Not waffling on gifting

So, when two threads of a conversation converge into one amazing idea, you know you're doing something right.

It all started when we crashed a birthday party by accident. Which, by the way, is a great way of making new friends.

The first thread involved carrying large, bulky objects and the total lack of convenience that they often have in their size, shape, and materials. One example presented: a waffle iron.

We also discussed the finer points of riding the Max light rail for extended periods. With long commutes, it is common to spend most of the time avoiding eye contact by burying our face in the four inch world of our phones. And what would be the worst fate imaginable on such a trip? That's right, your battery dying. Then you might actually have to talk to someone who is in the same space as you.

But what if there were outlets on the train that you could plug your device into, keeping it healthy for the rest of the day? Of course, such practical things could never become a reality. Often what stands in the way of progress is a large group of people trying to make a joint decision. But in this case it's really a question of abuse. You know everyone will bring their TV's, mini-fridges, portable AC's, and other appliances then spend all day on the train.

This is where things took a sudden turn. A waffle iron is another appliance. Wouldn't it be great to cook waffles on the Max?

"Well, you know," my wife interjects. "There are outlets under those towers that have the train schedules at the Max stops."

Wait! What?

WE CAN MAKE WAFFLES AT THE MAX STOP?!

We had to do this.

Plans were made to meet at a likely station downtown within the week. We went to Costco and purchased bulk waffle mix. We stirred up huge batches and headed downtown.

Disappointment greeted us immediately. There was no power in those outlets where we planned to set up shop. Luck was on our side, however, when it was discovered there was a live outlet in front of an adjacent and empty building. We plugged in and got to baking... Frying? Ironing.

Cooking up a tall stack, I'd take the fruits of our toil to Max trains as they arrived, offering our fresh, hot  treats to any who wanted one. This lead to looks of indifference and distrust, but also smiles and some that would actually accept! I would run onto a train as soon as the doors opened, sprint down the aisle holding out the goods between two paper towels making my call "Waffle? Waffle? Waffle?", then jump out as the doors were closing again.

Those who caught our stand on the sidewalk could not only get the waffle fresh off the press, they could claim some of the toppings that we'd brought along: maple syrup, whipped cream, strawberries, and bananas.

We called to the masses. We made signs. We walked up and down the streets to give the things away. Many a homeless person and street kid got a special treat that day. One person told us we were the most amazing thing he'd seen all week. Just one week? We weren't trying hard enough. Another person asked, "Why waffles?" I could only answer, "Because pancakes would be crazy."

In the end, we'd had a great deal of fun and made the day of an untold number of commuters. We've vowed to do it again and to apply some of the ideas and solutions we'd encountered along the way.

Portland's Pants-less Parade

So, I've previously discussed my appreciation for the unclothed form. And I'll admit, I have no aversion to wearing less than the full complement of attire. So there are some opportunities that I can't pass up. But in January? Really?

Well, finally, I would not let the cold of winter allow me to chicken out once again. You see, for many years Portland has participated in a nation wide phenomenon. It all started in New York as a prank by the folks at Improve Everywhere eleven years ago. The idea is simple:

1. Get on a public transit train (in NY this means the Subway, in PDX it's the Max).
2. Take your pants off.
3. Pretend like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

Of course, doing this during some of the chilliest weather of the season seems like madness, but that's part of the charm. It is far more difficult to feign ignorance to a lack of trousers when there are goosebumps on your thighs. The forecast called for near freezing temperatures, but I could not let even the ice on the sidewalk deter me. 

I had some choices to make as I prepared to head downtown: what to wear, what to unwear? Perhaps this is a case of TMI (so you may want to skip over the rest of this paragraph), but I'm a boxers man. In the lead up to the event I had pretty much settled on wearing my pirate shorts with their little Jolly Rogers with red hearts for eyes. Cute, right? My wife made a slight hint that I should go for the silky ones instead. Suddenly: inspiration! I have Santa boxers. Which would keep me warm with their white fringe (totally legit). The musical jingle bells would be a plus. I dressed in a santa-ish t-shirt and my santa hat to complete the look.

The plan was to meet at the designated location at the appointed time. I was running behind due to a conflict with a gym class and got there just in time for the reporter from Fox news to finish interviewing a friend (missed this opportunity to be on TV, but my wife and friends are there, so kudos to them). No one was without pants yet, but we were filling our bodies with warming liquids.

Like lemmings we marched on Pioneer Square and hit the east bound Max train. Once we were all aboard, we dropped trou. And boy did the strangers on the train get a show. There were many oohs, ahhs, and laughs from those unwittingly witness to our gag. Invitations to join in the festivities were brushed off with a blushing giggle or a coy smile. Complements were shared on our choice of attire. Plenty of geek cred was handed out. And, as the rules stipulated, not a thong was in sight. 

We rode the train to the Lloyd Center stop and got out to prance about near the park. We started showing off for each other and for the innocent bystanders, mall rats, and the disheveled youths who gathered to gawk and stare. After a bit of tomfoolery, we boarded the westward light rail to head back to our point of origin. A much shorter trip had us at the Square once more where we paused for a group photo or two. 

On the march back to the bar, we stopped in front of a fancy restaurant to do the Can-can.

Having gotten public displays out of our systems, and with the darkening sky descending upon us, we returned to home base for pant-less libations and dancing. There was a contest to show off our moves, but I failed to make the cut (fifth of four). In the end, the festivities are much warmer than you may imagine, you spend most of your time indoors, you're very active, and the people your are with are simply fantastic.

So, what about you? Would you ever do something so against the grain of common society? Something off the wall that others may find offensive even though it's harmless?

Too many Santas

So, I've been on a lot of pub crawls. But there is one with a very special place in my liver. And that is SantaCon.

I'd heard rumors about this phenomenon for some time after moving to Portland, but it wasn't until attending a reading by Chuck Palahniuk at Powell's downtown (which reminds me of another adventure I'll have to tell you) that I got some juicy details. He was promoting his latest book, Fugitives and Refugees, when he told a story of Windex and mobbing the Lloyd Center. It was a holiday tale about Santa and I wanted in.

It was a couple years later that I happened upon a blurb in the Willamette Week telling me about the upcoming event. Finally! I knew when and where to go to join in on this madness.

Sadly, it was a rouse, in classic Con style.

About 50 Santas showed up in Hillsboro, at the end of the Max line. No leadership, no plan. Just a bunch of milling about being watched by some nearby cops. After waiting around awkwardly for a while, someone took the initiative and lead us to a bar. And soon we were hopping from one dive to another. We were eventually notified, in a very discreet manner, that we had been SantaConned, and that the real event was next week, downtown.

I was dying for the authentic experience.

When I went, I didn't yet own a Santa suit. I had a Santa hat with beard attached, a t-shirt with a Christmas/Santa slogan, and little hope of blending in. But I brought the gift of liquor (shhhhhh! at least the bottle was wrapped like a present, it even had one of those stick on bows) and a ton of enthusiasm to participate and help out as much as possible. I started meeting and befriending the inner circle of troublemakers and mayhem stirrers who call themselves the Cacophony Society and started down a long road of new adventures.

This year I attended my fifth annual con.

Like that first year, SantaCon splintered into several events, run by different societies. And despite a host of options, multiple happening each Saturday of December, I was only interested in two.

The first was Anticon, the North Portland version of Santa that originally started as a way of escaping the "downtown mayhem" by following the Max Yellow Line down Insterstate. This was my first year attending the NoPo classic. As tradition states, we met at the Paul Bunyan statue. The small park was roughly divided between Santas and the rival bananas, but a good deal of  cookie, candy, and alcohol sharing fostered healthy camaraderie. After visiting our first bar, we headed over to Mayor Sam Adams house. There we were given a lovely speech about the unique fun that Portland can have without drinking in public (wink, wink). Which reminds me of the other time I met the mayor (a tale for another day). From there, we had a death march to our next location and had a lovely lunch at a Chinese restaurant while waiting out the rain.

We were then supposed to meet at another bar, but were tempted into The Office, a small dive that may one day grow up to become a strip club. Only had a couple other santas, so we took off for the official location. I spotted some friends and the next thing I know I'm in a tug-of-war using sheets tied together. Seems the line was meant to be divided between bananas and santas and I was on the wrong end. I flipped to the other side and we tugged until the sheets snapped and knocked the drunken revelers over like dominoes.

Santa then headed to The Tardis Room, which, unsurprisingly, is much larger on the inside, and we were divided into many different little parties. Eventually we moved on to the Dancing Bear Bare where santa let all the good little girls sit in his lap to talk about (deep, dark) desires. Let's just say the rest of the night is censored. Oh, except for dancing to a live band.

The following Saturday, Santa gathered again, this time downtown. We were running a little behind and missed the initial santa gathering spot. But we soon found everyone congregating at Dante's. Great venue, but only two bartenders verses a couple hundred santi resulted in me spending the majority of my time waiting in line for the one drink I had before leaving. Marching to a nearby park, we had a tug-of-war, this time with a right-proper rope. My side was winning, so the other santas tied their end of the rope to a lamp post. Not to be out done, we did the same on our side. Soon everybody/nobody was winning. I'm just glad we didn't destroy anything. I then helped by leading a contingent across the street to the Big Pink, but we were kicked out before even a dozen santas entered. We were only going to march through! No trouble, right guys? Still friends?

Kelly's Olympian was the next stop, but it's such a small joint that a group of us splintered off around the corner to the Rialto. Much bigger space, far fewer santas, and much less clothing. I, uncharacteristically, stayed pretty well dressed until we made it to our next destination: O'Bryant Square. I have partaken in many a rubber band and other battles here. But my most epic showdown was about to begin. A fight against the living mannequin at the men's underwear store across the street. I stripped to my santa boxers, flexed, and posed until a woman gave me a dollar. I win!

Visited a very crowded Mary's next (are Mary's and the Dancing Bare related or did the same person do both of their web sites?) but was soon tempted to visit the Glowing Greens for the best/worst round of miniature golf ever. This was a side mission where about ten or so santas load up in a van and leave the rest of the group behind. We did this again later for a karaoke stint at Chopsticks, a place where santa (not this santa) had gotten us into a bit of trouble a couple years ago. In between we hung out at Embers with the staff we know and love so well. But then my wife and I retired for the evening. Santa and Mrs. Claus had enough of the crowds and now just needed each other's company.

Afternoon of the Dead

So, some days you just wake up dead-tired. You shuffle about seemingly without direction and are lucky to get started by noon. Your clothes are torn. Your face is haggard. Next thing you know, there is blood everywhere.

Don't you just love those kinds of days?

Now, zombies may be over-played and cliché, but I don't think they'll ever not be fun.

At the behest of friends, and despite the drama that may occur with other friends, I attended the October event from the Stumptown Crawlers. This was the 2nd Annual Zombies & Monsters Pub Crawl. (I was in attendance for the 1st Annual last year as well).

Where would the drama come from? Well, I attend a lot of events which are run by different groups or organizations (corporations?). And some of these groups have taken issue with some of the other groups for the theft of ideas, who's making what money, exploitation, misunderstandings, and all the other rubbish that lead to the Hatfields and Mccoys duking it out. My attendance was not meant to snub anyone, nor a means of showing support to someone else. I am not about to get involved in the politics of the matter. Maybe so-and-so is a douche to whatshisname. It matters not to me. I went to have fun with my friends.

Now that we've gotten that disclaimer out of the way, let's talk about what went down that day.

My wife isn't into horror, guts, and all that rot, so she sat this one out. Instead, my friend Laurie was going to be my date for the evening. She came over to our place so we could destroy the wedding dress she made to get married to the scumbag she recently divorced. I slashed apart a hand-me-down suit from my father-in-law. We were a truly torn up couple.

Heading downtown on the Max I attempted to perfect my dead-eyed stare, but couldn't help cracking a smile before really creeping anyone out. Arrival at the first bar was almost exactly on time for the official start (one of my most disgusting habits). The bar staff was all done up in zombie/monster style, and there was a make-up service on hand to professionally augment anyone who wanted it. Here we met our friend Velocity, a member of Niall's Zombie Control Service. It is only though the efforts of this team that any hope of keeping a massive, shambling hoard in order is remotely possible.

After a couple drinks and meeting even more friends (some dressed as the post-apocalypse version of the Scooby Doo gang) we moved outside to pickup our undead protest signs. I wanted one that said "Zombies are people too" and searched through the stack to find: "Zombies were Human too"! Someone had pre-read my mind. (Later, someone edited it to say "Zombies, we're Human too", but at least I got to put a big, bloody hand print on it.) Then we dragged the crowd to, and through, Portland's living room to fight for our ghoulish rights. I, in true zombie fashion, performed a dead leg limp, which gave me considerable trouble at every curb while crossing streets. Did you know that brain eating is our right? Well, there was a sign...

A quick fuel stop was made (where I saw signs for both "rage" and "brains", and it had nothing to do with us) before heading down to the real heart of the storm. A shack for the voodoo spirits, who may have been the reason we continue to walk the earth, held a couple surprises.

First, we had a gentleman preaching loudly on the corner. His sign said something about blood and "at-one-ment" but it was what he said that was so much more entertaining. Not sure what it was about but when he would use words like "resurrection" or "eternal life", I would echo him quite loudly. The folks in line also found this entertaining and I ended up on the cell phones of uncounted strangers.

Second, I tried playing a massive game of Twister. Not easy to breath in a suit that's a couple sizes too small when tied in a knot. (The small size of the suit contributed beautifully to destroy my coordination and lead to a more authentic shuffle).

Next came the den of inequity where a miniture version of Marilyn Manson helped to rip pages from the Bible and stuff them down the bra of a cyber goth woman. This entertained me just long enough to be informed that there was a bus waiting outside, with free liquor, and a trip to another bar. A sort of side mission to buzz in and out of another location before returning to the rest of the crowd who would completely miss out on this adventure. They had me at free liquor.

Our bus ended up driving to no location in particular. We drove a couple laps around downtown and simply returned to our starting point. At least I got to drink for free.

Next, we headed to another fortified location and met a zombified Rocky Horror group. When people started dancing on the table tops, Laurie and I joined them. I was then told that only women were allowed to dance on the table. Sexist! Not interested in having any trouble, I let the issue lie... for several minutes. I did a quick tour of the facilities and returned to find a guy up on the tables. Fair game! I jumped up, the guy mysteriously disappeared, and I was once again told no gentlemen on the tables. Shortly after, I got one more drink and closed out my tab. While waiting for the check this mysterious woman appears and starts dancing against me. Not super flirty, but more than simply bumping into someone in line. She takes a sip from my drink. Sure, why not. I sign my check. Poof! She's gone with my drink! Your little bump and grind was not enough to qualify you for a free drink! I didn't even get your name! I am Jack's righteous indignation.

Our final destination, the terminal point as it were, was a second den of ill repute (but the place where someone will most likely buy me a drink). Here I got a chance to talk to the fine folks from Zaico. They sell insurance for the eventuality of a zombie apocalypse. This idea sounded a bit familiar... They said they could sign me up for a policy. I informed them I had a pre-existing condition.

After a nice talk I ended up on the dance floor because they started playing Thriller, a song for which I know a few of the dance moves (which reminds me, I'll have to tell you about THAT adventure too). This was followed by Dead Man's Party and some other zombie oldies but goodies.

Having wore my self out considerably, I arranged for a ride to a friend's house where a karaoke party was in progress. However, I found myself unable to sing due to a hoarse voice from moaning all day long. Despite the trials and tribulations of the evening, I managed to hold onto my protest sign all along the way.