Why you buggin?
This Saturday a friend and I, let’s call him Chicken Strip, spent the latter half of our evening at Mary’s, “Portland’s oldest topless joint.” For those who may not know, Portland has the highest number of strip clubs per capita of any U.S. city. We also have more microbreweries than any city in the world, recently passing Dusseldorf (or similar) to claim the title. Still I have yet to receive a visitor from back east…what the hell is wrong with you people?? But I digress.
The thing about Mary’s is that, in addition to being old, historic, and right in the middle of the CBD, it is in true Portland fashion, a worker-owner cooperative. That should silence any hardcore feminists I may have in my audience. You see, as a cooperative, the performers all have a vested interest in how much dough they bring in, not only to their G-strings, but also to the register. Profit sharing and all that jazz. Given this setup, you would think they would be particularly accomodating and friendly, to get lonely drunk graduate students like myself and C.S. to open up our fat wallets. Not exactly. The waitress was really nice, and quite possibly the hottest girl I have ever seen, although unfortunately not a performer. But I think their direct stake in the business end has gone to some of the girls’ heads. Enough to make them forget their roots and core constituency.
The first girl on stage seemed to have it in her head that she was something other than a stripper. That she was somehow in a position to lecture and judge the people who are paying her rent. She may have had a point, if that position were something other than naked on all fours, lapping up dollar bills like a hungry dog. In addition to sitting there, not even moving, talking to some fat bozo during the entire first song, she didn’t even take anything off. When she finally did, she–literally—said “Oh, you want to see my boobs?” in this really nasally, sarcastic voice with that fucking half-upper lip smirk on her face. Then she pulled her shirt up for about 2 seconds. I was ready to start throwing shit at her, before I remembered that she’s a struggling small business owner. Eventually she did her job and left the stage. It’s fine if you object to the adult industry, but not if you are perpetuating it. I realize that oogling and objectifying women on a Saturday night is not a particularly noble endeavor, but I don’t need to hear that FROM A STRIPPER. Maybe it was just part of her act, I don’t know. That’s like if my pal Big Sexy were to decry the violence carried out by Columbian cocaine cartels (which he, to his credit, does not do). I’m not much of a strip club guy anyway, but I still don’t see myself going back there for that reason alone. Except maybe to buy another beer off of what’s-her-name.
More referrer logs
Squarespace finally has the referrer logs back online, after a several week “overhaul.” (If you want a blog, try another provider) I am still shocked at how many people end up here by searching various engines for “zooporn.” There are more than twice as many hits for zooporn as for anything else, from as far away as Germany. And on one of them, I am now the #8 result. How can that be? (maybe it’s because I keep typing the word “zooporn”) I have never posted an image on this blog, certainly not one of women blowing goats, or whatever these sick fucks are looking for. That’s right Franz, you and everyone like you is a dirty bastard. Even if you just think it’s funny that some redneck in Washington got killed by a horse cock recently (yes, I know someone who actually watched that, and then admitted it) So if you came here expecting beastiality, here’s some friendly advice: pull your pants up, turn off your computer, and go make an appointment with a shrink.
Women
Gawd…who needs ’em, really? (warning…my bitterness is making me misogynistic, and it’s coming out in this post) I’m seriously considering going gay, and here is an example of why. I got in trouble at the gym today. Not really in trouble, but I did get the eye-rolling sigh/harumph from some chick after she caught me staring at her. See, I wasn’t staring so much at her as I was staring at the enormous dragon tatoo on her leg. Seriously, it took up her entire quadricep and left (outer) side of her thigh. My question is: why would you adorn yourself in artwork (it really was beautiful and intricate), go out to a public place wearing skimpy clothing, and then get annoyed when someone, anyone, checks you out? Why did you get the damn thing in the first place? It’s like walking around with the original Mona Lisa and wondering why people keep stopping you on the street. Same thing goes for women who feign annoyance when people (men and women) stare at them in their little tanktops that leave half of each breast exposed. I mean, if I walked around with my balls hanging out my drawers, I would expect people to stare at me. I certainly wouldn’t get mad when they did. And they usually do.
Cooking with the Glove
Two words: cous cous. Use it to replace that starchy rice or pasta your recipe calls for. It’s a good source of protein, fast and easy. If you can boil water you can make it, and it’s harder to ruin than cereal. Even jones could make it.
Letter of the week
Let me start by saying that I am no fan of the Portland Mercury. I hate it more than just about anything, except possibly the guy across the street who decided last June to buy a rooster. I’m reluctant to post about it, even more reluctant to link to them. Do not click on the above link under any circumstances. Sometimes I pick it up, for example when the coffee shop is out of toilet peper. The Mercury is one of the two “alternative weekly” rags here in Stumptown, the other being Willamette Week. While the Week is busy engaging in actual journalism, doing things like winning Pulitzers, Hg tries to distinguish itself as the hipster, tragically cynical tabloid, by doing things like plagiarizing The Onion. Despite that caveat-laced intro, the Merc gets this week’s coveted Letter of the Week Prize, written, of course, by someone NOT on the staff.
DEAR YUPPIE SCUMBAGS
TO RACHEL AND DENNIS, who hate suburbanites coming into the Pearl District [Letters, Sept 8]. Fuck you two yuppie scumbags. Based on your letter, it is obvious that the suburbs don’t hold the patent on obnoxious people.
While some in Beaverton live in McMansions, you live in a McCondo, dumbfuck. If there are more soulless buildings in Portland, I’ve yet to see them. Your island of concentrated wealth and tax abatement are nothing more than a suburb within the city. A homogenous group of people with similar ideologies, income, and race.
Finally you state that it takes much less in terms of resources to live in a multi-unit dwelling than a house in Beaverton?! What the fuck are you talking about, douchebag? You don’t even cite a shred of evidence to support such a retarded claim.
I hope someday you walk down my street in Beaverton. I’ll do my best to make you feel at home. I’ll shit in the street and drink 40 ouncers wrapped in paper bags. Then I’ll hit you up for money. Cunts.
Ian of the Beaverton
Good job Ian, I couldn’t have put it better myself. Watch for next week’s prize, which will go to me if they publish my letter. But they never do.
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Roe v. Paid
Don’t want to get into a pro/anti abortion debate here, but I think this is pretty funny.
Starting Oct. 1, PPSP will begin a new fundraising program, called “Pledge-a-Picket,” in which donors promise to give a certain amount of money for every protester who visits their Locust Street headquarters. If a donor pledges $1 per protester (the minimum is 10 cents), and 100 protesters show up, the donor gives $100. The agency plans to set up a counter at the front entrance, so that protesters can see how much money their nemesis has made off of them.
Had you walked by the Planned Parenthood clinic this past Saturday morning, you would have seen a throng of about 100 people standing in front of a tree-lined alcove, heads bowed toward the brick building as if in supplication to it. Quietly, they recite the rosary over and over, without pause or variation. They say it hundreds of times, their collective voice filling the air like a cricket song.
Jones, you gotta go check that out sometime. Take a few pictures.
(One protester) says she believes that if she and her brethren pray long and hard enough, the abortion clinic will go away. And this may be the real reason that Pledge-a-Picket will have little effect: As far as the protesters are concerned, Planned Parenthood can make all the money it wants. They trade in the currency of prayer.
Because, you know, The Lord is a micromanager. He cares about the everyday fates of all of His children, which is why good always triumphs over evil.
If it bleeds, it leads
Some people still buy into the idea that there is a vast liberal media conspiracy, preventing America from reaching the heights of glory we saw on Leave It To Beaver. To those people I say consider things like this:
If this had happened in the Clinton White House it would be gavel to gavel coverage. As it is, it seems to be blacked out. Our liberal media at work again.
I would add that if Clinton had done half the things Bush has done (Iraq/WMD, Rove/Plame, Katrina, this) he would have been drawn and quartered by our esteemed Republican lemmings in Congress.
Jalalablog 