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It's been longer than usual since I last posted, but it's for a happy reason: the Tickler and I went to Portland as the festivities for my birthday, observed. The main event: Paul Oakenfold's show, which I'll get to below. But first things first.
I picked up the Tickler at her new place on the outskirts of Olympia. Naturally enough, it's a big house for one person, but she says it doesn't make a good party pad because it's on septic, not the sewer system. It's nice and quiet, though.
We stayed at the Jupiter Hotel, which I picked for its proximity to the show. I'd walked past it a time or two on other trips to Portland (a Vampire Ball or two?) so I knew it was a hipster joint. Yeah, you could say the whole city is a hipster joint and not be wrong, but it's particularly obvious at the Jupiter: apparently it was once what the Tickler called a "no-tell motel" that's been renovated and then some. There was a bright, mind-melting mural on one wall of our room, and there were weed-related amenities available. (The Tickler brought edibles, which I must say made the mural even more interesting.) They provide ear plugs, which the Tickler desperately wanted for the show, but she could have used them to sleep: the Douglas Fir, which is a live music venue, is right next door, and the hotel itself has thin walls and young, loud, hipster guests. I'd go there again, but as a tourist, not for business.
Portland is a better restaurant town than it has any right to be, so after I took a badly needed nap - I'd been awake since 0415 - and extensive discussion, the Tickler took me to Teote, a South American (read: Venezuelan) place. It's not the fanciest joint: they give you numbers. But they have a huge patio, lots of Latin American customers, excellent people watching - "queerdos", said the Tickler - and mighty fine penil served in Fiesta ware. I've discovered that I could eat their arepas until I pop.
The show itself? I have to tell you, I might have liked it better if I'd gotten more sleep beforehand. However, Oakenfold delivered the trance both old and new, as did his immediate opener, Portlander Jamie Meushaw. The Tickler is a lot less reticent than I am about shoving her way to the front and center of a crowded club floor. Hello, trans-related insecurity! We also had fun doing raver culture bingo: the dragon onesie, fluffies, a fake fur vest, a kilt, etc. But there was also the über-gay rhinestone cowboy; the short, sequined dresses; and the geriatric ravers even older than I am.
The club, 45 East, is a professional joint with good sound and lasers in the middle of a still-light-industrial part of town by the Willamette. Walking there was a little tricky because of a) an overpass where we didn't expect it and b) the tents of the homeless occupying the whole width of the sidewalk. The Tickler figured Oakie could have filled a bigger hall, and I think she's right. There wasn't room to dance at 45 East except for upstairs, which was noteworthy for its long benches against one wall that faithfully transmitted vibrations from the subwoofers to our nether regions. Ahem.
We stayed until the house lights went up, then took a Lyft to a concentration of the food trucks for which Portland is famous at SE 12th & Hawthorne. I had what I must admit was a mighty fine felafel; the Tickler, who's spent a fair amount of time in the Middle East, said it was properly green on the inside and remarked on the quality of the pita. You see what Portland is like? So yeah, we nommed outdoors at 0300; the gas fires couldn't ward off the chilly wind but the big tent they had could. We went back to the Jupiter and slept the sleep of the just.
Brunch today? The Tickler thought she'd been to Tasty 'N Sons, which a cow orker of mine had also recommended, but when we got there she realized she hadn't. No matter: it's fan-damn-tastic. Definitely worth the half-hour wait, which we put to good use by consuming some lovely cocktails. (Mine was necessarily coffee-based.) I had the chicken-fried pork with venison gravy, and I say with the authority of a child of the South that their biscuits were right on. So was the kim chi I ordered on the side.
Yeah, we went to Powell's City of Books because we were in Portland. What kind of Philistines do you take us for? Books I bought: 3. Books the Tickler bought: ≥ 12. Dropped off the Tickler, swatted her kinky kitty. Came home. Gonna collapse now.
I picked up the Tickler at her new place on the outskirts of Olympia. Naturally enough, it's a big house for one person, but she says it doesn't make a good party pad because it's on septic, not the sewer system. It's nice and quiet, though.
We stayed at the Jupiter Hotel, which I picked for its proximity to the show. I'd walked past it a time or two on other trips to Portland (a Vampire Ball or two?) so I knew it was a hipster joint. Yeah, you could say the whole city is a hipster joint and not be wrong, but it's particularly obvious at the Jupiter: apparently it was once what the Tickler called a "no-tell motel" that's been renovated and then some. There was a bright, mind-melting mural on one wall of our room, and there were weed-related amenities available. (The Tickler brought edibles, which I must say made the mural even more interesting.) They provide ear plugs, which the Tickler desperately wanted for the show, but she could have used them to sleep: the Douglas Fir, which is a live music venue, is right next door, and the hotel itself has thin walls and young, loud, hipster guests. I'd go there again, but as a tourist, not for business.
Portland is a better restaurant town than it has any right to be, so after I took a badly needed nap - I'd been awake since 0415 - and extensive discussion, the Tickler took me to Teote, a South American (read: Venezuelan) place. It's not the fanciest joint: they give you numbers. But they have a huge patio, lots of Latin American customers, excellent people watching - "queerdos", said the Tickler - and mighty fine penil served in Fiesta ware. I've discovered that I could eat their arepas until I pop.
The show itself? I have to tell you, I might have liked it better if I'd gotten more sleep beforehand. However, Oakenfold delivered the trance both old and new, as did his immediate opener, Portlander Jamie Meushaw. The Tickler is a lot less reticent than I am about shoving her way to the front and center of a crowded club floor. Hello, trans-related insecurity! We also had fun doing raver culture bingo: the dragon onesie, fluffies, a fake fur vest, a kilt, etc. But there was also the über-gay rhinestone cowboy; the short, sequined dresses; and the geriatric ravers even older than I am.
The club, 45 East, is a professional joint with good sound and lasers in the middle of a still-light-industrial part of town by the Willamette. Walking there was a little tricky because of a) an overpass where we didn't expect it and b) the tents of the homeless occupying the whole width of the sidewalk. The Tickler figured Oakie could have filled a bigger hall, and I think she's right. There wasn't room to dance at 45 East except for upstairs, which was noteworthy for its long benches against one wall that faithfully transmitted vibrations from the subwoofers to our nether regions. Ahem.
We stayed until the house lights went up, then took a Lyft to a concentration of the food trucks for which Portland is famous at SE 12th & Hawthorne. I had what I must admit was a mighty fine felafel; the Tickler, who's spent a fair amount of time in the Middle East, said it was properly green on the inside and remarked on the quality of the pita. You see what Portland is like? So yeah, we nommed outdoors at 0300; the gas fires couldn't ward off the chilly wind but the big tent they had could. We went back to the Jupiter and slept the sleep of the just.
Brunch today? The Tickler thought she'd been to Tasty 'N Sons, which a cow orker of mine had also recommended, but when we got there she realized she hadn't. No matter: it's fan-damn-tastic. Definitely worth the half-hour wait, which we put to good use by consuming some lovely cocktails. (Mine was necessarily coffee-based.) I had the chicken-fried pork with venison gravy, and I say with the authority of a child of the South that their biscuits were right on. So was the kim chi I ordered on the side.
Yeah, we went to Powell's City of Books because we were in Portland. What kind of Philistines do you take us for? Books I bought: 3. Books the Tickler bought: ≥ 12. Dropped off the Tickler, swatted her kinky kitty. Came home. Gonna collapse now.
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Date: 2019-01-15 02:37 am (UTC)From: