Street TVs

September 2, 2015September 4, 20172 Comments

They seem sad, dejected and lonely sitting on a curb, waiting and hoping to be picked up, carried off and brought back to life by being plugged in and surrounded by a family who happens to love watching sitcoms together. Television sets appear life-like to me because they talk. This explains that melancholy I feel seeing an abandoned TV. Sure the words televisions say are actually the crap they broadcast but they can take the vision of one world and bring it into another one. That’s not to say you can have a real conversation with a TV.

Recently we wanted to watch, or maybe I wanted to watch, a preseason football game while working on our kitchen renovation. My wife, Ronna, suggested I hook up the old set in the basement. I hauled it up, attached the antennae and watched the snowy image on the screen before a hazy memory became clear. The heavy-ass set needed a digital converter box. I flashed back to that murky time when the digital transition was going to be happening and it was all over the television being explained and hyped. I’d forgotten. The old analog set was not going to pick up a signal. I tried to explain this but ended up committing to that day’s work out of lifting and carrying the old set down to the basement. There’s been at least one reason not to ditch it on the curb, besides the heartbreak, VHS tapes and old DVDs still look great on that set. So on that rare occasion when it’s necessary it will be there serve its duty as a monitor.

But it was the digital conversion that wasn’t that long ago that has created a nation of semi-obsolete televisions. You can still find a converter box. The new ones may cost 40 to 50 dollars, but you could probably get one cheaper, like you can find everything, online. It’s seems sketchy because you’ll be watching a digital image on an analog set. I’m sure these digital converter boxes work fine but why make the investment in old school technology when you can get a new, slim, sleek model for cheap. So out go the old sets often with a reminder note that explains that they work great or that the set is free. I’m especially fond of the giant televisions, wide-screen, state of the art in their day, that seem to take up a city block and would have to be moved by a crane. They make it easy to see how far technology has progressed.

I had an eye out for old TVs years ago when I had a plan to make a music video about a guy watching a music video on a mountain of television sets. I suppose the logistics of carting televisions around and hoarding them in the basement killed my inspiration. When I worked in a group home and one of the televisions broke, I made my one and only curbside TV grab. I got the set back only to realize the electrical cord had been cut. I had to drop it off at Far West Recycling Inc.

Sad, abused, orphaned, to say the least, it’s a difficult question on how to deal with the street TV dilemma. I wonder why there has never been an eye water inducing public service announcement for television junkies to weep over. With a sappy soundtrack the narration could surely describe the plight of the homeless sets waiting for new life in an art project or crying out for a digital conversion to broadcast the late show of a bygone era one last time.

Tattoo Party

August 28, 2015September 10, 2015Leave a comment

I didn’t know what to expect from a Tattoo Party but I was game. It was a Tuesday night (insert social calendar joke here) back on August 18th. I roped my wife, Ronna, to be the party photographer so I could balance a plate of hors d’oeuvres with my drink and my reporter’s notebook. What a party! There were tons of people, parent’s brought kids, cat fish, BBQ chicken wings, paleo cupcakes and Blood Orange Italian Soda were among the vittles, plus there were tattoos and a guy wearing a Judas Priest T-shirt. It was a great way to welcome a new business into the neighborhood or was the new business welcoming us?

The party was held in celebration of the grand opening of Blue Ox Tattoo. We were excited to have a new business in Kenton. In that location there had been a home brew store and a hair salon so a Tattoo Parlor was a welcome addition. I realize nobody calls these places Parlors anymore, unless maybe you’re a sailor or old fashioned like me. I loved the idea of visiting and partying inside the updated surroundings in what feels like a historic space. There where framed tattoo drawings on the walls, and tchotchkes for inspiration in the various artist stations. If a unicorn isn’t the best tattoo it can at least serve to inspire a better design.

Before the party crowd became wall to wall.

For me tattoos were strongly discouraged in my youth. Let’s just say my parents never spoke highly of them. I didn’t get swept up in the 90’s tribal craze, in part because I spent time in the post office and whenever I was in line I would end up studying the FBI’s Most Wanted Posters. The one constant identifier always seemed to be tattoos. I figured not having a tattoo would be one less detail that would be included about me if I ever ended up on the FBI’s list.

Mikal Gilmore, one of the owners of Blue Ox Tattoo, started getting tattooed at 18 and was attracted to the art and rebellious nature of tattooing despite it becoming more mainstream. Wanting more visible tattoos meant not fitting into the corporate world making a career in the tattoo business a necessary option. Living in the Kenton area and seeing there were no local tattoo businesses, despite tattoo shop saturation in the city, Gilmore was thrilled to be the one to offer it and appreciated the community support received for the effort.

Local business owners & tattoo enthusiasts gathered.

Before going to the party I considered what tattoo I would get, if I ever got one. There was the face of a pit bull named Harlow that I dog sat. A sweetheart of a dog, but I thought a pit bull tattoo, especially the face, would make me a bad ass. I also considered Tom Cruise. I wanted one of those Wall Street Journal dot portraits. Really, like a current Tom Cruise, a portrait of his face, not Risky Business Tom Cruise like we were asked about. God knows I would not have Tom Cruise dancing in his underwear on my bicep. We’re really talking the charismatic Cruise, but no one can see past his religious interests these days.

Mikal would “get a lot more information” about my choice of tattoos mentioning not being “judge and jury of someone’s tattoo or art choice.” In trying to hold on to tattooing’s rebellious nature and keeping distance from the corporate world, Gilmore mentioned declining to create a tattoo of a logo on someone. Our tattoo party ended with me spotting a thigh tattoo being shown off while also noticing I’d spilled hummus on my reporter’s notebook. In all, it had been a great way to visit a local business, talk to a few folks and get insight into tattoo philosophy.

The author in the middle of the tattoo party.

(Photos by Ronna Craig)

Mayberry and Gomorrah: An Orbit Obit

August 21, 2015August 5, 20176 Comments

There can’t be two more diametrically opposed places of business that have reached the end of an era. One, a sedate hair care establishment epitomizing small town Americana with the wholesome name of Kenton Family Hair Care, the other a seedy mega complex of sin and debauchery both suffering from the demise of an old school way of life. The first, the way an older generation takes care of their hair, the other, the way an older generation takes care of their, ahem, soul?!?

Kenton Hair Care had a way of appearing like a business out of Mayberry, the old fashioned hair dryers, the booths with the stylist’s names on them and pictures of children or grandchildren tacked to the walls. It was the type of place I imagined my grandmother visited for her weekly hair set. I was drawn to the hair dryers, so quaint, it reminded me of photo taken of the Violent Femmes in the 80’s for the Campus Voice Biweekly posters that were posted at my college.

Clientele was dwindling for years at Kenton Family Hair Care. When the Third Thursday event started they opened in the evenings and attempted to sell quilts and prints of squirrels. I know, I bought one of those prints. Out of step, perhaps and now, out of time.

The Town Plaza is a whole other story. As nasty as it was, you could only imagine the appeal it could have had for someone who wanted to indulge their purient interests–a smorgasbord, with a video store, a juice bar called the Sugar Shack, a strip club, a bar and grill named the Pink Marlin and even a burger joint. I can imagine the place, brand spanking new and shiny, briming with temptation, I’m sure Satan himself was there, possilby in disguise, when they cut the ribbon. In the last few years, there seemed to be no trace of activity besides fish sculptures and neon in one of the windows that faced the busy section of Lombard Ave. The strip club may have continued to operate after all the other businesses shut down but it was hard to tell.

I never saw the parking lot until I drove around to take pictures. Burger Island was only known to me through the remainders of its sign that was never torn down. I saw no evidence of any burgers or relics of an actual burger joint around the place. The building was purchased by the nearby neighborhood who paid over 2 million in an attempt to rid the area of the activity that occurred within the checker board tile laden building.

To me it was always a curiosity. Even when driving by with a friend who voiced disgust, I still held on to a slight glimmer of appreciation for a place that made such an attempt of commodifying seediness for those in need. Maybe it was just a matter of the wrong place being in the wrong place.

End with a more wholesome image.

What the hell is that?

August 14, 2015April 23, 20172 Comments

On a recent bike ride home from work I had a look at, well, what it was I wasn’t sure. I thought about it and realized I had seen it before but in all my huffing and puffing getting up the hill I had not given it much thought. It’s bright and colorful. It doesn’t blend into the background still I had to consider what purpose it served and what it was doing on the far side of N. Weidler St, a one-way street. Then I had to ponder my next question: What the hell is that?

Now that line is from an old Steve Martin bit. Let me pause for anyone who may not know who Steve Martin is. If you grew up in the 70’s you knew him. You may have bought his comedy albums, saw him on Saturday Night Live or in his movie The Jerk. If you are figuring out who he is now you’d think he was some old guy. He’s had gray hair since he was about 14 so he’s been distinguished looking forever. Ultimately I just like co-opting his comedy because it’s funny but I make sure to give him credit.

But, yeah, wow, I saw this building, sculpture, thing, and couldn’t figure it out. What the hell is that? I don’t mean it in a negative way. It looks cool but sticks out with its jarring colors and patterns in an otherwise drab section of town.

After looking it over on my bike, I saw no information indicating what this object could be. It was up to me to use my imagination. I demand a bronze plaque with the title of this art construction or at least the name of the artist or designer. These people deserve recognition.

What the hell is that?

My mind wandered and then I came up with multiple descriptors. I’m sure anyone could come up with better ones but I thought: psychedelic igloo. Not half bad but actually really terrible. Eskimos never seemed interested in the frivolity of psychedelia, especially its genesis in the ’60s from what I can tell. It never would have help them survive their harsh environment.

The contraption also appears circus tent-like, yeah psychedelic circus tent, insect-esque under a kaleidoscope-microscope and the art of it all is a possible nod to Gaudi. It is awe-inspiring in it’s creativity and it made me appreciate my efforts to take a closer look. It could also be a beautiful outdoor chapel for any number of New Age religions. I had a great time looking it over, basking in the form, shape and color of it. Soon enough it made more sense.

What the hell is that?

Answer:

It’s a streetcar station!

Here’s some Vine footage that brings it on home:

https://vine.co/u/1244124186864508928

See Bill Murray and Steve Martin try to figure out what it is:

Cut Through the Night

August 12, 2015June 21, 2017Leave a comment

If there’s a sound or sounds that best exemplify summer I’d say it’s a guy calling a baseball game that you hear from a radio. The full effect may be best heard on an AM radio station driving in a car but an old radio on a porch would work. Crickets may be a close second as a summer sound but I prefer a ball game. Even though I’m not following baseball much this season, besides knowing the Red Sox are in last place, hearing a game on the radio gives me that summer feeling.

I stumbled on a Hillsboro Hops broadcast while surfing the AM dial one night in late July. I was drawn into the game not because I knew anything about the players or the league they’re in, but because the play-by-play announcer started telling a story. I haven’t heard much about the Hops. I may have stayed away over disappointment about losing the Portland Beavers, the Portland area minor league team, who seemed to get kicked out of their stadium (in favor of soccer!) and then left town. I was trying to get to a game but never made it.

As I absorbed the sounds of the baseball broadcast I was comforted by the soft whooshing background noise that’s made up of fans at the game. Then there was the voice. So it was two guys that made up the broadcast team but the play-by-play man had a radio perfect voice–golden tones not too deep or too high–a baseball voice that cut through the night.

His story began in the middle of an inning. This seemed like a challenge because the play-by-play guy still had to call the game. His tale described an old baseball coach, maybe he was from a community college, who had been flipped off by one of his players. He had me going with the whoosh in the background, the summer feeling rushing into me, but there were interruptions. He’d break into his story with game descriptions like 2 and O count or batter swings, typical game phrases. At one point there was so much action going on. I began to wonder, out loud, if he was going to get back to the story. I feared he’d forget to finish. The guy was a pro. Sure enough he got back to talking about the coach and the player who flipped him off.

The kid was given a choice. He could quit the team or go with the coach to a gymnasium. The player decided to stick it out and accept his fate. Once in the gym the coach told the kid to put on a helmet. I don’t know what kind of a helmet, but the player at least had a chance to protect his head. The coach proceeded to pelt the player with baseballs giving the player an opportunity to run in a confined space and do some dodging. There wasn’t much more to it than that. The coach, an old baseball coach, could pretty much get away with whatever he wanted to do.

The story reminded me of the kids of books about baseball I enjoyed reading in the 70’s, books by Joe Pepitone, Sparky Lyle as well as Bill Bouton’s Ball Four. How I managed to never read the book by Bill “Spaceman” Lee is beyond me. Those books brought out the crazy side of baseball personalities the stuff I was getting from the radio on a summer night. There’s a lesson too that it’s never a good idea to flip off a coach, any coach whether you’re on his team or not.

Zoned Out in Zone 2

July 31, 2015June 20, 2017Leave a comment

After posting about emergency preparedness, I spotted a poster one afternoon on my way home from work. Hmmmmm, Zone 2?

If a nuclear blast hit downtown Portland… Wait a minute. I’m already invested in worrying about an impending earthquake. Do I really need to consider a nuclear blast? Unless somehow really has it out for Mayor Hales and Councilman Novick, I’d like to think we’re safe from a good old atom bomb bombing. I had to consider what the sign meant by Zone 2.

Okay so if I’m in Zone 2, I have lung hemmorhage and third degree burns to look forward to. This sign was spotted at least a couple of miles from downtown so perhaps I don’t have to consider moving to East Portland yet. I think I may worry more about the impending condo implosion.

These posters were placed as a reminder of the 70th anniversary of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I appreciate how we have to consider the consequences of the havoc brought on by nuclear war.

My thought was to create a pledge, probably not too original but If I can get all seven billion plus of us to sign this, I think I could get a handle on ending the threat of nuclear war.

So please cut and paste this, print it out and post it where it will be seen by your friends and neighbors and even your enemies:

A Pledge to Prevent Nuclear Escalation

I, (your name here) pledge to no longer consider making nuclear weapons, use nuclear weapons in any shape or form or proliferate the ones that have already been made.

Sure it’s an over simplification but it’s a start. Let’s get ready for the earthquake and hope we never have to deal with the folly and the skin and lung ailments that would result in a nuclear blast.

While I’m getting political on the pages of a blog that usually concerns itself with random acts of creation and other assorted trivial matters, I thought I’d throw out a shout out to the people at the bridge this week. While I missed most of it because I started a new job I did catch enough to see the conclusion of the stand off. The end was actually the ship escaping the Portland area by scurrying under the St. Johns bridge. The only coverage I was able to provide is a picture I took of the action as it was being broadcast on our television set.

The Fennica is an arctic ice breaker ship working for Shell oil. I can only assume it is on it’s way up north after having it’s hull repaired in Portland. There were people hanging off the bridge on what looked like colorful ribbons and many kayakers in the water making a desperate attempt to keep the ship at bay. While I’m not a fan of that cutesy label kayactivists I admire the efforts of anyone fighting the Coast Guard and Big Oil. Of course it failed. I documented our run in with the Coast Guard on this blog. I’m aware of how tough they can be. In fact what I saw on the news looked like a Coast Guard boat running over a kayaker while a woman in a Bay Watch bathing suit jumped out of another boat to grab the man who had been knocked out of his craft.

Sometimes it all seems like a whole lot of something for nothing but I appreciate those who tried. I understand that many of the folks were outside agitators from Greenpeace, but there were people from Portland who were also willing to risk being arrested for the cause.

I really see it as a time to start considering our energy future and whether it’s worth tampering with the delicate ecosystem of the Arctic. Every time there has been a sHell No! protest in the area in recent weeks I’ve had some prior commitment but I’m proud of the people willing to raise a little Hell to bring some awareness to the struggles of our times.

Prepared in Portland?

July 24, 2015June 20, 2017Leave a comment

A couple of weeks ago I helped an ex-coworker move. He was paying me a generous rate and it was a good opportunity to catch up with an old friend. When I noticed his Neighborhood Emergency Team gear, I had to pick his brain about emergency preparedness. Most Portlanders have heard for years about the impending earthquake that’s over due. This became more prominent news based on a New Yorker article about the earthquake that is expected to hit the Northwest. Not having read the New Yorker article, I did see some responses to it on Facebook. This was a motivation to explore emergency preparedness and take additional action to get ready for the big one.

Emergency preparedness has been on my mind for a while. I’ve learned enough to consider what’s in store for the Portland area. The science behind it confirms the “meganess” of this quake. My denial about our impending doom has me wishing for a little earthquake that would jolt us into the idea of getting ready to deal with a major one. Maybe because it hasn’t happened for 300 plus years and due to the nature of our subduction zone a doozy is expected. We’re dealing with a disaster that’s hard to get one’s head around. Rumor has it that not everything around town has been seismically retrofitted to withstand tremors. It feels like we’re in store for an epic and real life disaster movie or maybe it will seem more like a play because it will happen in real life. I’m sure I could get a sense of if from seeing the movie San Andreas with all it’s CGI bluster. So far I’ve decided to pass on seeing it. It feels like there’s a bit of a safety net living some distance from the coast which is expected to get the worst of it. The first step is to survive the quake itself. I had forgotten that I need to consider what to do when the actual event hits. Stop, dropping and rolling isn’t going to cut it. I even thought I’d be a bit more secure if I had an idea of when earthquakes generally occur–is it early in the morning, afternoon, or whenever the mood strikes? Nobody seems to know anything exact except the inevitable.

When I think basics, food and water top the list. At the very least a three-day supply of water and food is a necessity. There’s probably old food in our refrigerator that would get us through that. I think there’s hope that after three days the Government will help but I can’t rely on that. I hate standing in line too much. My goal is a two-week supply of provisions. There should be no procrastination in this matter. The shaking could start at any moment. All I have to do is drill up the plastic barrel I was going to use to capture rain water. If I fill it with the hose we’d have 55 gallons. Based on the recommended water suggestions, I’ve calculated needing 42 gallons for two people and a dog for two weeks. I’m not going to pile 42 jugs in the basement. Water is crucial. The last time Portland had an issue with drinking water and there was a water ban due to contamination I felt cut off. I was struck by that feeling of not having access to something and then craving and obessing over it. I was dying of thirst. A coworker at the time told us that hours after the water ban people were fighting over it at our local Fred Meyer and every last drop was bought up. I used a couple of the older gallon jugs from the basement and felt prepared.

My wife and I have one plan that may not be realistic. It involves me dragging two kayaks and a dinghy for the dog and crossing the river to the west side where she will be involved with dealing with the emergency situation at her job. As absurd as any plan might be its at least good to consider one. What would you do? Think about how your plan might change at different times of the day because in an earthquake all your other plans will change. It’s worth imagining the hardship we will face due to this particular type of natural disaster. I’m trying to get my head around two to three months of electrical outages, the horror of the event itself (at least the Rock won’t be running around or even flying above in a helicopter) and the disruption of schedules, social order and the general agony (think telethons) that would come with this type of situation. I may be imagining some grim times ahead, but for me there will be a challenging aftermath to endure.

Then there’s at least one special wrench you need for turning off gas. That sounds intimidating but I’d like to prevent fires. Everything from where you’ll be going to the bathroom to what you’ll eat and heat sources and lighting has to be considered. So it seems obvious to me that I better have a roll of duct tape.

My friend broke it down and offered a few tips. He had done a presentation for one of his college communications classes so he was well versed in these matters. He talked about about starting small, getting a few extra cans of food a week at the grocery store. If I’m starving I’m not going to be picky, so pinto beans it is. He said you should have cash in small denominations so you don’t end up paying 50 bucks to the guy who can’t make change. We’re also going to need to present our financial and identification info to FEMA at some point so we better have the important banking, insurance and other information and numbers available on a USB drive or a DVD in a safety deposit box. He went so far to pack Jack Daniels and coffee for possible barter. Soon after the hoopla of this article we managed to order a new crank radio to replace the battered old one. I’ll save the new one for emergencies. We also have something called a Lifestraw for filtering water and flashlights that work.

Earthquake reality is something we have to live with and a bit of action may help with the anxiety it creates. Should it all go down, I’m sure I’ll have a blog post about it six months after it happens.

Can you Survive a Portland Summer?

My brain dead summer series continues. I’m exploring personal reactions to living in the Portland area. If you’re looking for a more Orbit like theme you can get your pet cemetery fix at the Pittsburgh Orbit .

Note: I’ve got nothing against The Rock who stars in the disaster flick San Andreas. All I know is that when the earthquake hits it’s sure to put me in a bad mood and a muscle bound hero type running or flying around saving everyone is going to be annoying.

Let the Red Cross help you:

http://www.redcross.org/or/portland/preparedness

Into the Heart of Darkness: Midnight Kayaking on the Willamette

July 17, 2015June 13, 2018Leave a comment

I’m an amateur kayaker. I know there’s not much to it, some shoulder rotation and the dipping of a paddle from side to side that causes you to glide through water but for the times when I needed to pull up along side the person I was kayaking with I found the craft tough to control. I couldn’t turn or avoid crashing into my partner when I was getting too close. It’s fair to call me a kayak spazz. Give me a wide river with no rapids, waterfalls and plenty of sunlight and I should be fine.

My wife, Ronna, and I set out for a kayak cruise to downtown Portland on the Fourth of July to see fireworks. We gave ourselves plenty of time beginning this journey at the St. Johns boat ramp around 7:30pm. If you’re familiar with Portland you know that’s a long way, but it was sunny, warm with a few more clouds than I expected and I accepted the mission. I was concerned about paddling back in the dark but was more focused on the first part of trip–get to the fireworks and watch them. I considered lighting but only had a miniature flash light that would not have done much so I left it at home. We had no marine lighting in the house. After we piled the boats in the car hanging off the tailgate we headed to the boat ramp.

Once in the river we were surrounded by thin bands of pink clouds from an epic sunset. Everything was gorgeous from the reflections of the water to the light of the setting sun. People were camped out along the river bank. I listened to a woman haranguing someone from inside a tent. Otherwise it was quiet with the occasional boat creating a wake that had us bobbing up and down. The water that splashed on me from time to time was warmer than I thought it would be. We drifted past a giant navy ship, the USNS Charles Drew that was docked around the Vigor ship yard. Fireworks were starting early, before it got dark. We kayaked under five bridges getting a different perspective as we passed underneath them. Heading toward the Broadway bridge as it grew dark, we passed a small boat with a light on its stern. When asked if we were heading for the fireworks, I confirmed we were. The boat light was bright and seemed like a good idea but the people were giving up, calling it a night, turning away from the fireworks. People gathered on the Broadway bridge–an ideal place for firework observation. One of the onlookers yelled, “Shark” down at us. This was the least of my worries.

We where heading under the Steel Bridge when a spot light hit us. A man asked if we had a light for our kayaks. Ronna said we didn’t. He told us that we were in the middle of the channel and that we needed to go home before we were killed by a boat that wouldn’t be able to see us and would crash into us. (I’m paraphrasing here.) Needless to say this condemnation put a damper on our kayaking adventure. I admitted that this was good advice. Seeing the lettering on the side of the boat, I realized we were dealing with the Coast Guard. I didn’t want to risk further run-ins with them so I was ready to head back. Ronna was determined to see fireworks. We pulled over to a dock on the shore before the bridge and talked to a couple of guys who had seen our encounter. I was willing to continue mainly because I thought we were almost there. It seemed like the whole sky would open if we could elude the Coast Guard and get under the Steel Bridge. Instead we ran into a giant concrete barrier that stretched on and on and blocked our view of anything. We saw people lined up on this bridge too and caught flashes in the sky, otherwise we heard or saw no evidence of a firework display.

We regrouped again back at the dock and realized we weren’t going to make it. We had lost our chance to see the Portland fireworks display. Ronna expressed regret about experiencing what felt like bully tactics from the Coast Guard. It occurred to us that we should hug the dock for a few minutes. With everyone heading up river after the fireworks we hit some serious wake action. Rogue waves sloshed into the kayaks. We were tossed back and forth but it’s hard to say how challenging it would have gotten if we hadn’t stopped at the dock. We headed back closer to the shore as not crash into any stray boaters. The lights from the bridges made amazing reflections on the river’s surface. We caught amateur firework displays, saw camp fires along the river bank, spotted fish jumping around us and even saw a falling star–nature’s fireworks.

By the time we loaded up the boats it was 2:30am. After seven hours of kayaking I had to wonder if it had been worth it. I learned that I could kayak for that long without my arms falling off. I wasn’t disappointed about missing the fireworks because we survived. Despite the Coast Guard’s warnings, we didn’t get chopped up by a giant ship propeller or collide with a pleasure boat. There would be future opportunities to see fireworks. That night I saw the river from a perspective I never expected. It’s a stranger world in the dark. We experienced the river with its strange, late night industrial noises in the industrial section to crazy boaters blasting tinny music from mounted speakers. One passenger hanging off the back of a speeding boat, while it was still light, mocked me by making exaggerated paddle motions but a slow cruise up and down the Willamette had me experiencing the river in all its lit and unlit glory.

It’s summer in Portland and while I try my best to enjoy it and appreciate it, I’ve found myself breaking from my usual style. I’m writing more personal blog entries about my Portland experiences. The planning and more general subject matter isn’t far off. As my old friend Peter Geddes pointed out: August is a slow news month. July seems like one too. I’ll be back Friday, July 24th. I swear!

All Photos by Ronna Craig

Portland T-shirts

July 3, 2015July 5, 20152 Comments

When I arrived in Portland I looked for volunteer opportunities to meet people, possibly network, and to experience the city. If you volunteer in Portland a t-shirt usually comes with the deal. It’s a tradition and now I expect something when I offer my labor. The shirts I have collected show signs of age marking the time I’ve lived here. Every shirt has a story, these stories date back to 2008 when we moved to Portland. Due to a lack of employment, I had plenty of time for volunteering.

The Johnson Creek Watershed t-shirt was my first exposure to the Portland t-shirt phenomenon. Going out to a section of Johnson Creek to plant trees and pull weeds seemed worth doing. It was the chance to see an outlying area of Portland. We met a woman who mentioned that it had taken her 15 years to understand the communication styles of Northwest residents. This seemed farfetched at the time but now seems closer to the truth of how long it can take to become accustomed to an area. I drank my fill of coffee and ate pastries on a damp and chilly day and got a feeling of camaraderie with my fellow volunteers but I never quite gained much attachment to Johnson Creek which feels remote in relation to where we live. At least it was cool to see goats in a yard in the valley below the bluff we were working on.

Holes around the collar!

It must have been Craigslist where I saw the call for people to gather at a downtown park to participate in a Public Service Announcement. I remember standing around wondering if I was in the right place and then talking to folks who had received the same vague information. There was an actor named Jimmy Carter yakking it up and talking about his work. His name invoked discussion about my favorite President. Another guy was heading off to teach film studies at George Fox University. I later realized it was the same guy I’d seen acting in a local short film. Someone else told me, while we were standing around, that Portland was a great place to live once you found the right job. It all seemed very Portland to gather in this park chatting with folks. I even spotted Art Alexis from Everclear hanging around. I believe he had a stroller with him.

Our costume was the yellow Lance Armstrong Livestrong shirt. I remember the crew being from the advertisement agency Wieden & Kennedy and a tall ladder being set up. The camera operator looked down on a group of us spread out and standing in the park. A couple of people had lines they recited in earnest. I became deathly afraid that I’d have a speaking part to repeat in front of all the extras and the director. I began trying to creep off camera and whispering to Jimmy Carter for acting advice. The most attention I received was a request to take a few steps back. While I know Livestrong had an important message it’s all been tarnished by the doping controversy. To top it off I never saw the P.S.A but the bold yellow shirt always worked well to add a splash of color to any ensemble I’ve worn. This may not be saying much for someone who has the fashion sense of a nudist. At this point the shirt seems a bit thin and is showing signs of wear with holes around the collar.

I volunteered to shoot a video project in 2008 working with PSU student. It was for a group of kids who were learning about peer mediation. I spent a few afternoons video taping students at Ockley Green school. It reminded me of the time I’d spent working in educational television. It seemed cool when I took a coffee shop meeting. The woman was buying and brought along her friend named Shady. The video taping culminated in a gathering of students in workshops and participating in group discussions with me doing more video taping and picking up a t-shirt. I always liked the brown hand shaking the black hand that was part of the design.

Boring, but blood worthy.

There were times in my life when a friend and I would have discussions about selling our blood. These would end in resignation when we weren’t able to find a place offering cash for blood. The Red Cross had cornered the market and made everyone accept that they should offer their blood up for donation. I know it’s possible to sell plasma but the places I’ve heard about seem prohibitively far away. My wife, Ronna and I were motivated to donate blood when we heard about a Star Trek vs. Star Wars themed blood drive at the Red Cross building in North Portland. I can’t remember if it was New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day, but the t-shirt were an added bonus to the guilt free opportunity to eat cookies out of a plastic bag. Star Trek vs. Star Wars was a nice enough gimmick with people dressed in various costumes but it wasn’t represented on the t-shirt. Unless I’m going to see a Jabba the Hutt or Princess Leia represented I’m not going to get excited.

Parke Diem was a city-wide volunteer event. Ronna, and I spent time working in the Kenton Community Garden. Parks and Recreation t-shirts seem to involve some kind of pun. This shirt was more of the bastardization of a famous Latin phrase. The power fist, central in the design has inspired me. This lush and thick shirt has an impressive quality. Of course it has a Nike swoosh on it too.

For a better example of puns related to volunteer work, I photographed the t-shirt my coworker wore at our temp job. Sam received it for pulling ivy. Note the two punny phrases, “De-Vine Intervention” sits atop No Ivy League with each phrase attempting to out-pun the other.

If you’re offering your time and effort to volunteer you might want to check in advance to see if you will be getting a t-shirt. Don’t be afraid to ask. Even if volunteering seems a good use of your time for networking opportunities or meeting people, a t-shirt should still be your first priority. If it isn’t offered run like hell. There are plenty of volunteer opportunities with t-shirt payments out there. The shirt for work exchange is your best bet for building your wardrobe. Your time and sweat is worth it.

Photographer: Ronna Craig

Models: David and Sam (No mannequins were available.)

Truckstop Cinema

June 26, 2015June 21, 20171 Comment

The theater in my neighborhood closed in 1956 and I miss it. It’s been gone for almost 60 years but I wish I could go back in time and see movies there. I was looking for a theater nearby, a place I could go almost every week that’s easy to get to. Second run movies fit the bill when trying to get to movies that much. I don’t want to pay astronomical prices and I can wait a few months to see most movies. It’s also nice to just be able to go to see what’s playing with expectations low, rather than think about having to see a particular movie. I’m lucky that I’m not picky. In the end the closest theater, my go to theater, was the one I found in the middle of a truck stop.

Back in the golden age…

When I moved to Portland I looked over listings and advertisements for movies and scouted out theaters. A listing for the Portlander Inn and Marketplace came up. Not sure what it was other than knowing there was a theater there, I took a bike ride out to the address listed on Vancouver Ave that was tucked away in the Delta Park area. I’m not sure how people get to it from the interstate but with its large hotel and separate gas pumps and truck area, it doesn’t have the traditional truck stop feel to me. The original attraction was second run movies at a budget price. It was three dollars then, but has since gone up to 5 dollars after the theater went digital. If you get a loyalty card you get a dollar off every ticket you buy.

I call the Portlander Inn and Marketplace hotline on most Fridays to see what the new movie is. My life is nothing if not routine. Often my wife, Ronna, and I find ourselves hitting the 6:45pm show on a Saturday night. They rotate movies every week. The first week it screens at 6:45pm the following week at 9:30pm with matinée shows as well. I’d find myself falling asleep at later screenings so we usually catch 6:45pm shows. The Willamette Week highlighted the whole truck stop from the shoe repair place to Moe’s Deli. With Jubitz on the local media radar it seemed like a good time to tell the tales of the truck stop cinema.

We’ve had our share of weird experiences at the truck stop. The theater allows for an opportunity to eavesdrop on truck drivers as they chat before the movie starts. The high cost of fuel, trucking industry boon and bane times, and trucking routes are all things I’ve heard about. Things got surreal the night we were sitting in the theater watching a semi-truck roll over in a movie starring the Rock. Art imitated life. Comments from truckers debunk scenes especially those involving high-speed car stunts. They know engines and mechanical aspects of vehicles and are willing to share their thoughts. Ronna theorizes that it seems natural for truckers to make comments out loud because of their use CB radios.

Inside the theater lobby

The theater has had it’s share of technical snafus especially with the 35mm equipment. In the early days of our attendance there was some set up involved. Someone from concessions would have to go to the projector booth, start the projector, fix the focus and adjust the image to the screen. Sometimes the projector would start and stop which seemed fitting for the budget admission. For one screening the projector never got on track. There was a flicking effect that was unwatchable. We made an effort but after 10 minutes it was determined that the projector was broken and we lined up to get our money back. On another night the adjustment of the film to the screen resulted in us seeing us things that were not intended to be seen. The audience was able to see the production microphones in all the shots. While this technical aspect of the film was educational it happened during a screening of an M. Night Shyamalan movie called The Happening. As if this guy wasn’t on thin enough ice for making bad movies, the truckers in the audience were aghast by seeing what they should never have seen in the first place. I headed back to the concession stand but couldn’t find anyone to adjust the movie.

We were there when the 35mm projector died. Again we lined up to get our money back and were assured that the theater would be up and running with a new digital system. It seemed to happen without a hitch. In fact it now seems that the system operates at the flip of a switch. The only issue in the beginning was the night we had to sit through a movie in English subtitled in English. As a compulsive reader I found it impossible to not read the unnecessary and distracting words splashed across the screen. I put in a called to America Cinema Equipment who had installed the system and let them know that things weren’t quite up to par.

As far as I can tell there’s no truck stop movie genre. Sure the movies that come to the theater are lighter on the “chick flick” genre, but beyond the usual action adventure we get teen movies, dramas and comedies. I wouldn’t have expected to see The Grand Budapest Hotel or even It Follows there but we did. I have my limits. I’m not addicted to going to this theater every week. I passed on Paul Blart Mall Cop 2 and Adam Sandler movies. I’m considering Fast and the Furious 7 which is playing there now. I can’t remember if I saw 2-6, good God that’s too many sequels. Still a night out with my lady and some truckers seems to be my favorite entertainment past time.

See the article and great illustration featuring the Jubitz truck stop:

http://www.wweek.com/portland/article-24896-disneyland_for_truckers.html

Editor’s Note:

If you’ve read this far down it looks like I’ll be going to a weekly posting format for the summer. The plan is to post on Friday afternoons before 6pm Pacific time because a deadline is the only motivator to get things done. There’s lot’s of sunshine, dog dookie and antique browsing that’s not to be missed. See comments from the Random Round Up post for a better idea of what that means. Actually, I’m dealing with a kitchen renovation that started late in 2014 and is about to kick into high gear, chronic underemployment that’s killing the budget and a back logged video project. As for blog posts I’ll be shooting for quality over quantity but also taking time for more research and topic brainstorming. I hope to post more in the fall.

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