Knife & Son

Caught the rockin performance of Knife & Son last night at The Bitter End Pub last night here in Portland.

Frontman Eric O'Connor's dry wit and bombastic lyrics cut thru the crowd like a knife (!), while Sergio the left-handed bassist (playing a right-handed bass upside down) and the rest of the gang tore it up.

Outside of the show, the other highlight was the $6 pitchers of PBR. Smoooooooth.

I'm already looking forward to the next show!


[photo above courtesy of Jonathan's camera phone]

Hawaii-esque, Sans Warmth

The weather here in Portland, a source of constant inquiries amongst my California family and friends, is Hawaii-esque in its mercurial nature. The skies will darken and dump rain and I'll need to turn on my desk lamp. Fifteen minutes later I look out the window and see bright blue skies and sunshine.

Now if only it were 80 degrees out. Guess I'll have to wait for summer.

Autzen Impressions

Made my first trip to Autzen Stadium yesterday to see the Bruins take on the Ducks. Not a big surprise, but the game was a bit ugly from this guy's perspective, as the Bruins went down hard, 30-20 in a game that wasn't really very close.

Notes from my first trip.

Beauty of a day. Clear skies, mid-60s, no rain. I'm guessing I won't be so lucky on my next trip.

The rumors are true. That place is fucking loud.

The football team's practice facility is adjacent to the stadium, inside the stadium gates, and set up with beer and food stalls during the game. Despite the crowd, it was relatively easy to get there, throw back a beer, and get back without missing any action. If every college football facility had that setup, I'd be at games constantly.

Best ad in the stadium: Better Head for Jerry's. I considered changing my name to Jerry for much of the first quarter before I realized it was some type of home improvement store.

From what I can tell, there are more Californians on the Ducks' roster than on the Bruins'. Dorrell is getting crushed in the recruiting department.

It's stunning to see the amazing array of horrendous looks people can throw together with green and yellow. Somehow, however, almost every Duck fan commented on the Bruins' powder blue upon learning my rooting interest, seemingly obvlivious to their own color issues.

The guy sitting next to me apparently paid his admission in teeth, and there wasn't any change.

A guy sitting near me was wearing a shirt with the word Thunderduck across the chest. I'm guessing he was also driving a Hummer. His wife still seemed unconvinced.

The hick quotient at a Ducks' game is off the charts. I haven't seen that many self-made tank tops, frosted hair-dos and oversized trucks since my last drive thru Fresno.

Happy Medium?

I've now had two cab rides in Portland, one from the airport and this morning to the airport.

Ride #1
Cab pulls up, trunk pops. Bag in, Josh in. Silence. Waiting game? Driving starts. Still no words. Ok, I'll bite. SE 36th. Silence.

Silence continues. Not a peep. No radio. Just the hum of the road as he barrels down the 205. I have no choice but to stare at the driver's greasy head and wonder when he last showered. Hard to say if he even speaks English, although he looks to be Eastern European.

Finally arrive home. This is a nice neighborhood, he says. And off he goes.

Ride #2
Five minutes early. Sure wasn't expecting that. Driver seems to be a slightly slimmed down version of John Candy from Stripes. The radio is loud, the windows are open, but he wishes to carry on a conversation over it all. I'm cold, tired, and my throat feels a bit hoarse, but I soldier on.

He regales me with the tale of his time in the military in Germany in the Reagan years. You one of them neo-liberals? he barks at me. Just wanting some peace (and a ride to the airport), not to mention that I'm not positive what a neo-liberal is, I decline.

He's driving about 25 miles an hour and insists on taking surface streets (39th to Sandy to 82). I wonder if I will ever arrive at the airport.

Columbus: Killer or Cool Dude?

Waiting in line at the ATM in Westmoreland today, disgruntled white male approaches the bank as he jabbers away on his cell. Tries the bank door several times before he realizes it's closed. Talking to those of us in line, he says "Great, Columbus Day. Let's have a holiday for another murderer. I used to think he was pretty cool when I was in school, though."

As I walked back to my car, I realized his car was still running. Puzzled me, until I looked in and saw there was no ignition.

Overall, an entertaining lunchtime stop at the bank.

Sean Penn Filming at Reed College

Big news in the neighborhood this weekend was that Sean Penn was filming over at Reed College. According to the Portland MetroBlog, he's directing Into the Wild, adapted from the Jon Krakauer book (a fantastic read, I might add).

Rumor also has it that William Hurt (one of the stars of the film) is renting a house nearby.

Short Memory

Got tags for the cats and let them out for the first time yesterday. Maxine was immediately over a couple fences and god knows where. Returned 30-40 minutes later looking quite pleased with herself. She's on her second jaunt of the day as I write this.

Eli's experience, not surprisingly, wasn't quite as smooth. He wandered cautiously around the yard for awhile, then found a hole in the fence to our backyard neighbor's house. I went around the block to try to encourage him back into our yard, getting there in time to witness Eli and the neighbor's dog [a Hannibal clone (childhood dog, part lab, part great dane), minus the shit smell] nose-to-nose, the dog hoping to play, Eli hoping to tear out the dog's guts.

Naturally, Eli swiped at Grady the dog, at which point Grady was understandably upset and chased Eli into the corner. He remained there, growling at anyone who came near him for some period of time that made me grow weary. I realized there was nothing I could do and left him there, assuming he'd find his way home. And eventually he did, but it wasn't until we returned from dinner at Nic's folks that I found Eli in the backyard, in a state that seemed somewhat consistent with that of a rabid dog. It took me at least 30 minutes of liberal use of the hose and a broom to finally coax him back into the house, where he quickly ran to the basement. There were times I honestly thought he might take a running leap at my face and I'd be forever scarred.

An hour or so later he rubbed up against me as if nothing had ever happened. And this morning he seemed to want to go back outside.

Must be nice to have such a short memory.

Beware of Eric

Learned a hard lesson Saturday night. When Eric asks if you want a drink and that implies that he'll be making it, take a pass. Make it yourself.

At Ken's 40th Saturday night, I requested Jameson's on the rocks. Eric returns with a martini glass filled with whiskey with two or three ice cubes. Natch, I drank it, but Sunday morning was painful.