Dirty Word

Ashley, Nica & Alex @ SE 42nd & Halsey

Somewhere in between the run-of-the-mill and the run-to-the-store sequence of our lives, there is poetry.  The poetry of this photo is a dirty word.  Do you see it?  

Playoffs

Charles & Carrie @ Rose Garden

The prediction I gave Carrie before Game 4:  "It'll be awhile, but if you're really patient, you might just see the Blazers win a championship".  

Better luck next year Rip City.  

Put a Fucking Bird on It

Josh Gates @ The Crap Factory

Apparently in Portland, you can't call it "Art" unless you "put a bird on it".  What started off as a lame hook from the show, Portlandia, has since become a tired in-joke for the region.  Seriously, it's almost as played out as "That's what she said" or "Don't have a cow, man" and typing it myself makes me very, very ashamed.  Yet, in order for my photo series to have any credibility in this ridiculous city, it is necessary for me to eschew good taste and (yawn) "put a bird on it".  So... 

You know what Josh says about birds?  Fuck 'em, that's what.  Back in the summer of 2009 when we were housemates, we threw an epic party; a party so wild and outrageous that Josh broke his foot partying so hard.  He spent the rest of the summer hobbling around on crutches and eating pints of Haggen Dazs ice cream.  One hot summer day, at the apex of his misery, Josh saw a crow sitting on a telephone wire.  The crow looked smarmily down on him, gloating as though it were the epitome of freedom.  "Fuck you bird," Josh blurted out, flipping it off.  The crow just sat on it's perch dumbly and poor Josh crutched back home to eat his ice cream and watch "Groundhog Day".    

So yeah:  Fuck you bird and Fuck you "put a bird on it" jokes.  This ends now, before Voodoo Donuts introduces a "put a bird it" maple-bacon bar.  This ends now, before Stumptown baristas introduce a "put a bird on it" foam art latte.  This ends now, before the (formerly) "Made in Oregon" sign on Burnside is revamped yet again to read  "put a bird on it".  You know how it ends?  As sexual innuendo, that's how.  From this point forward, "put a bird on it" refers to ejaculating on your partner.  "Me and Suzie had a great date; we had dinner, saw a movie, and then I put a bird on it".  There.  It is done.  Now stop repeating dumb catchphrases and go put a bird on someone.      

*Just for the record Josh is awesome and loves animals when he is fully mobile.  He is also really funny and writes comics, which you can check out at his site Class of '99.

Super Fan

 Carl @ SE 37th & Washington

You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who loves AC/DC as much as this man.  For years, his animated AC/DC window light has shook SE 37th Ave all night long.  He also occasionally hangs out on the corner dressed as a catholic schoolboy just like Angus Young.  When I first saw him burst out of his home in his Angus-duds,  I assumed he was a musician in a cover band or something, but no, he's just a simple man who loves loves loves AC/DC.  

One evening on my bike ride home from the dayshift, I overheard some killer guitar riffs squealing out of a red, AC/DC decal adorned pick-up truck parked on SE 37th and Washington.  As I cruised by, I glanced through the windshield and saw the super fan head-banging in the driver's seat, dressed to the nines in his schoolboy costume, belting out "Back in Black" at the top of his lungs.  Captivated by this full-on rockathon, I pedaled up to the driver-side window and interrupted his communion with the gods.  I asked him if he would pose for a photograph and he lit up and the AC/DC floodgates opened!

Carl turned down the tunes and regaled me with tales of seeing AC/DC live in concert eleven times!  He repeated the compliments he received on his schoolboy uniform.  He remembered a time some hapless bouncer almost let him backstage after a show one night.  He wistfully recalled all the hot chicks who took a picture with him because they thought he was actually the legendary guitarist in the flesh.  The man is a star by association.    

"But why AC/DC," I interrupted, "Why not Zeppelin or The Who"? 

"Because AC/DC is the only band from my youth that I can still stand," he replied, following up with rave reviews  of their latest albums.  "Did you see them last time they played the Tacoma Dome?  They still got it man, they still know how to put on a great show".  He recounted several more experiences that included topless girls, rocking out, and posing for pictures.  As he reminisced, a warm glow softened his eyes; to Carl, AC/DC are the end-all-be-all of music, in his mind the Hammer of Thor itself buckles to the beat of "Highway to Hell".  In some ways his obsession is laughable, but his commitment to them is forever and that's actually pretty admirable.  You wouldn't just be hard-pressed finding a bigger super fan, but you'd be hard-pressed finding a current band that elicits that kind of devotion.  In a world without rock stars, all power to the doppelgangers!  Long live the super fan!         

  

Gardens

Steffi @ Col. Summers Garden/SE Waterfront

Steffi believes that gardening can save the world.  By growing our own food we can reclaim our autonomy; we can make an immediate avowal of self reliance that fosters tenderness, attention, and sensitivity to the natural world.  Gardens engender localized economies that are in direct opposition to the paradigm of industrial agriculture that is currently degrading our planet.  Gardens are an alternative to genetically modified foods, epic deforestation, and corporate hegemony.  Gardens (and gardeners) are necessary to our community's long term interests:  Industrial agriculture currently accounts for 17% of the United States annual consumption of  fossil fuels, which begs the question:  What will we eat, when the oil runs out?  A culture of gardens NOW, will obsolesce the three days it would take for an industrialized nation to collapse from a fuel/food shortage.  

Starting a garden may be daunting at first, but resources such as Food Not Lawns and the American Community Gardening Association provide information and advice to aid your transition from servitude to sustainability.  Each garden is a seed planted against the scorched earth policies of industrial agriculture, a seed that will eventually yield lower food expenses, a healthier diet, exercise, relaxation, and pride in one's accomplishment.  Quality and longevity of life are a shovel away; it is time to bury the notion that we are well and truly fucked.  Factory farms are a short term investment; in the long run it may prove more fortuitous for us to get our hands dirty and rekindle our connection to the Earth, the seasons, and the interconnected natural cycles of which we are inextricably connected to, whether we acknowledge it or not.  The world is worth saving, plant the seed.     

       

Medicine Man

Medicine Man @ his Garden

As political unrest sweeps the Middle East, escalating tension between Shi'ites and Sunnis is threatening to engulf the entire region in turmoil.  Sectarian violence between these two branches stems...  What's that?  You don't care?  You're wondering what that leafy green vegetation blossoming behind the masked man is?  Some call it tampee, some call it the weed; by whatever name you call it, it's a spiritual branch with absolutely no sectarian divisions.  In this beautiful and aromatic indoor garden, Grape Kush, Pot of Gold, Chocolope, Willie Nelson, Big Buddha Cheese, Purple Diesel, and an impressive variety of other strains reach for the light together in peace.  In the Garden, the higher power does not differentiate between indicas and sativas; all leaves are loved equally by the light.  The masked man above is a devotee of the plant spirit, a medicine man utilizing his green thumbs to grow a sacrament for those in need.  "People in pain aren't criminals," he insists, "My grandmother's not a criminal...  It's a double standard:  Alcohol and tobacco are legal.
It should be legal to smoke, grow, and possess Marijuana".   

Point well taken, medicine man, one less war is one less war.  Legalize it.  Humanity can learn something from the plants.

Bad Kids

Omar @ SE 20th & Burnside

It was Thursday evening and the bus stop at SE 20th & Burnside was packed full of rowdy teenagers, talking shit and shoving each other into the Trimet shelter's plastic partitions.  Omar stood apart from the fray, looking more than ready to go home.  I asked him what was up with all the high schoolers hanging out so late in the day.  Did basketball practice just let out or something?  "Nah," he pointed at a nondescript building across the street.  "That's my school.  We just got out of class."  Omar attends evening classes at L.E.P High, so that he can make up the missing credits that have kept him from graduating high school.  "Everybody thinks it's a school for bad kids, but its not," he told me, "I'm there because I had a lot of trouble at Madison [High] when I was there and dropped out".

Omar hopes to graduate this year and move to Colorado to pursue writing and rapping.  Like many kids, hip hop motivates him to improve his word game, comprehension, and poetic sensibility.  "I rap about life," he told me as we rode the bus downtown, citing Immortal Technique and Tupac Shakur (upon whose mention be peace) as his main influences.  Omar's not all about bling and grills and girls and guns, he wants to be an artist and communicate his presence in the world.  He perceives the world looking at him like a "bad kid", but he knows his own heart and wants the world to recognize him for who he is, not for who they assume him to be.          

           

True or False?

I find the question ridiculous:   “True or false in regard to what?"  

Without a caption, without a context, without some idea about what the picture is a picture of, I can’t answer. I simply cannot talk about the photograph as being true or false independently of beliefs about the picture. A captionless photograph, stripped of all context, is virtually meaningless. I need to know more.  

--Errol Morris, 'Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire'  

Human Animal

Dutch 

No matter how hard you pray, you'll always be a human animal.  Humans and bonobos share 98% of the same DNA (that's more similarity than fox and dog).  We are not descended from apes, we literally are apes.  All of us, even Creationists who hot wash reality with dumb and dangerous ideas that are absolutely wrong.  Dumb and dangerous ideas like Intelligent Design, which is absolutely wrong or Young Earth Theory, which is absolutely wrong, or just about anything proposed by the American Scientific Affiliation, which is comprised of apes, all of whom are absolutely wrong.  

We the people of Portland, Oregon reject Creationism.  It's a dead fish in dumb water.  Instead, we propound the scientific theory of Evolution and would like to offer our friend Dutch as proof.  Ladies and gentle apes of the Bible Belt, here is your missing link!  Gather 'round the screen and gaze in wonder at our common ancestor!  Does he mesmerize you?  Does he instill a sense of awe and fear?  As his eyes pierce through you, can you feel the lust and heat of the savannah pulsing though your vains?  Celebrate it!  Dont be afraid of who you are; have a party in a tree*  And as you come to terms with the sensations of your true origin, please be sure to take advantage of this exclusive opportunity for  membership into Club Reality.  If you'd like to subscribe to our newsletter, make checks payable to Homo Sapien and mail it to your own address @ Ape City, Planet Earth.  

    

The Writing Desk

Jeff Johnson & Angela Giacoma @ Beulahland

These two remind me of that classic Kerouac line where he describes "the mad ones", the desirous ones who are mad to live and mad to be saved and burn burn burn like speed freaks into the night-- holy bums-- his kinda people.  Mad ones like Jeff and Angie, who live in Marilyn Monroe's post-Dimaggio divorce flat and fly around the world off the success of Jeff's critically acclaimed memoir, Tattoo Machine.  At present, they're doing the hollywood hustle; Angela's focused on producing a Tattoo Machine movie, the central question being:  Who will play Jeff?  Johnny Depp or Benicio Del Toro?  Angie and Jeff are in love and mad to live.  After I read their tarot, Jeff showed me his recently acquired Yakuza tattoo and his MS-13 tattoo; both of which were acquired legitimately and were accompanied by some bizarre fucking stories.  Bizarre to the point that after Jeff and Angie left, the two girls sitting adjacent to them were like, "What was that all about?".  I told them that the departing fellow is an author and his girlfriend wants to make his book into a movie.  I pointed at the Jeff Johnson decal I had never really noticed before, illegitimately commemorating his writing desk.
"That was the author of Tattoo Machine?" the brunette said incredulously, "I EDITED that book!"

My head spun over the random convergence of an entire production of literature.

"No way, You should have told him what you thought of it."    

"Whatever," she replied, "I hated that book.  It fucking sucked".  

It's a good story though.  

Dear Cougars,

Susan & Katie @ Ash St. Saloon

Dear Cougars, 

"Do you like to suck each other's hair down there" is not an appropriate line to drop on two dudes at the bar.   If you learn this the hard way, don't cut it with "That's too bad... because I like dudes who like DICKS!"  It's a bold line, but ultimately a dud.  Try Craigslist.

Dance Floor

Lydia & Esther @ Dutch's Awesome Spandex Birthday

First rule of dance floor:  No half-steppin' on the dance floor!

Last Rule of dance floor:  Become the Tiger!  ROWR!!!    

If you fail to heed these rules, then the dance floor will eat you alive.
Good luck.  

Lolcat

Wimmy the Cat @ Stranger Constellation HQ (LOL Division)

OMG!  It's a cat that can has tarot cards!!!  WTF?  LOL!  Someone please retweet this for me, because I'm lolling my ass off right now!  It's funny because it's a picture of a cat sitting in a chair, posing with tarot cards just like he's a person!  Hahaha!  HahahOUCH!  I'm lolling so loud that I fell onto the floor and am now rolling around on the floor laughing out loud!   

April Fool!  I'm not really rolling on the floor laughing out loud and Wimmy didn't really pick out these cards either (the front card has a picture of a cat on it!).  To get him to sit still, I rubbed his belly until he was docile.  Since he flops around like a big doofus, it took a lot of bellyrubbing to lull (lol?) him into this hilarious pose.  Wimmy is a funny, friendly cat but he is also kinda dumbass:  He spends his days eating and flopping.  He is AFRAID of mice.  He also pees on the couch and chews the cord on my cell phone charger.  While I was writing this blog, he almost fell out the window because a loud noise spooked him.  He is special, that cat, so I have put him on teh internets to April Fool you 4evr.

 >^..^<