Portland
Posted by Robert on the 15th of July, 2006 at 10:18 PM GMT0. Permalink.Tags: Personal, Portland, Vacation
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When I posted this, I was listening to: Apoptygma Berzerk - You Keep Me From Breaking Apart
As some of you know, I drove up to Portland, Oregon to spend the long weekend hanging out with J. J moved to Portland shortly after I moved to L.A. Despite much mutual desire to make the trip vertical across the country, it took two years to come to fruition. Here are the deets.
The Red Bull Crash, Part I: The Man In Black Fled Across the (California) Desert
In Williams, CA (somewhere south of Redding, CA and somewhere north of Sacramento, CA), I pulled over to fill up. It was just before midnight. After pumping gas, I went into the adjoining convenience store to find energy drinks. I started driving at 3:00 PM and I had woken up at 8:00 AM. I had at least six hours left. I was anticipating a lull.
As I waited for the bathroom to clear out, I saw a case of 24 cans of Red Bull. On the plastic, I saw 18.39 printed next to a barcode on a large white sticker. I did a price comparison and believed that I would be saving $2 by purchasing the case. After using the facilities, I carried the case to the front. After the old man did the math, it came out to $44.
I reexamined the sticker. The text actually read 18:39 with the top of the colon fading out. Not wanting to look an ass or embarrass the guy, I bought the case, despite feeling ripped off and doubting my math. As I drove, I realized my error. Red Bull is normally sold in packs of four, not packs of six. I ended up saving a few bucks after-all.
I decided around midnight, I'd start the caffination ritual. I chugged eight red bull in two hours as I flew through the mountains toward Medford, OR.
Lessons in Medford
I stopped in Medford because J said, Oregon isn't like Alabama. They don't have gas stations at every exit.
There was some truth to this, but I over exaggerated this in my mind. I pulled up to a pump, got out, and swiped my card. I grunted with pleasure upon noting supreme was 92 octane in Oregon.
I popped off my gas cap and started insert the nozzle when I heard, Sir, I'm not supposed to let you do that!
I look up in confusion at a lady sitting in a chair outside of the convenience store. You have to wait for the attendant.
Should I hold it or just put it back?
I replied.
Around the corner, the attendant yelled something. The lady looked at me and relayed the message. Oh. He doesn't care. Go on.
I started pumping, still confused as hell.
I started pumping. The attendant, a younger guy, eventually came over. I asked him what the deal was. He informed me that in Oregon it's illegal to the tune of $500 to pump your own gas. He said he wasn't one who cared
if the driver wanted to pump their own. We made some more small talk about my car while it finished up. He got my receipt and handed it to me. I felt bad that I didn't tip him. It turns out that no one does. As J put it, They have a job. I figure that's tip enough.
I looked around the store to see if there was any food worth eating. I didn't find anything, so I got back on the road slightly pissed about the gas thing. I want to pump my own gas, damn it!
The Red Bull Crash, Part II: And The Melatonin Followed
I knew Eugene was getting close. J said, If things start looking like a David Lynch film, for God's sake, pull over.
Things were headed that way despite (or maybe because of) the 10 Red Bull I had consumed. I pulled over at a rest area to stretch, hoping it would bring me back around. No luck. My body was ready to crash.
I went back to the car and laid the seat back. I set my alarm for 30 minutes, hoping that I would fall asleep within 15. Despite some sudden re-awakenings at the thought of laying there alone, I was crashed out in five minutes.
The Early Hours
I woke with a start when my alarm sounded. While slightly groggy, I was feeling refreshed. I downed another Red Bull and headed out. It was nearing 4:00 AM and I was close to Eugene. J called a few minutes later and sounded pretty tired himself.
I eventually got into Portland and arranged a place to meet. I got my first taste of the weird road system in Portland after missing my exit before finally reaching a stopping point to wait for J.
Moments after stopping, J showed up on his motorcycle. We decided to go closer to his place and grab some food. He was feeling much more awake. As we drove he pointed out a few of the local volcanoes.
We ate and headed back to his place where we sat around and talked. I met his girlfriend and her cat, which played fetch and otherwise acted very dog-like. After having been up 26 hours, we decided to sleep.
Hippies on the Dead Volcano
I managed to sleep a few hours. I got up before J and chatted with Cat for awhile and got to know her a little better. Jes5199 had invited me to a little shin dig at Mt Tabor Park. I felt like I ought to go since I was invited from almost 1000 miles away. I wasn't sure what I was getting into, since the company was described to me as hippie-types. J mentioned something about one of them being a computer geek that enjoying juggling.
I work J up and we headed out. We showed up a few hours about an hour late. We found out after driving around the park that Jes5199, et al, were running late. So, I got the tour. Apparently, Mt Tabor is a dead volcano. The caldera was made into a basketball court. J decided we should go to the top.
It was a small-ish hill and we parked close to the top. After investigating a few of the odd buildings, we found a statue of some guy. The statue depicted the man pointing at something. We guessed he was pointing at a large volcano erupting. I talked J into scaling the pedestal in hopes that he could sit on the shoulder of the statue. Unfortunately, the pedestal was as far as he could get.
We started to walk off in search of other adventures when I spotted two guys juggling and several other people sitting around them. J had somehow overlooked them. J claims that jugglers at Mt Tabor isn't uncommon. After I put his attention in the right place, he realized that these were the people we were looking for. We went to join them.
Describing the entire afternoon would probably be a boring read. It was good fun, though. We kicked a soccer ball around, threw frisbee, watched people climb trees, and talked about various things. Something about playing ad hoc sports games with intellectuals is interesting, especially when they don't anticipate deviant actions that they are too tired to stop from occurring1. It was good to see Jes5199 again, as it had been several years since the last time I'd seen him. I also got to meet his wife.
J and I were both pretty tired and sweaty from the activities. So, we took off around 5:00 to go back to his apartment to shower and start the night's festivities.
A Quick Tour of Portland: Part I
I can't place this chronologically in my mind. As I write this, it is ten days later. This part, as I remember it, happened on Sunday. The only reason I know that it happened on Saturday is because we went to the Saturday Market.
Sights from the Max
J, Cat, and I rode the Max to the deepest train station in the Northern Hemisphere North America and the second deepest in the world. Or something like that. We drove down to where Cat works and hopped on the train there. For a buck and some change, we bought two hours worth of ride time.
I can't think of anything significant about the Max in and of itself. As we rode out to the station, J pointed various sights out to me. Other than Portland's odd baseball filed, which is built into the ground instead of up from the ground, the notable sight was a bridge that people like to jump off of when they feel really sorry for themselves. Apparently, in some strategic places, the people that take care of the Max put shrouds over the track so that if someone does take a leap from a bridge, they won't delay the train.
The Hollow Dead Volcano Mountain
As we entered the tunnel, the light slowly faded out. I said, half singing, There's no earthly way of knowing which direction we are going.
J launched off into a big production of the bit from Willy Wonka. Too bad they didn't have projectors showing chickens getting their heads lopped off.
Apparently, the train station is in the belly of a dead volcano. J corrected me about the volcano part. I guess I just misheard him. I couldn't resist the reference, since the station makes it a hollow dead volcano mountain.
We walked around the small station, then rode the elevator up 216 260 feet. It only takes 30 seconds or so. There is a zoo on top. That is unimportant.
J walked up higher on top of the hill. We climbed up some steps to some rock garden. By the rock garden were three 15 foot in diameter cylindrical mini-towers. J climbed on top of the first one. He told me to follow him because it was really trippy.
The tops of the mini-towers were made of a metal grate. Upon inspection, the grates covered a 30 foot drop down a vent shaft. It was interesting to feel like I was standing on nothing.
After the mind fuck, we headed back to the train.
Saturday Market
On our way to the hollow dead volcano, we passed what is called Saturday Market. Every Saturday, local crafts people get together and have a market. On the way back, we got off to look around. Unfortunately, it was closing time. So, we walked through quickly.
I only mention it because it is a unique kind of thing. We headed back to the apartment after this.
Dinner and Space Room
To modify some Prince lyrics, I was sleep deprived when I experienced this, so forgive me if I move to fast.
I was vying for local cuisine. So, J took me to Le Bistro Montage, an eclectic co-op restaurant hidden under one of the bridges. J suggested I get the Smold. I forget what was in it, but it was kind of like macaroni and cheese mixed with alfredo. While we were waiting outside, a man and woman left. She was holding an aluminum foil flower. I commented on how the guy must be a cheap bastard if he couldn't go buy some flowers. J said I had to not finish my food and get it to go. I asked if I would be shot if I cleaned my plate. He said I should just do it.
The food was good and I was rather hungry. The atmosphere was interesting since it was a co-op. I cleaned my plate but J didn't. When they brought out a large aluminum foil bird, I realized the flower was really their unique to-go box. It was fun when J attempted to see if the bird would fly. It made a satisfying smack as it impacted the pavement.
We dropped by Powell's, a big ass book store. Nothing really eventful happened. I just figured I should mention it. After, we headed towards the Space Room.
Space Room was interesting. It looked like, as J pointed out, it used to be a strip club. The center area had the distinct look of a secondary stage (as I would find out later), as it was separated from the main bar room and the ceiling was indented above it. The secondary room is where we sat. The walls were painted with scenes of Portland in black-light reactive paint. I think that is why it is associated with space.
I forgot I wasn't in L.A.. So, I was happy to find that drink prices were reasonable. I had a few. J, Cat, and I chatted about various things that I can't remember now. The drinks were Space Room signatures. Apparently, it was an off-night for the bar tender, as the drinks weren't that great. J agreed with me about that.
Oh, and a Liquid Cocaine doesn't use Rumplemintz.
Little Porn Shop of Horrors
We checked out of Space Room after a few drinks. We were headed back to the apartment to drink the Stoli I brought. J suggested we swing by his place of work. I had a little buzz and it sounded like a good thing to do on a Saturday night. So, we dropped by. The marquee read something like, It's hot outside but it's a cool 69° in here.
It seemed funny at the time. I think it was because I didn't expect to see that on a porn shop. I'll blame it on the buzz.
I hadn't really been in a porn shop before then. Or, if I had, it wasn't a real porn shop... the kind that you need to wash your hands after you touch something. It was a lot more relaxed than I expected. It was more like a video store than a club. J chatted with the guy working the counter while Cat and I had a look around.
We browsed the toys and videos. They make some interesting things, to say the least. The most memorable was the Mr. Dildo Head
(think Mr. Potato Head). When I saw it, the face look quite a bit like Larry the Cucumber from Veggie Tales. I snapped a pic for posterity. Upon further inspection, the resemblance is only slight.
Having braved the wonders of the porn shop, we headed home.
Sleepless in Portland
J and I stayed up the rest of the night and into the next morning. I remember two things.
The first is that my hands smelt like metal. J warmed not to put them in my mouth and to wash my hands. Apparently the porn shop can get dirty, especially when people go from the booths
(also known as arcades
to lend a more innocent title to Jack-off Room
) to the rest of the store. So, I washed my hands and started drinking.
The other thing I solidly remember was watching a documentary on Bill Ricio, a white supremacist and National Director of the Aryan National Front. His operations are / were based in Alabama (probably in the Sylacaga area, according to Google Maps). It was interesting because he openly admitted that he took in disaffected, disowned, disillusioned youth and treated them well. He was a few words short of saying he was tricking a bunch of ignorant kids into joining an army by giving them the attention they couldn't get anywhere else. This sort of indoctrination into hate is congruent with what Hitler did, except Bill (and his kind) does it with kids and Hitler did it with an entire nation. Mixing just enough intelligence (capacity to reason / learn) and just enough ignorance (lacking knowledge) can spell trouble. Luckily, he's behind bars.
It was interesting to see bits and pieces of Alabama, though. It was almost like I got two vacations for the price of one.
We eventually crashed. I slept on a large cushion in the living room. It was cool enough to sleep in my clothes and warm enough to not need a blanket. It was actually pretty satisfying to be in that nice medium place.
A Quick Tour of Portland: Part 2
Since my events are time shifted, what happened Saturday has overwritten what happened Sunday. I'm pretty sure we did something other than sit around all day. Actually, we might have sat around and played Halo 2 until late. I'll be damned if I can remember. After we did whatever we did on Sunday afternoon, we went to the strip clubs.
Strip Clubs
I had never been to a strip club before. I wasn't sure what I was getting into. J made a few calls to figure out where we should go. The results were as follows.
Acropolis
The Acropolis (also known as Acrop, since the olis
is a mouth-full) is next to the porn shop J works at. It's painted with blue and white vertical stripes. It looks very similar to a circus tent. J said they had good food for cheap. So, we went to eat and look at girls dance.
According to J, the parents family of the owner of Acrop run a cattle farm. So, the owner gets good beef for cheap. We got the French dip roast beef sandwich. It was quite good.
The problem with the Acrop is that it is a dive. The girls didn't dance. There wasn't even a DJ. The girls put their CDs in a CD player on stage. They turned on their music and showed their naughty bits to the guys sitting by the stage. In fact, one guy must have been tipping really well, since the girls pretty much went straight to him as soon as they got on stage. I can't really complain, though. I wasn't giving them any money.
After we ate, we decided to head to the second location.
Union Jacks
Jes5199 suggested we check out Union Jacks. According to Qousqous, one of J's friends, Union Jacks was a more tattoo friendly place. Portland loves Tattoos. Everyone I saw had one. So, it's fitting that this club was for the... uh... darker types.
There was a small cover at the door, but it was worth it. Union Jacks was far better than Acrop. The dancers actually danced. The music was more my style. The girls were more interesting, and seemed younger. Or at least more vivacious. The pole was at least twenty feet tall and the dancers used all of it, often scaling to the top to spin down.
We stayed there for awhile. I fell in love with one of the strippers. J said she looked like a tranny. I told him I didn't think so, but I could see where he got the impression. Union Jacks is my favorite strip club in the world.
After we left, we scored a few pizzas from the grocery store, and headed home to drink the night away.
Another Quick Tour of Portland
Monday was my last day. I decided I wanted a stupid-tourist shirt. So, we went to the mall. There was a Made in Portland store. It didn't have the stuff I was looking for, though it did have stuff my mom would like. The mall also had an in-door ice rink. I'd never seen one at a mall before.
After the mall, we jumped on the Max to go back into Portland. We had several goals.
The first was to go to Powell Technical, a Powell's book store dedicated to technical books. We had to walk a ways to get to it, though. We stopped to get Bubble Tea (also known as Boba Juice, Bubble Tea is a chilled, flavored tea with tapioca balls in it). It was actually quite good, even if I felt sick after eating gobs of tapioca.
After J rode the bronze elephant, we went into Powell's. The store was great. Any subject I could possibly want technical information about was a few steps away. Unfortunately, I didn't have any idea what I'd like more information about.
After the book store, we headed to our ultimate destination, Sparticus. Sparticus is a fetish store. The front store had novelty cloths and generic items. The back had the good stuff. One area had bondage gear, like leather straight jackets, full-body zipper suits, ball gags, restraints, crops, and more. The rest was typical porn shop stuff.
Once we were done browsing, we headed back. I needed to go to sleep early since I had a long day of driving ahead of me. I still didn't get to sleep on time.
I Went All The Way to Portland And All I Got Was This Stupid Shirt
Ok. I didn't really get a shirt. The place that sales Portland Fucking Oregon
shirts was closed on Monday. I did have a good time, even though I've sworn to never drive to Portland again. Next time it's flights-only. It was nice to have some face time with J again. It was like we never skipped a beat... like we were drinking at the skate park the week before. It's good to have friends like that; friendships that the connection, whatever it is, doesn't fade over time or distance.
Portland Photos2
-
Ok. I guess this warrants some text. Even though it isn't particularly interesting, it was funny when it happened. I was recruited to kick the soccer ball around by two of the other guys. By recruited, I mean they kicked the ball to me while I was sitting down. As I went over to them, one of the guys decided we should play soccer, but use trees for goals and have three goals instead of two. The idea would be that any one person could score on either of their opponents trees. I decided to defend my goal because it involved the least amount of running. But I also suck at soccer. So, I was scored against fairly quickly. I then started towards the guy who made up the game's goal. We scored on him. Then it was time to gang up on the third guy. However, I was still a ways off from his goal and the guy that made up the game's goal was completely open. So, I went for his. I think this took everyone off guard because it wasn't
right.
After I scored the goal, the guy who made up the game tried to calculate another way to play. It seemed to quickly be getting overly complicated. So, we all quit. ↩ -
J took some photos, too. ↩
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