billy can be seen meticulously combing his long hair prior to making public appearances. In one such public appearance, a reporter asks "how are you." Billy responds, "Perfect, haven't you heard."

Weibe, on the other hand, is the ultimate good guy with a competitive edge. He is a science teacher and family man, with one weakness: he is extremely obsessive. It is this obsessiveness that leads him down the path to Donkey Kong stardom, as he eventually unseats Mitchell as the King of Kong. Whereas Billy is sneaky and will do whatever it takes to remain the king (including sending in a potentially doctored video of him achieving a high score while playing), Weibe makes an attempt to play his record breaking games in public or recording quality videos of his play, leaving little question of the authenticity of his achievements.

The cast of the movie is rounded out with an assortment of odd characters who all share a common trait: they have a weakness for old school video games. Most are in their late 30's, hailing from the same "Golden Age of Arcade Games." They are geeky, snobby, and have amazingly poor social skills. They refer to girls as DDG, or "drop dead gorgeous," and use their video game superiority as some sort of social status. They live by the motto, "never surrender," and when they beat opponents they refer to their win as "a shellacking." Many of them have formed an official club of gamers called Twin Galaxies. This club has since become the official referee in the video gaming world. They authenticate and make official all video game records. As such, the Guinness Book of World Records depends on Twin Galaxies to report respective record holders. It is no coincidence that Billy Mitchell is good friends with the Twin Galaxies consortium, and subsequently had a huge influence on the tribulations Steve Wiebe went through in pursuing the record.

As in the movie, The Host, I found myself intrigued with what I was watching. The urge to end my friendship with Old upon hearing about the move waned, and I ended up liking it. As a result, Oldie's reputation for finding quality, albeit obscure, odd-ball movies holds.

Week in Review

2007-10-21T19:28:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd take a page out of Old's book and offer some tidbit news items for our readers. The last week was a busy one for Portland, in which the national spotlight was on our dear little Stumptown.

- First, the city got to show the world how well our emergency response teams, as well as city leaders, handle staged terrorist attacks. As you read in an earlier post, the Department of Homeland Security chose Portland to host TopOff4, a terrorism-preparedness exercise designed to measure our ability to respond to crisis situations. The supposed dirty bomb was detonated on Monday, and as the week played out, pretend victims (with fake blood and all) were admitted to hospitals (OHSU participated, as did a local high school fronting as a trauma center) and fake news reporters documented the catastrophic events. City buses were used to play the part of fire trucks and bomb-sniffing dogs were used to sniff out any remnants of other terrorist weapons. As it turns out, the multi-million dollar operation wasn't all just fun and games. While police dogs were sniffing out the "terrorists," a car belonging to a Homeland Security official gave off the smell of explosives, alerting multiple dogs to the car. Multiple blocks in the area were closed off, with local businesses and schools also proceeding with lock-out procedures. The actual scare didn't produce anything of substance, though, and all was declared safe some hours later.

- Speaking of terrorism, the nation's most "feared racist skinhead group," as labeled by the Anti Defamation League, came to town a couple weekends ago. The Hammerskin Nation (see dufus on left) chose Portland to celebrate the anniversary of their formation in Dallas, TX 20 years ago. While Portland is generally perceived as a liberal outpost, it is not without its racist roots. Volksfront, one of the most active skinhead groups in the U.S., was created in Oregon in the 1990s. Also, in 1988 an Ethiopian immigrant was beaten to death in Portland by members of East Side White Pride, a gang affiliated with Volksfront. Luckily, as the area is becoming more diverse, and its liberal ideals are strongly being maintained, Portland is seeing less activity of racist groups. However, the gathering of the Hammerskin Nation in the area is still disturbing. As it turns out, the public hall that was rented for the event (under the front of a reunion of old band members) received enough complaints that the gathering was shut down by its owners, leaving the foreskins, I mean hammerskins, without a place to gather. Yay!

- The president of Major League Soccer, Mark Abbott, was in town the other day. He and MLS commissioner, Don Garber, met with Merritt Paulson, the owner of the Portland Timbers, to discuss the possibility of bringing an expansion team to the city. If chosen, the city of Portland would have an MLS team beginning play in 2010 or 2011. They would most likely play at PGE park, on the condition that the park is renovated to MLS standards. Such a renovation would likely cost $50 million. An additional $30 mil would be paid as a fee to MLS to bring Portland its second professional sports franchise. In speaking of Portland, Garber stated, "this is a soccer town" and it "is a passionate soccer community." While I don't follow soccer, it would be a huge boost to the sports community and, if successful, may put Portland closer to acquiring another sports franchise in the future (please, for Christ's sake, bring baseball to Portland).

Fat-Faced Caricatures

2007-10-18T19:45:00.000-07:00

I must admit that I haven't caught a South Park episode in years (a decade?), most likely since abandoning channel surfing back in high school. However, who can deny the greatness that is the South Park character. This site was passed my way, and allows you to create your own no-neck fat head caricature.

Go ahead, release your inner dress-wearing, chain-smoking, sword-wielding, bald and bearded, gypsy spaceman.

Here's my (quite accurate) self-rendition:

They're really just more intricate Peanuts characters, aren't they?

Portland: First Impressions (Guest Editorial)

2007-10-16T11:41:00.000-07:00

Here's the first of (hopefully) many future posts by a featured guest. If you are interested in writing for our blog, send a sample post to either Jeff or myself.

This one is courtesy of our friend Anto, and was originally featured on his blog, 10 Days & 10 Nights, detailing his first visit to Portland in the summer of last year.

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Friday, June 09, 2006
First Impressions: Portland

Where do I begin? I guess it would have to be with the word vagine, pronounced, vajeen. I was greeted at the airport by rain and 80 degree weather, a combination I had yet to experience in life, and I had to say, it was good. I met the green one at around 8:00 pm and went directly to a hole called Ole Ole, and had the best fuckin' taco I've had in my life and was greeted by two other friends, Old and Kesia. So far so good, as I ate my taco I could see Green plotting on what kind of touristic fairy adventure he was going to take me on next, the Rose Garden....no, too late. One of the 78 bridges that occupy Portland.....no, he knew I wouldn't go for that. So he took me to a place he knew I would love...a bar [Doug Fir Lounge -Ed.]. This wasn't no ordinary bar, at least not one I'm accustomed to, no this bar was weird, not weird in a bad way not at all, but almost....too good to be true and here's why: We didn't get arrested, and get this, we didn't even get kicked out!!!! Let me explain why this doesn't make sense. Old called out 4 girls to fight me like he was fuckin' Don King and I was Tyson, it didn't happen but by the looks on the girls' faces and the speed at which they left, they well knew that it could have. 45 minutes later I made an executive decision to break a beer bottle on someones hotel door, 25 yards away, it had to be done. 30 minutes after that I tried my darnedest to convince K.C. to throw one at a girl's head, all in honor of the word of the week, Vagine. Shortly after, I remember, vaguely, throwing a girl to the floor to test her wrestling skills, she was nothing, as I crushed her easily, then realized she didn't even work with Green, and she just wanted to get man-handled. As you could imagine, I was promptly cut off from the bar service.....now here is where it gets weird, we didn't even drink that much. Now, I know what your thinking "that much"? I have been known to consume more alcohol than the average and have a knack for getting those around me drunk. Here is what was on the manifest: 2 shots of whiskey, 2 jagermeister, 1 homosexual concoction, and about 5 beers....are you fuckin' kidding me????? I usually drink that much on the way to the bar just to wet the ol' whistle, but I was acting like a drunken nutcase and that usually calls for at least a fifth of something. I woke the next day with questions, Green & Old had no explanation, they threw up profusely the night before so I know they felt my confusion, but seemed not to question it as much. Was it the altitude? Something in the drinks? Borat? What gives? This was beautiful, I saved at least $300 that night as opposed to Bay Area drinking, and had Old not fucked with the POS system at the bar to "check his e-mails" we might not have been cut-off and experienced a near death alcoholic experience, ( I love those ) with only a handful of drinks....????!!!!! Where was I? It seems The Lord created a perfect little city up there. Day two was uneventful and not worth discussing, except of course for Ethiopian food [at Blue Nile Cafe - Ed.], a contradiction in itself, but rather yummy, and as for day three, well, I'm going to have to pass the mike to the Mick and let him tell his side because my side was, to say the least, blurred. All in all, I had a blast and want to thank the natives for showing a Bay Area boy a great time, thanks Green, Old, Kesia, Cassie, K.C. (doesn't that get confusing?) I'll see you guys soon enough. Out.

Watch out for that dirty bomb

2007-10-15T10:20:00.000-07:00

Portlanders will be in for a treat on Tuesday, 10/16, for it is not everyday one witnesses the intentional detonation of a dirty bomb and subsequent emergency response of the city's authorities. This Tuesday, though, you can soak under a cloud of radiation and watch the police, firemen, paramedics, and city leaders scramble to show how well Portland can respond to a terrorist attack....sort of.

It's all pretend, of course.

The dirty bomb won't really have radioactive components in it (darn). However, everyone from the mayor on down to 911 (they'll use 211 on this day, so as not to jam the real emergency response line) operators will have to act like it's a dirty bomb, thus showing the world how prepared we are for terrorist attacks. The mission, dubbed "Topoff4," and overseen by the Department of Homeland Security, is a practice run of what the government wants us all to fear: freedom-hating terrorists, with an arsenal of biological weapons, bringing their savage ways to a city near you. It is the government's hopes that such a mission will allow us to further prepare for, and simultaneously prevent, a situation similar to the World Trade Center attacks on 9/11.

Sounds like a good plan. At least when we are again caught off guard by a terrorist attack, we can say we did all we could to prepare. However, after two years since the last Topoff mission, a public report has yet to be filed, in effect keeping all findings from the test results a secret (I thought it was to provide insight in the event of a real attack). In this mission, the fourth carried out since 9/11 across various US cities, a dirty bomb will be detonated on the Steel Bridge (really at the Portland Raceway), causing a domino effect of panic, scurry, emergency response, and, naturally, a restoration to peace and order (for we can't let the terrorists win...maybe we should also practice shopping afterward to boost the economy and let them know our way of life won't be impacted by their threats). The mission will include the participation of 15,000 people, from police and EMTs, to Mayor Tom Potter and fake news reporters (I'm sure real media outlets will be there, too, to report on the silliness). Governor Kulongoski will even be around to make sure Portland is not taken over.

If you want to show off your emergency preparedness skills at Topoff4, show up to Portland International Raceway at 9:00 am on Tuesday. Don't forget your sunglasses and hazmat suits, though.

Underdog Lucky Lab Declared Preeminent Portland Brewery

2007-10-12T13:28:00.000-07:00

The results of our most recent poll, asking who the finest brewery is in Stumptown:

Lucky Lab: killed the competition, taking 33% of the vote.
McMenamin's: 18% (Seriously? Their IPA tastes like Band-Aids.)
BridgePort, Laurelwood, Old Lompoc, MacTarnahan's, and Widmer Bros. all tied, with a respectable 8% each.
Hair of the Dog, Tugboat, and Rockbottom: 0%...better improve your marketing department, folks.

Make sure to participate in our newest poll...now that the rains are here in all their Biblical Flood proportions, what's your favorite rainy day activity? This poll will run through next month, as well, since it got off to such a late start.

Thanks for the interaction, peeps.

Ghosts of Celilo

2007-10-10T10:24:00.000-07:00

For 10,000 years, the mid-Columbia River has been a sacred and traditional fishing area for local Native Americans, referred to as River People. These River People, or Wy-Kan-Ush-Pum (literally, Salmon people), were made up of the Nez Perce Nation, the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation, the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs Reservation, and the Confederated Tribes and Bands of the Yakama Indian Nation. These tribes were made up of different ancestral groups and familial bands that all, to varying extents, made a subsistence on the river and the fish that swam its waters.

One group in particular, the Wyampum, prospered in their fishing village, Wyam, and have roots in the area that span more than 10 millenia. Wyam, which translates to "Echo of Falling Water" or "Sound of Water upon the Rocks," was a sacred fishing site that saw many generations of fishermen support their village with the fish they caught. The Wyampum built intricate fishing systems along the falls, which included wooden platforms and scaffolding that allowed dipnetters and spear-fishermen to stand over the falls for better access to the fish runs. The significance of Wyam, now called Celilo Falls (just over an hour from Portland), extends beyond the food the river provided. The fishing activity also increased the areas importance as a trading site, where other tribes would come to trade for salmon, steelhead and eel, with commercial canneries purchasing what was not eaten and traded among the locals. In more recent times, the intricate fisheries along the river became somewhat of a tourist attraction ("Hey, mom, look at the Indians fishing!"). To say the least, Wyam, or Celilo, was historically important and culturally deep.

All that changed, though, 50 years ago when, in the name of progress and modernity, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers dammed the river in an attempt to generate hydro-electric power. When the dam's floodgates were closed in 1957, and the river's flow impeded, Celilo became an afterthought, as the fisheries were destroyed and the falls and village flooded. The people whose life blood had been the falls, were now left with a diminishing food source and a lot less land...not to mention the complete loss of 10,000 years of history and tradition.

To mark 50 years since the historic travesty, Marv Ross, in conjunction with Artists Repertory Theater and Youth Resources Incorporated, has brought the story back to life with his play, Ghosts of Celilo . The story revolves around four ghosts, all stuck beneath water in the flooded village of Celilo. Each of the four ghosts are connected by their respective relation to the main characters, Chokey Jim (Noah Hunt) and Train (ColtonLasater). By figuring out their connections, and thus retelling the story of events leading up to the damming, the ghosts will be able to escape the purgatory they've found themselves in under the river. Mary, one of the spirits (played by Chenoa Egawa), is the mother of Train, a boy from Celilo who is kidnapped, along with his friend Chokey, and taken to an Indian boarding school. The man who kidnaps the two boys, Inky (Kevin Michael Moore), is the second of the four ghosts. He and Mary are joined under water by the ghosts of Big Eddie (Thomas Morning Owl Jr.), who, despite being from Celilo, helps the missionaries run the said boarding school, and The Colonel (Corey Brunish), an Army engineer assisting with the completion of the dam. The story follows Chokey (loosely based on the life of Nathan Jim) as he seeks to escape the boarding school and return to Celilo before the eventual flooding of his village. The play comes together as a musical interpretation of the lives that were effected by the river and its subsequent damming, as well as what Native Americans were forced to endure as the encroaching white population sought to make them assimilate into their society.

Marv Ross' production, with the direction of Greg Tamblyn and musical contributions of Chenoa Egawa, manages to turn a sad and unfortunate story into one of strength, perseverance and deep cultural history. To see the play, you must do so before its last showing on the 14th of October. For more information, or to buy tickets, visit the website, http://www.ghostsofcelilo.com.

Avoid the Extra Glucosa...

2007-10-08T17:16:00.000-07:00

As Jeff has frequently informed our loyal readers, I am a huge fan of the "gibblet." The gibblet (or nibblet, tiddbit, nuggeeeeet and dozens of other variations) refers to a tasty little snack, preferably of the greasy, fried variety. I search high and low for new additions to my regular rotation of gibblets, often purchasing well more than I can ever eat alone or store at home (often leading me to pass them off onto the homies...Jeff is currently babysitting at least four recent purchases at the moment). A recent find is the Vietnamese snackpack called Trai Cay Say. It's basically a bunch of fruits and starches (pineapple, banana, taro root, sweet potato, and jack fruit) of the dried, fried, and salted kind.

Anyway, while snickersnacking this afternoon, I decided to attempt to decipher some of the Vietnamese language present on the bag when I spotted a small paragraph of English...If anyone can tell me what this means, I'll change my name to Pol Pot.

By the special processing industry used in the process of production of dry products from fresh fruits. No chemical substance is used, but the colour and natural flavour is well maintained. These dried products have also the peculiarity of sweet, smelling, appetite, crispness, tempting taste. Provide many nutritive facts, vitamins, mineral necessary for the body, avoid the extra glucosa.

Kinda makes you hungry...

Greasy Tidderbites

2007-10-02T10:19:00.000-07:00

Assorted news and adventure updates...reading Jeff's sarcastic (and ironic...you hipster!) last entry has sucked all the creativity out of my heart and soul, so this is what you get:

Jeff and I took a trip on down to City Hall to participate in a City Council session. Little did we know that we were trapped in a 3-hour discussion on developer subsidies. Wow. We spent the entire time barely containing giggle-laughter whenever we glanced over at Dan Saltzman obviously suffering from an overdose of methamphetamine cut with black tar heroin.
Kes and I checked out the new Cha Taqueria & Bar over on NW 21st and Everett and were not impressed. Items similar to their other, far less snooty, locations were double, sometimes triple, the price. The service was terrible, and our server wouldn't let us participate in their happy hour despite arriving 20 minutes before it ended. Booo. Their al pastor was muy delicioso y autentico, carved straight from the lump of pork rotating in front of the mini-heater, with pina juice dripping down it's exterior. My mouth waters, but not for 3 bucks a piece.

As a way to celebrate my heritage, I participated in and received a third place award in the grease-tossing contest at the Festa Italiana. Next year, I swear I'll conquer you both, Mama Giordani and Don Giuseppe!
Finished off this year's Flicks on the Bricks series (an outdoor screening of family-friendly films, projected onto a 10 story tall inflatable plastic TV smack-dab in the middle of Pioneer Courthouse Square) with the time capsule of my childhood, Stand By Me. Remember these: I got dibs, your ass is grass, give me some skin, that's boss, cock knocker, you wet end...? A true 80's homage to youthful vernacular.

With the closing day of summer, Jeff, Kes and I mourned the death of another Portland institution, the Parking Lot Movie. For as long as we've been here, MacTarnahan's brewery has been showing great films like Where the Buffalo Roam, and The Big Lebowski on a projection screen in their parking lot...viewers crowd around in camp chairs or lounge on the still-warm asphalt, sipping on brew and celebrating summer. Well, no longer. Due to shitty weather the last few weeks, attendance was almost non-existent at the screenings, causing them to drop the affair altogether. We found this out while settling down in the parking lot for what we thought was a night of some Harold & Maude. Oh well, I'm sure someone else will start these up again if Mac's isn't up to the task...

I'll finish off with this gem. Close your eyes and imagine that you're hanging out at home, enjoying some good ol' PCP and peyote tea, then BAM! you wake up and this is the scene you've gotten yourself into:

Campus safety officers found a man masturbating and choking himself in the dumpster yard after they found an illegally parked car near his location that was later reported stolen. The masturbation location was visible from several dozen apartments. He was found with a cloth tied around his foot, genitals, and neck, and he was pulling the cloth with his foot. The man said he did not know how he got to the location and appeared to be under the influence of a narcotic, according to a Campus Public Safety report. (taken from PSU's daily paper, the Vanguard)

King Lou in Portland

2007-10-01T11:00:00.000-07:00

"Who so pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of England."

According to legend, only one true king would be able to pull out the sword mentioned in the quote above. If you remember your bedtime stories well, you'd know that Arthur, the young king-to-be who was mentored by Merlin, would be that fateful person. After removing the sword from the stone, he would grow up to be the storied King Arthur, who, along with his Knights of the Round Table, would bring honor back to Britain.

After many theatrical depictions of this mythological story, King Arthur again returns to the stage in Portland. The challenge, though, was to find the right person to portray King Arthur. This person would be expected to embody honor, chivalry and bravery, as well as inspire the romantic in all its viewers. After searching far and wide, only one person could be found to capture the essence of the Royal Arthur: Lou Diamond Phillips. Yes folks, none other than Lou Diamond Phillips will be delighting Portland theater-goers as King Arthur in Lerner and Loewe's, Camelot.

While the memory of him in Young Guns, as the Native American and spiritual leader of the Regulators, may prevail, it was his portrayal of Richie Valens (really Ricardo Valenzuela) in La Bamba that really captured the hearts of Americans. But if his serenading Donna in La Bamba didn't cement his name in Hollywood history, his performance as a high school drop-out and gang member, who overcomes all obstacles to become an honor roll calculus student, must have surely sealed the deal....for the genius of Lou Diamond Phillips is undeniable.

This was only the start of Lou's career, though, as his star was only just beginning to shine. He later went on to wow audiences in the eventual sequel to Young Guns, cameoed alongside Michael J. Fox in an episode of Spin City, and made a compelling appearance in Brokedown Palace (the mega-hit starring Claire Danes). Lou was even considered to replace Fox Mulder in X-Files, but was apparently over-qualified for the TV roll. His fame has most recently peaked with an occasional appearance on the show, Numb3rs, and now on stage as King Arthur. Fans of Lou must be proud to see how far he has come and, no doubt, will show their support when he performs in Camelot this week, October 2-7, at the Keller Auditorium. You can get your tickets at Fred Meyer or call Ticketmaster at (503) 790-ARTS.

Murder Bliss

2007-09-26T13:20:00.000-07:00

ec·sta·sy

-noun, plural -sies.
1. rapturous delight.
2. an overpowering emotion or exaltation; a state of sudden, intense feeling.
3. the frenzy of poetic inspiration.
4. mental transport or rapture from the contemplation of divine things.

Sure, after reading this article describing the growing prevalence of ecstasy in the Yay Area, it's obvious that the word is being used to describe the drug MDMA, or Thizz.

But what if it wasn't? What if the news item was really using the word ecstasy as it's meant for hundreds of years...

15-year-old Tyiesha Farr of Richmond said ecstasy gave her a rush: "Whoo - it was fun!" she said. "I'm not going to lie, it was fun."

...Oakland Police said they have been seeing more homicides related to ecstasy.

"A lot of our homicides, if you talk to the suspects, a lot of them are under the influence of ecstasy when they're committing these crimes..."

...[T]he May 19, 2007 shooting of Oakland officer Kevin McDonald is one of many examples where the suspect admitted to...ecstasy.

Future Ecstatic Murderer

J.B. Obrien's

2007-09-24T10:10:00.000-07:00

No, not one of my relatives...J.B. Obrien's is an Irish pub in King City, cleverly serving as a front for the faithful Philly fanatics who have migrated west. Every Sunday during football season, Eagles fans flock to J.B. Obrien's to root for their beloved team. The group, officially called the Eagles Nest, pay a membership fee of $35 for the season and, in return, get a weekly orgy of drunken, football-viewing revelry. With the $35 fee, members also get a yearly gift (for example, this year's members all receive an Eagles rain jacket). In addition to buying yourself entry into the club, as well as a cool gift, the $35 goes back to the group to pay for random free prizes and general upkeep of the club (such as maintaining the website).

I went to the Eagles Nest this last Sunday with Bobby, a PA transplant. He's been a member the last two years, but with an odd work schedule, he has missed the early part of this season, as he had to work on Sundays. With good sense, he has since quit his job and can now look forward to Sunday football. So, knowing that I'm a big football fan and don't have easy viewing access to my home team (Go Niners!!!!), he brought me along (for they have an abundance of TVs playing other NFL games).

Initially, I was excited to watch the Niners as they attempted to push their record to 3-0. However, I was so overwhelmed by the chants, banter, cheering, and harassment, that I had a hard time focusing on the small TV that showed my team getting beat by the Steelers. Rather, I found myself more entrenched in people watching, as well as witnessing an epic, 56 point, offensive romp by the Eagles.

The game was only a small part of the experience, though. The main draw, at least from an outsider's point of view, was the sheer passion these folks had for their team, as well as the manner in which they expressed it. For example, after every touchdown, the bartender blasts a stereo playing the Eagles fight song. I couldn't tell you the lyrics, other than that people sing and clap to a "fly high, eagles" themed song, with it culminating in a loud chant-like spelling of E-A-G-L-E-S. Throughout the game, fans cheer and randomly state that the Giants and Cowboys suck (no, they weren't playing either of those teams...that's why it was awesome). And as people get more and more drunk, it gets louder and louder, with fellow fans beginning to mock each other. The most telling example is of a woman who belts out her shrieks of excitement or disappointment after every play. As her voice is a tad on the annoying side, the table of faithfuls behind her all mockingly repeat the shrieks in a point to shut her up...all in good fun, though. Another example of inter-group harassment is when the group, unrelentingly, give shit to the old man of the group. This elderly gentleman is responsible for selling raffle tickets for the 50-50 drawing (half the money goes to the winner, the other half gets reinvested into the club). So with every opportunity he gets, he stands up, bangs his empty pitcher on the table and says, "Listen up, you cheap sons of bitches, it's time to buy some raffle tickets...we've only raised $150 so far." While this man is well respected in the group, and an integral member, it does not stop people from responding with, "shut up, old man," and "sit down" and "get out of the way." In the end, everybody buys raffle tickets and high fives the guy (at right).

At half time, a handful of people head outside to toss a football around. This is done in the parking lot, which is filled with cars and trucks sporting Eagles flags, decals, and custom license plates. After a session of catch (reminiscent of childhood two-hand touch), everybody returns to the bar to catch the second half. By this time, the guy selling raffle tickets is in full force, attempting to sell as many tickets as he can before the 4th quarter drawing. His pitcher-banging routine continues, receiving even more taunts and harassment. One standing tradition among members is to make the guy work as much as possible. So, as he states that "this is the last chance to buy a ticket," and proceeds to do a countdown (going once, going twice...), there is always one person who, at the very last moment, says he needs a ticket. This goes on to the point where the old man gets frustrated and ends the routine. On this occasion, he returns the harassment with, "Eat shit and die," to the guy who tries to buy one last ticket. Hilarious!!!

Eventually there is a drawing, with the winner taking half the pot. The game soon winds to an end, and everybody returns high fives, hopeful of another romp next week. All in all, it's a good experience...even if you're not an Eagles fan. Despite being a 15 minute drive from Portland (in Terwilliger, Tualitin, Tigard, or one of those SW suburbs), it's a great place to catch a game. Just don't wear a Cowboys jersey.

Portland Music Scene Pt. III (MusicfestNW)

2007-09-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

Yaaaawn...two weeks later, and I'm still recovering my life force chi energy from this year's MusicfestNW, an annual music festival hosted by the guys and gals over at Willamette Week. Unlike the free, all ages, all local PDX Pop Now! festival, this one is comprised of local and national acts, is spread across seemingly every good venue in town (most of which are 21 and up...sorry kiddos), and costs an elitist $40.00 for an all access festival pass, which while much more than most cats in Portland spend on shows (most are in the free-$8 range) really isn't a bad deal when you do the math. Four days of solid music from 8pm onward, one could theoretically hit ~20 separate concerts. I felt like a gangster for dragging my exhausted ass to 15, which works out to $2.67/show. Not too shabby if I must pat myself on the back. Anywaay...

Thursday, Sept. 6th:

Venue: Roseland Theater
9:00pm: Sandpeople
-A few months go by, and boy do I forget how poor the sound system is at the Roseland. Extremely unsophisticated tweaking of the board, heavily favoring copious amounts of bass, which apparently is what a hip hop show is all about right? Wrong. I like to be able to hear the beats and, heaven forbid, the lyrics, not just a throbbing chest thump that makes my eardrums bleed. The next few hours would leave me with a ringing pain in my right ear that I'm only now beginning to recover from. Alas, Sandpeople, I'm sure you were dope, but I couldn't understand a single line spit and it didn't help that seemingly all eight of the emcees on the stage rapped over each other's versus, creating an extremely muddled echo effect. I know these locals are better than this...go see their CD release show at Berbati's on Oct. 6th with The Grouch, which will be a much better show, I'm sure.

10:00pm: Blue Scholars
-This duo is one of my favorite groups doing hip hop music at the moment. Unrelenting energy and intelligence with the most solid style I've heard in years. These cats are so personable, they even got a Portland crowd to cheer for Seattle (where they hail from)...that's got to be a first.

11:00pm: Aesop Rock
-If you don't know about this dude, please wake up from your 10 year coma, go purchase Labor Days or Float, find a quiet dark dank place to relax in, and prepare to be intrigued. This show was my motivating factor for going to the festival in the first place, and homeboy didn't disappoint. By the way, Portland, what the fuck is up with throwing shit at the DJs and emcees at rap shows...I swear, I'll sodomize your ear hole if I catch you perpetrating like that again.

Venue: Berbati's
Midnight: Roky Erickson & the Explosives
-Roky has a fascinating story (click on the link above for the wikipedia entry), and tonight's show was hyped the fuck up. In the 60s this guy enjoyed a great deal of counterculture fame, then underwent a dark couple of decades of paranoid schizophrenic and electro convulsive therapy, and is now back on the comeback wagon...unfortunately, he seems to have lost some of his edgy creativity in the process. Sure this is some good ol' rock 'n roll, but

Friday, Sept. 7th:

Venue: Doug Fir
9:00pm: Au
-Only caught the last minute or two of their last song, but was impressed with what I heard...nice experimental folk mood noise.

10:00pm: Tiny Vipers
-Jesy Fortino sang some hauntingly beautiful and melancholy songs. The crowd at Doug Fir sat silent and intently focused on the broken bird plucking at strings upon the stage, inwardly betting on how soon she'd fly away in frightened delight.

11:00pm: Eric Bachman
-Eric and Co. couldn't quite capture my imagination with the whole Bruce Springsteen/Bob Dylan shtick. Took the opportunity to capture my daily intake of gin and tonics. Spent the next 45 min. kicking myself for not going to see Laura Gibson instead.

Midnight: Grizzly Bear
-Wow. Heard mixed things about this Brooklyn-based folksy-experimental group, but I think I'm sold. Maybe it was the temporary alcoholism, but I was really feeling these guys. Not sure I'd hang out and spin their CD, but this is some very engaging shit live, the harmonizing voices giving me goosebumps at times...and I really hesitate to admit that.

Saturday, Sept. 8th:

Venue: Mission Theater
Noon: About a Son
-Still not sure how I managed to drag myself to this event so goddamn early in the day, but sure am glad I did. It's basically a series of interviews with Kurt Cobain, given a year before he committed harikari, played over some truly beautiful video of the Washington locales that Cobain spent time in throughout his life (Seattle, Olympia, etc.). More interesting than Last Days, for sure.

Venue: Audiocinema
6:30pm: Ghostface Killa
-Arrived at 5:30p to see Ghostface, and found myself in a line of hundreds, circling all the way around the block. Expressing my incredulity, I shouted out that Ghostface was played out a decade ago. Then I jumped in line, though I really should have just gone home. Appropriately, there was an ice cream truck handing out free popsicles and drumsticks to ward off the heat...if you don't get the reference, you never were a Wu fan. Got inside, and realized that I was an hour early, and was forced to listen to LA's The Bronx, some crazy death metal punk that did nothing for my Shaolin audio-cravings. Ghostface took the stage finally, and subjected me to the worst hip hop show I've ever been to, and likely will ever till the end of my days. Tony Stark rapped intermittently, leaving most of the MCing to his Killa Bees crowding the stage. One of his new "jams" had this lyrical gem of a hook: "Pop your colla/get your dolla"...so original, so inspired. For the last few songs, Ghostface invited ten 14 year olds up on stage, and proceeded to launch into songs with hooks like "get yo pussy wet" and "stuff shit in your vagina"...that's game? The best tracks of the night came when the DJ threw on ODB's Return to the 36 Chambers and let the crowd rap along to Shimmy Shimmy Ya, and Brooklyn Zoo. Ah, the memories.

[Took a break over at Shanghai Tunnels to slurp down a delicious noodle bowl, and chatted it up with a recently-returned Iraq-war vet who said he had "lots of fun blowing shit up."]

Venue: Roseland Theater
9:00pm: The Cool Kids
-So "Cool" that they didn't even show up for their set.

10:00pm: The Lifesavas
-Really, I've talked enough about these guys in previous posts for you to realize that you can't sleep on these dudes. Go buy their albums, show some love for the locals, do right by God or some such shit.

11:00pm: Girl Talk
-I'd never heard of Greg Gillis, but apparently he's the maestro of mashup music...think mixing Lil' Wayne, Cypress Hill, The Pixies, and New Kids On the Block together into a danceable orgy of ear fun. Folks rocked out so heavily that half-way through his set you could see a delicate multi-colored mist hovering above the crowd from evaporating sweat. A thing of beauty to behold.

Midnight: Clipse
-Cocaine raps, plain and simple. This Virginia duo does it better than most, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd heard it all before. Not that I didn't enjoy their shit, but I felt slightly guilty for not sticking to my original plan by going to see Pierced Arrows and The Obituaries. Ah well.

Sunday, Sept. 9th:
-Yeah. Right. There was no chance in hell that I was going to pull myself together to make it to the final smattering of shows (Swim Swam Swum, Holy Fuck, and Wolf Parade). Just didn't happen. Slept like 13 hours instead and have no regrets. A great festival...man, I love this city.