Oregon's new Second City

I was reading this blog post today from blog called "Beaver Boundary" congratulating the city of Eugene for reclaiming its spot as Oregon's second largest city from the state's capital city of Salem, according to population estimates by Portland State University. According to PSU's preliminary estimates, Eugene had 153,690 residents on July 1 and Salem had 151,895.

"Kudos to the people of Eugene, who have once again saved the state of
Oregon from relative embarrassment by reclaiming its status as the
second-largest city from Salem. The populations of each city hover around
150,000, and the vibrantly crunchy Emerald City has just recently outpaced the
drab and dull Cherry City in growth. ... Even if you prefer Salem for cultural or provincial reasons, you may root for a faster-growing Eugene if your politics are left-of-center. Of course, Eugene is a liberal haven that almost always supports Democrats ...."

Forgive me, but the cultural factors are hugely important. Liberals maybe be well practices at talking a good game about issues like appreciation of other cultures, but it's not quite the same thing as true cultural/ethnic/racial diversity.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau's 2003 population estimates, Oregon is 86.6 percent white. Salem is slightly more diverse than the state as a whole at 83.1 percent white. Portland, the state's largest city is not surprisingly more diverse than the state average at 77.9 percent white. Eugene, that bastion of liberalism, is less diverse than the state as a whole with 88.1 percent of the city's residents defined as white.

Portland's ethnic diversity comes from Latinos (6.8 percent) blacks (6.6 percent) and Asians (6.3 percent). Salem's diversity is largely because of the Latinos (14.6 percent) and 7.9 percent who report "other" ethnicity. Other races represented are Asians (2.4 percent), American Indian or native Alaskan (1.5 percent) and black (1.3 percent).

Latinos are also the largest minority in Eugene at a whopping 5 percent. The next largest group is Asian at 3.6 percent, 2.2 percent "other" races and 1.3 percent black.

White men, of which I am one, can be very empathetic or sympathetic to women and minorities, but it doesn't mean we can truly identify with the issues that are important to them. In order to have a diversity of views and ideas representing the cultural views of the state's residents and slowly growing minority population, Oregonians need to make sure minorities are at the table where and when decisions are made. This is growing increasingly important for Latinos in Oregon, as the largest minority group in the state at 8 percent of the overall population. This doesn't qualify as direct evidence, but I suspect the 2003 estimate of Salem's population being just about 15 percent Latino is low. If you want to see the future of the city, just look at the faces of the children getting on school buses any weekday morning in the city. That number will continue to rise in Salem and cities large and small throughout the state. Like it or not, immigration reform or not, the Latino train is on the roll.

As the father of a teenage daughter who has Latino heritage on her mother's side of the family, I want to make sure there are people who will not only hear her voice but seek out her and her family's opinions on the issues shaping the future of this state. Better yet, I want her and her family providing some of the leadership on those issue.

One other thing about which I would remind residents of Portland, Eugene, Salem -- or whatever city who want to play the population numbers game -- is that if you live by the numbers, you may get overwhelmed by them. The face of Oregon, whether liberal or conservative, is getting browner by the day. If Portland State's 2007 population estimate is accurate (3,745,455 Oregonians statewide) and Latinos still make up at least 8 percent of the population (and that number is probably low), then that means there are about 300,000 Latinos in the state. That's roughly equivalent to the populations of Eugene and Salem combined or more than half the population of Portland.

Oregon's new second largest community, by shear numbers, is populated by people with brown eyes and brown hair, amigos.

And the blues play on

I don't visit bars as much as I did back in my 20s, or even my 30s, but there is something unbeatable about just the right bar.

Sometime I have a craving for a neighborhood hangout, a little hole in the wall spot where the bartenders and waitresses know your order and have your drink waiting for you by the time you reach your bar stool.

Other times, I have a craving for a sports bar, a place to hang out and grab a burger and a beer while watching a game.

But on some occasions, I really want a place with some high energy, a place that buzzes with electricity from the patrons and a band playing life music. In the months after I moved to Salem, whenever I would ask people I met where was the best place to go for nightlife in town, one of the names that inevitably cropped up was Lefty's Pizzeria and Blues Club.

It was my kind of joint, fitting many of my favorite tastes for food (pizza), beer (microbrews) and music -- in this case, blues.

Blues as been a favorite musical genre since college. Anyone with a taste for blues will tell you, there is nothing like hearing blues live, because like the music it inspired, jazz, musicians improvise during a performance, giving even classic blues songs their own fingerprint.

Unfortunately, I have not had listened to a lot of live blues. But now, living back in the Pacific Northwest, it seemed like I would get more opportunities to do so. Portland has a vibrant and respected blues scene and plays hose every year to the Waterfront Blues Festival. As I came to learn, Lefty's was considered by many one of the best blues venues for live music in the Northwest.

In my early explorations as an iPod owner, I discovered a podcast based out of Portland that talked about the Portland and Northwest blues scene and featured music from artists based here, or who have some connection to Portland and the Pacific Northwest. The podcast, PDX Bluescast, became an immediate favorite.

Sadly, the PDX Bluescast has not had a new episode in over a year now. And now this month came word that Lefty's had closed.

But the blues itself does not die. Just as the legends of the genre eventually pass on, the music itself is passed down to new generations of musicians. And fortunately, I have found a new place to satisfy my thirst for blues, but this one's based a little farther south -- south of the equator and across the Pacific to be precise. My new home for the blues, and the new podcast I turn to for a mix of classic blues and emerging voices is the Salty Dog Blues N Roots Podcast from Melbourne, Australia.

So thanks, Salty, for satisfying that craving, both salty and sweet, tangy and twangy, like a slice of pizza with pepperoni and pineapple and a liberal dose of Tabasco.

RIP Lefty's and the PDX Bluescast. You are missed, but we can all take comfort in the fact that the blues plays on.

You'd think the Blazers won the lottery or something

Portland Trail Blazer fans are shooting their wad in their undies tonight because the Blazers will have the first pick in the NBA draft. I'm definitely not as excited as the screaming ninnies I saw on the 11 o'clock news.

The station I was watching (I think it was channel 6 but, who knows) completely ignored the fact that the last time the Blazers had a top pick, it was the Stumptown sports bungle of the 20th century. Back in 1984 when Portland had the No. 2 pick in the draft they left a guy named Michael Jordan on the drafting table to pick Sam Bowie. Remember Sam Bowie? Not surprising. He didn't have much of a career after college. As for Jordan, he led the Chicago Bulls to something like a bajillion NBA title.

The Blazers' front office, though staffed with a different set of yokels now than it was 23 years ago, still have to prove they won't step on their dick and grind it into the ground before I will give more than have a shit about their draft pick or their team again.

I wasn't much of a Blazer fan as a young man, not until a roommate after college got me hooked on watching Portland play. Until he moved in I didn't even know I had what was then called "Blazer Cable." But Clyde Drexler, Terry Porter and Jerome Kersey and Buck Williams won me over (I never did really warm up to Kevin Duckworth though). And I wasn't a fan back in the championship season of 1977 in no small part because the TV we got in our house in Bumfuck Egypt came from Washington state, and they had the Sonics after all.

And in college, call me a traitor, but I followed the L.A. Lakers as much as anyone else, because a guy I got to see play in college, A.C. Green, was the Lakers' iron man off the bench.

I'd be happy to see the Blazers return to winning form. I'd love to see the Rose City become, as former Blazer broadcaster Bill Schonely would say, Rip City once again. But first the Blazers have to keep from fucking up the pick. Then their pick needs to contribute to something better than this season's 32-50 record. A winning season might be night. A playoff berth perhaps. Maybe even a playoff series win.

Would that be too much to ask? From the modern-era Blazers, it just may be.

I didn't shave my head for this

Sometimes I'm a little slow. It took me a good 10 or 15 minutes to realize I had walked, quite literally, into some sort of gathering of modern-day Nazi skinhead Aryan assholes.

To put it mildly it was not the place I wanted to be.

It certainly wasn't where I thought I would find myself earlier in the evening.

I had driven to Portland to have dinner with my daughter, her mother and her mother's lesbian partner. We had a nice evening and a lovely meal, but shortly after my daughter abandoned the adults for the sanctuary of her bedroom, I figured it was time to go.

I've been craving a night out at a club for a while, so I decided to stop off at a bar for a drink or two before heading back to Salem. I decided to go to this bar I've visited before, not too far from where my daughter lives. I've had one nice time there, and a couple of bad experiences since, so I decided to give the place one more chance.

For the record, it is a strip club, a seedy little place that has been pretty lame the last couple of times I stopped there. On my last couple of stops there, the place had been virtually empty and hardly any dancers, so after about 3 sets, you've seen all the T&A the bar had to offer.

But Saturday night was different. The place was packed when I walked in. The place has a small bar and no cocktail waitresses, so it took a while to squeeze my way in at the bar to get something to drink. After I got a beer I went and sat down at one of the stages. There are three stages in this bar, but every time I've been in there before, which is probably 3 or 4 times, only one stage was in operation. So I sat at that stage.

But no women were dancing, except for the one woman giving a guy a lap dance in the corner. There were some women in the bar who appeared to be the dancers, including one sitting on the edge of the stage where I had sat down. But after a song or two, I realized no one was coming to dance at this stage. But about that time I noticed a dancer getting up on another stage around the corner. So I grabbed my beer and moved to the other stage.

I was one of 3 guys sitting anywhere near the edge of the stage. The rest of the men in the place, and several women, were gathering in clusters around the bar, talking. I had seen a few guys stumbling around, obviously very drunk.

There was a weird vibe in the place but I couldn't quite put my finger on what was happening. At one point I asked the dancer on the stage why all the guys in the place weren't up at the stage giving her money. She said something like "I've been wondering the same thing."

Soon her dance ended and another dancer came on stage. The next dancer was either in her mid to late 40s, or had lived a very hard life, and perhaps both. At one point she made a comment to me, as one of the few guys still at the stage that some guys off to my right were drunk. I said something inspired like, "Yea, it looks like it." To which she said something like "You should have seen it earlier when they were all here."

That stuck me as an odd comment, and I wondered what she ment by "they."

About that time a female patron, with tattoos covering her bare arms, from wrist to shoulder, started yelling at one of the male patrons. I couldn't quite make out what the argument was about, but all I heard was a lot of "Fuck you" this and "fuck you" that. Pretty soon the arguing pair, standing not 10 feet from where I'm sitting, starts attracting attention from some of the other people in the bar. There were gathering a crowd.

I turn to my left and see a guy wearing a black T-shirt standing pretty much right next to me. There is some sort of odd design on it with a guy's face and some writing. I don't know what inspired me to read the guy's shirt, but it had to be more interesting than the dancer on stage, who I swear looked like she would more travel in my mother's circle of friends than take off her clothes for a living. I realized there was a name written on the shirt.

Rudolf Hess.

I couldn't make out what else was on the shirt, but the name rang a bell.

Rudolf Hess.

Then I looked at the face in the drawing on the shirt and realized where I knew that name and face from.

Rudolf Hess, for anyone who may have slept through early and mid 20th century history in school, or slept through the 1930s and '40s, was the man who became Deputy Fuhrer in Nazi Germany.

Suddenly I saw the men surrounding me in the bar with a new clarity. They were all white men, which is not particularly unusual in a bar in Portland. Most of men in the bar, of which there were probably 30 to50, where wearing black T-shirts or some other similar dark clothing. Their heads were all shaved or nearly shaved and many of them were sported an assortment of tattoos on their arms and necks.

Yes, I had somehow managed to wander into some sort of neo-Nazi, white supremacist skinhead gathering.

I felt my pulse start to race and decided that this was my cue to beat a hasty retreat.

I got out into the parking lot and looked around for some sign that what I thought I saw was in fact real. I notice that a few of the cars in the parking lot were sporting California plates, which is unusual in Portland, but most of the cars had Oregon plates. Great, I thought, it's a fucking skinhead convention.

I looked for some obvious bumper stickers or something to prove I wasn't crazy, but nothing else immediately affirmed my suspicious. The car next to me has some sort of sticker in the back window that said WAR, but that didn't mean anything to me at the moment. It wasn't a glaringly obvious sign, like a swastika or something, which was what I most hoped, and yet dreaded, to see.

I was starting to back out when I realized someone in an SUV had parked a little too closely behind me, and I could not easily pull out of my parking spot. I wanted out of that parking lot in the worst way, but did not want to be too hasty in my departure and rip off the back bumper of some Neo-Nazi's Ford Explorer.

So, after jokeying around, pulling forward and back several time into the parking spot my truck had occupied, I finally was able to get out of my parking space and make my exit.

But all the way back to Salem, my pulse and blood pressure would never quite return to normal.

Oh, by the way, when I got home and started working on this post, I decided to do a quick Web search to see if there was some sort of Neo-Nazi gathering in Portland this weekend. One of the first things that popped up in my search for "Aryan Portland gathering" was a listing for information from the Anti-Defamation League on legendary white supremacist Tom Metzger and the White Aryan Resistance.

So I guess I know know what that WAR sticker was all about.

Hmm, I wonder what they would think about my Blame it on Mexico and Oregon: Come for the natural beauty... posts?

Portland, Ore.
White supremacists

iTunes exploration continues

In my last post, I mentioned that I downloaded the new NBC TV show, "Conviction" that debuts next week. I ended up watching the show on my iPod later, and was pleasantly surprised with both the picture quality and the show itself.

I could really see some value to downloading TV shows or movies to the iPod when traveling, although watching the video burns through battery power faster than listening to music only.

As for the show, if you are a fan of the show "Law & Order," you will recognize some of the same production qualities in "Conviction" as well, as they are from the same producer, Dick Wolf.

The show features an ensemble cast, and the pilot episode does a pretty good job of introducing you to the characters and some of the demons they may have to wrestle with in future episodes while telling multiple storylines.

I won't intentionally try to keep my Friday nights free so I can watch this show or "Las Vegas," which is also moving to Fridays. But if I'm home, I know I can at least hang out with these two ensemble cast for a couple of hours and pretend I have a life.

I spent some time exploring my iTunes software and the iTunes music store in a little more depth. I found some interesting features, like the fact that I could create my own mix of music on my iTunes, perhaps to convey a certain mood, and share it with others. For example, you could check out my mix, and if you like it, or even some of the song on it, you could buy the tunes for yourself. It's like sharing music across the miles in a fun, and legal, way. Very interesting.

I'm not sure if I will post any of my playlists or not, but who knows. I also like the Essentials feature, where you can look at recommendation on music from various artists, years or genres decide if you want that music for yourself. And if you do, you can buy the music one song at a time or the whole compilation.

I also plan to check out a couple of podcasts, one on the blues music scene in Portland and one on the Portland music scene in general. I like blues music, so that may be a great add. I'm not sure if the other one will fit my tastes or not, but I'm curious to know more about the music scene in this part of the country.

Maybe I'll listen to some of the podcasts this afternoon while enjoying some of the Willamette Valley scene on a little drive.

TV
Conviction
iTunes
Portland, Ore.
Music

Nipples and other things exposed that people intended to be kept covered

You never know where you are going to see nipple.

I was standing at the bar on the edge of the dance floor at a wedding reception in a ballroom of a downtown Portland hotel when one popped out to say hello.

The nipple, in fact the entire breast, belonged to a young woman who had been dancing with her male companion. She was wearing a black dress with spaghetti straps, and she was apparently having a difficult time keeping the skinny straps atop her skinny shoulders where they could do their job holding the top of the dress up. The top of the dress was something of a halter style, with the fabric covering each breast divided by a plunging neckline.

The strap on her right shoulder made a break for it, diving toward the floor and taking the flap of fabric covering her right breast trailing behind it, leaving the breast and aforementioned nipple exposed in the subdued light of the ballroom. The woman's eyes got wide, and swept the area around her, including the eyes of her companion, to see if he or anyone else had noticed as she quickly pulled the strap back up onto her shoulder. I'm not sure if anyone else noticed and she didn't know that I saw as I was several feet away, separated by a few people who were talking and drinking, wrapped up in their own conversations.

I spotted the young woman several times throughout the evening, often on the dance floor. She seemed to spend a significant amount of her dancing time trying to keep the straps of her dress in place.

Obviously, I crashed the wedding that a wrote about in my Mayor of Dweebville post. And one of my regular readers, one of the few people I know who I've let in on the secret of my blog, was at the wedding as well. M made sure to give me a hard time about my ineptitude at handling the RSVP for her step-brother's wedding. And obviously she told at least one of her sisters about my blog post as well, as she brought it up at the reception too.

I briefly contemplated strangling M, except for two little details. One, we were in a hotel ballroom surrounded by a delegation of her rather large family and their friends. And two, her husband, who is also a regular reader, is a Marine Corps officer and undoubtedly has been trained in more ways to do away with an individual, and trained in using more weapons to accomplish that with, than I can even imagine.

So, I let her live. But as punishment, I made her dance with me at the reception.

That'll teach her!

But, all things considered, in spite of the brief exposure of my private parts, I was glad I crashed the wedding. I've been fortunate to spend time now at two weddings, a couple of holiday dinners, and one holiday party with this family, which was very much like my extended family as a child. I probably spent all most as much time at their house or with that family as I did my own as a child and young man. And at the wedding last night I got to see two more of the family members I had not seen in years -- the groom's sister and mother.

It's good to be with old friends. And if you get to see a little nipple, that's just a bonus!

Nipples
Wedding crasher
Blogging

Slip sliding away

The Willamette Valley is not known for having the greatest winter weather, that is unless you like rain and lots of it. But if there is one positive you can say about winter weather in the Willamette Valley, it is that it rarely gets below freezing. That means it rarely snows, which is good, because the valley, Portlanders in particular, are just not equipped to handle it.

But here it has been below freezing temperatures at least at night all week, and come Sunday it snows and sleets in Portland. A strong, blustery wind, whipped up the show and sleet that didn't stick to the streets. And idiots were out on the roads, apparently going to and from their Christmas shopping errands.

Unfortunately I found myself in that mess in Portland today, because I had spent the night up there Saturday night to do so dogsitting for my daughter's family. Fortunately, the people that were out on the roads were taking it slow and easy. But that didn't stop cars from slipping and sliding on the hills, sliding into each other on occasion.

Unfortunately, I have a pickup, which had nothing in the back. So, I stopped and picked up two 50-pound bags of dog food to have some weight back there, to try to keep the ass end from sliding around in front of the headlights. I'm not sure if it helped much, but I made it out of Portland, and the roads got better as I got closer to Salem.

It only took me about 3-4 hours to get home, including a stop for food for me and dog food for the truck. But that was nothing compared to my daughter's family. It took them 8 hours to get home to Portland from Pendleton, which is normally about a 4-hour drive.

Fortunately, everyone is home safe and sound. This afternoon I wasn't so sure that would be the case.

Winter
Snow
Portland

An intimate birthday gift from Sheryl Crow

Concert ticket: $80.85
Parking at the Rose Garden Arena in Portland: $20
Draft microbrew beer: $8
Spending your birthday evening being serenaded by Sheryl Crow: Priceless

It’s been quite the day, so in an attempt to share as much detail as I can about the Sheryl Crow concert, we bring you this special All-Sheryl-Crow-edition of the Digital Fishwrap Rainbow Roll. Settle in folks, this is a bit long.

***

Sheryl Crow took the stage at the Rose Garden arena at about 8:25 p.m. There was no opening act. No introduction from the wings. Just the dimming of the house lights, the lifting of curtains surrounding the stage, and Crow and her band taking the stage, belting out the first lines and licks of the first song of the night.

Crow was the picture of the casual pop songstress, wearing a white summer dress with a pleated hemline, which showed off her slender, verging on skinny, legs from just above the knee all the way down to her strappy high-healed shoes. But her vocals left no doubt this singer has roots in rock and blues and she packs some powerful pipes in a slender frame. I have to say, ordinarily I like a woman with some meat on her bones. A little junk in the trunk. But Crow defies what I would ordinarily describe as the ideal. Maybe it’s the hair. Maybe it’s the eyes. The lips certainly have something to do with it. And my God, the voice is stunning. And Sheryl and I did have one matching accessory item, or lovely yellow Live Strong bracelets.

***

And, because I’m sure someone will be dying to know after comments made in an earlier post, of course biker boy, the instigator behind the “Live Strong” cancer awareness bracelet and the huge rock Sheryl was sporting on her left-hand ring finger, Lance Armstrong himself was at the show.

And no I didn’t kick his ass, or strangle him with my bracelet, but the boy certainly pushed his luck at flaunting himself with the object of my unrequited musical crush.

I first spotted Armstrong wearing a black shirt and ballcap, off on the left side of the stage behind the soundboard, where a guitar mechanic was tuning instruments for Sheryl during the performance. No one else seated around me seemed to spot the seven-time Tour de France winner though.

Then, in between songs, Armstrong starts coming onto the stage carrying a guitar. I turned to the guy next to me and said, “Look who is bringing Sheryl her guitar.” The guy didn’t get it at first. So I repeated it in a different way. “Do you recognize the guy bringing her her guitar?” About that time a buzz went up from the audience, mostly the women. Then there was a completely unnecessary display of hugging and kissing right there on center stage.

Sheryl made a joke about how it was hard to find good help and something about that being the most expensive guitar tech she ever had, which drew a laugh from the audience. She never introduced him though, even though she mentioned him by name a couple of times during the show. Then Sheryl and the band launched into “All I Wanna Do,” which was the song that brought Crow and her music to my attention and spawned the crush that has now lasted more than a decade. Obviously, the special nature and aura of positive feelings and emotions that song has evoked for me over the years is not forever tainted with Lance Armstrong kooties. I may never recover.

Biker boy made another appearance onstage during one of the encores when Sheryl signaled for him to join her on stage, and the two briefly danced during the musical solo. I saw visions of myself sprinting the nine rows to the stage and tackling Armstrong in a fit of rage, but then the coward skulked back off stage to hide inside the concert security perimeter.

***

Crow fronted a 5-piece band and an 11-piece string section, producing a sound capable of rock ’n’ roll power and orchestral complexity, and a hint of country twang at one point.

Crow herself played acoustic, electric and bass guitar, piano and even a little harmonica thrown in.

The song list went deep into selections from Crow’s latest album “Wildflower,” particularly early in the show. I’m not 100 percent certain, my memory may be influence by the fact that I listened to the CD on the way to the concert, but I believe she played every single song on the new album. She may have missed one or two. I lost count during the show at about 7 or 8 songs off the news album.

But there were plenty of old favorites on the playlist as well. Of the 16 songs (yes there are 17 tracks, but one song is on there in two different versions) on her “The Very Best of Sheryl Crow” album, Crow and company played a dozen or more songs.

Notably absent from the playlist were the hit singles “Leaving Las Vegas,” “Steve McQueen.”

***

Crow played two encores for the Portland audience, but many in the crowd seemed on the verge of bolting, some even walking toward the exits, willing to walk out before the house lights were raised and Crow’s second curtain call.

The wait for the first encore was a tad long, but when Sheryl came out on stage in a different outfit, the lag time between stage departure and reemergence was easier to understand. Sheryl ditched the dress for a pair of jeans and tank top T-shirt, and lost the high heals in favor of some biker-chick high-heel sandals.

Among the songs in the encore sets were Elton John’s “Levon,” “Soak Up The Sun” and her post-9/11 inspired “Safe And Sound.”

***

The concert itself had a much more intimate feel than the Brad Paisley/Sara Evans/SugarLand show I’d attended at the Rose Garden just a few weeks earlier. This seemed more like a show in a Las Vegas showroom venue than a major sports arena. The stage was set sideways on the arena floor, and there were far fewer seats sold for Sheryl’s show than the country concert. A good portion of the arena was actually curtained off, with maybe about half the seating capacity used.

There were no video screens showing Sheryl’s face. There were a couple of video backdrops, but those were used to show images and graphics related to some of the song, almost like a music video, rather than showing the performer sitting far from the stage. But the way the seating was set up, no one really seamed far from the stage.

Of course my impression of intimacy may have been colored by the fact that I was on the arena floor, a mere nine rows from the stage, with an excellent view of Sheryl, her outfit, her legs, her… well, you get the idea.

***

I could not find a souvenir vendor at the show anywhere. I was so looking forward to getting a Sheryl Crow T-shirt, so I could always have her lips close to my heart. But I walked through a fair amount of the Rose Garden concourse and didn’t see a booth anywhere. There was food. There was beer. There was booze. But no T-shirt booth. Oh, sure, I would have bitched about paying some outrageous price for a shirt. But for Sheryl, it would have been worth it.

That, and I know how hot women find it when middle-aged men where apparel with the likeness of another woman on it. I’m sure my dating life really would have picked up with my beer gut wrapped in a silkscreen portrait of Sheryl. Talk about a babe magnet! Does anyone even say babe magnet anymore?

***

Then, almost exactly 2 hours after the first note was played, the show came to an end. It was the climax to a great day. Couldn’t have been better, well, except for that whole having to work thing. And an hour after the show ended I was back home. But that certainly wasn’t the end of the excitement.

Shortly after arriving home, the evening is capped by a police car ripping through the apartment complex where I live at a high rate of speed, lights and sirens going, apparently in pursuit of someone. The car circled much of the complex before coming to a stop a ways down the lot. A few minutes later several more patrol cars showed up.

Nothing like a little crime drama to add a little extra spice to an already exciting day. There I was, standing outside in the parking lot with the neighbors, swapping details about what we saw and heard, and gawking down the way to see if we could see what was going on. Not daring to venture too close, lest there be weapons drawn and boogie-men, with or without badges, running loose.
This will certainly be a birthday I will not soon forget.

Sheryl Crow
Lance Armstrong
Live music
Portland, Ore.
Birthday

Time well wasted

They aren't exactly front row, but I have seats to the show. Rose Garden. Portland, Ore. Friday, Sept. 23. Sugarland, Sara Evans and Brad Paisley. It's Paisley's "Time Well Wasted" tour. You got to love that name. It's a motto, it's a way of life, it's the name of Paisley's new album and the name of a concert tour.

Yes, country music, deal with it people.

I bought a pair of concert tickets when then went on sale this morning. I haven't been to a big concert in a while. I've seen a few concert shows in Vegas in recent years, but that's about it.

In fact I saw Sara Evans in Las Vegas last year headlining a show with Phil Vassar. I've got some photos I took from that show. I may have to post one or two when I get back home, if anyone is interested. I saw Paisley in Vegas a few years ago too with Chely Wright.

Yes, I have major crushes on Chely Wright and Sara Evans. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

I'm hoping I can convince my long-distance lady friend to venture to the West Coast for the show. But she blew me off the last time I bought a concert ticket for her for a George Strait/Jo Dee Messina show at the Forum in L.A. So I may need a backup plan.

But for now I am stoked. Scored a pair of tickets minutes after they went on sale for a concert that I've been looking forward to since I first heard about the show on my new favorite radio station, KWJJ, The Wolf.

I'm as giddy as a teenager. Now I need to hop in the shower and get dressed and run a few errands so I can go pick up my teenager and bring her home.

I doubt she will be impressed with my Brad Paisley tickets. She probably won't want to be my date either.

She doesn't like country music. I will so make fun of her someday if she becomes a country music fan someday. My dad missed that opportunity with me. I will make sure not to pass up the harassment opportunity if it comes my way.

Country music
Concert tickets

Getting a buzz 4 ounces at a time

I attended my first Oregon Brewers Festival at Tom McCall Waterfront Park in Portland. I've been a fan of microbrew beers for a long time, but obviously my beer knowledge is not as developed as many of the people who attended the Brewers Festival.

I still have much to learn before I can become a true connoisseur. But I can qualify as a beer SNOB (Supporter of Native Oregon Beer). They had shirts like that at the festival, but at $20 a pop, I wasn't that much of a SNOB.

So, I may not be able to masterfully describe the characteristics of a beer by its hoppiness or the maltiness. But I know what I like. And my favorite beers of the festival, of those I was able to try (and there were too damn many to try them all and not end up on my lips) were the stouts. Many of the IPAs and others I tried were too bitter with an acidic after taste. But the stouts didn't have that problem.

My favorite was the Black Gold Imperial Stout by Full Sail Brewing Co. of Hood River. It's the only beer I went back for a full pour of after a sample.

I hope Full Sail opts to make the stout available in bottles.

Many people at the festival were obviously there just to get drunk, which can always get a bit dicey in a big crowd, but while we were there Saturday toward the end of the day, I saw no major problems, other than a few staggering souls. Well, and one member of our party got peeved at a man who brushed up against her in the crowd. She got up in his face for intentionally copping a feel. He took his tongue lashing like a man and slithered off before any of us had to step in and separate them.

So, the 18th annual Oregon Brewers Festival was my first time at the outing, taking some fine, and not so fine beers. It was also a great venue for people watching. I would certainly say I would gladly go again.

Oregon Brewers Festival
Beer
Weekend

Living in a safer world and a teenager high on Red Bull

In the post 9/11 world, airline passengers practically have to disrobe to get on a commercial airplane anymore. The latest things the federal watchers have banned from possessing in the cabin of an airliner is cigarette lighters. And all sharp objects, like a fingernail file, are expressly forbidden.

So consequently I was surprise and amused several hours ago when flying on an Alaska Airlines MD-80 from Palm Springs to Portland when I saw this little gem in the lavatory of the aircraft. They had a little slot in there marked specifically for the purpose of disposing razor blades.

Maybe it for those panicked folks who realized they had inadvertently gone past the TSA checkpoint with a "weapon" and go into the in-flight john to quell their panic attack. Maybe the slot is an attempt at last-minute amnesty for people who mistakenly violate federal safety procedures.

Or perhaps it is intended for perspective hijackers who get cold feet prior to attempting to take over the plane.

Nervous hijacker: If only there was a way I could back out of this fiendish plan to hijack this plane. But I've gone to all this trouble to smuggle an old-fashion double sided razor blade on board. Which was no small trick. I mean I have to find a pickle just the right size and firmness so when I inserted the blade in there the sharp edges didn't stick out. And then there was the added stress and discomfort of inserting the pickle shank up my rectum. It's not easy to walk with a pickle up the pooper! And then, there was the whole removal process in the can. But, I don't want to hurt these nice people. If only I could get rid of my weapon somehow... Oh, look, a sharps disposal slot for blades. Now, isn't that handy.

So, I went back to my seat in the nearly empty plane and had a little quiet chuckle about the razor disposal slot. But by the time the plane touched down at PDX I was wishing I had a razor blade. I'd rather slit my wrists than go through another landing like that.

Portland, which has shipped all of its rain and storm weather south to Palm Springs most of the winter, was in the midst of a squall. The wind was obviously kicking up pretty good, because that MD-80 was tossed around like a vibrator during multiple orgasms. We were bucking and bouncing and slipping and banging all the way through the final approach.

The passengers seemed to handle it pretty well, but you know the turbulence is bad when you are sitting in the back of the plane and you can see the front of the cabin bouncing and gyrating around.

After we reached the terminal, when everyone was in the rush to hurry up and wait in the aisle, I asked one of the flight attendants one of those stupid "Here's your sign" sort of questions.

Me: So, is it windy here?

Blonde flight attendant: Yea, there's quite a storm out there. It's been like that all day.

Me: I thought that landing seemed a little rougher than normal.

Flight attendant: Yea, it thought I was going to get sick there for a minute.

It does not bode well when your flight attendant admits queasiness on landing.

But, obviously, my fellow passengers and I made it, safe and sound, and fortunately no one left their lunch on the cabin upholstery. Although, I was seriously questioning the wisdom of the two beers I had at the airport bar in Palm Springs. The 11 o'clock news was reporting wind gusts on the nearby Oregon Coast ranging from 50-plus to nearly 80 mph. I think they were all aimed at our plane. But we got here, and life goes on.

After getting to Portland and picking up a rental car, I met up with my daughter's mom, and we went together to pick up our daughter from a party she was attending with some of her friends from school. Apparently that party was designed to end at 10 p.m., because as we got there, a parade of cars started pulling up at the same house. They were sure a punctual bunch of parents, I'll give them that.

Apparently the drink of choice at this party was the energy drink Red Bull. My daughter admitted to having two of them. And a Coke. Apparently caffeine getter her motor revving and she gets quite chatty. I've been told I can be the same way when I've had a few beers. I don't, however, thing those two things are related, nor do I think there is an inherited connection. And I choose not to believe the Red Bull was a chaser for something else. Anyway, the last visit when I was here, I felt light an inquisitor trying to get her to say anything in a complete sentence. Tonight she was rambling on about her boyfriend, and her friends hooking up with each other, and freak dancing at Catholic school dances, and, on and on. And yes, I had to have her define freak dancing, and GOD I hope I never witness her doing such a thing.

I'm not sure which is worse, having a teenage daughter who doesn't talk, or one that tells you about all the drama of 8th grade in a metropolitan city. I guess it is cool that she felt comfortable enough to say those things to me and fill me in on her life, but it was verging on too much information for my aging ticker.

I'm leaning toward the silence is golden thing at the moment.

Flying
Vacation
Teenagers
Parenthood

All is quiet

My hosts have gone to bed for the night. My daughter is still awake, but she's in her room. So, I'm the only one left stirring in the house. Not much to do, but watch a little TV and get on a computer for a few minutes.

Portland really is a long ways from Palm Springs in so many ways. Once upon a time, Portland seems like a foreign land from the small town where I grew up. Portland still seems like a foreign land, but for a different reason now. While I still consider Oregon "home" when talking to family and friends, it is apparent that I'm used to a different place, a different pace and a more diverse environment. Portland certainly has more to offer than the small town in this state, but it no longer seems like such a utopia, as it may have once to me more naive mind. Even the Oregonian newspaper, once a publication that I dreamed of working for, now seems a little more like just another newspaper. And the TV news here may be a little more polished, but I'm losing track of all the spelling errors I've seen in the captions and on-screen info graphics they put up.

I don't think it is the place that has changed, it is my perspective that has changed. I hope that is for the better.