Will Zed for movies

So, two advantages of living near a city is that you can often get things for free and have access to unique opportunities. One such item where these come together is a press screening. This is when a movie is shown before its release, giving critics a chance to see it and pen a review by opening day. There are few reporters, so the theater, production company, and news papers offer passes to fill the empty seats. I am a huge fan of movies and I especially love seeing them in the theater. Thus, when I can go without paying astronomical ticket prices, I am well pleased. Doubly so when I can do it before the general public.

I've taken advantage of these promotions a number of times. Over the years I've seen some real winners (Shrek) and losers (Red Tails) and everything in-between. I saw a very early, unfinished edit of The Italian Job and very recently watched the first audience screening of a documentary (which I can't tell you about because I had to sign an NDA, but they bought my silence with gift certificates to see any other movie).

I've never had a screening like this adventure.

Recently, I was in the Portland Star Light Parade with Portland Zombie Walk. Well, our little group got the attention of a representative from Paramount studios. They wanted a small hoard of zombies present for the World War Z premiere. We leaped at the chance.

What Paramount wanted from us was rather vague, something about pictures and promotional materials. No sweat, folks love my zombie persona and always want to be in a photo with me. And I'm a huge fan of swag (most of my shirts were free). In return, we'd get reserved seating.

Our little undead herd gathered at the theater, including a couple of Disney Princesses and others with rather grotesque makeup. There were even some folks not affiliated with us madeup as zombies.

The guy from Paramount had us do promo shots holding movies posters that we then handed out to the those in line. We posed for pics with movie goers and mall patrons. Or simply stood around looking creepy and occasionally sneaking up on people, giving one or two a real scare. When we ran into a lull, we'd break out into Thriller.

Someone came up and told me that I was their favorite zombie!

After the movie, we took more pictures with folks connected to the studio and any who wanted to play around. And as a final thank you, we were all given deluxe branded 3-D glasses. A couple from our crew even got mini branded first-aid kits (not me, sadly).

In the end, I'd had fantastic fun with friends, saw an intense movie, and walked away with all my limbs intact.

I'm a Maniac

So, summer is coming. And what does that mean? MUD RUNS!

This past weekend was the Rugged Maniac, my first of the season. I have four more planned, but I may add a fifth beyond that.

The RM was held at the Portland International Raceway. I was signed up for the first heat at 9 a.m. I like grabbing the early slots because the course isn't torn up yet from all the other runners. I had a friend who raced in a later match and learned a secondary reason to show up early: you avoid the lines at the obstacles, which can really eat into your finishing time.

And time is one thing I'm concerned with. I track my races at Athlinks, so I can compare my performance to others and most especially to myself, to see if my daily gym visits are really paying off. While there have been races that didn't have official timing, this was the first time I had to pay extra for the timing chip. This is a little sensor that tracks when you cross the start and then the end. You tie it into your shoe and it should stand the abuse. Most races, this is free if it is offered at all, so everybody gets one and you really get a sense of how everyone performed. With having to pay a bit extra ($10!), there were far fewer takers.

When I arrived, the sky was not looking too promising, and within five minutes it started to rain. The registration desks hadn't even opened yet. Bad omen? No such thing.

This race did have a nice feature that I haven't seen before. The start area was actually blocked off by a small wall, similar to those you would probably find peppered throughout the course. I thought they would be moving this once things got started. But nope, they called in the runners with instructions to scale the wall. It became a bit of a "You must be this athletic to run this course" kind of litmus test. I vaulted it pretty easily and was the first to do so. The announcer noticed and called out my bib number: instant fame (of a sort).

The thing I noticed first about the race was that we were at a race track, so the land was pretty level. I was guessing this would make the whole thing much easier. I would soon find this wasn't really the case. The first obstacle was a stream that ran across the course. It was about a three foot drop to the water and about six feet across. Some were climbing down into the water and out the other side. I went the path of the more adventurous and leapt across.

Next came some some short walls to toss ourselves over. This was quickly followed by a theme for this race: bleachers. There were two small sets placed back to back, forming a small pyramid to climb over. Throughout the race, much larger bleachers were encountered that we had to run up, across, and down. Nothing too taxing, but they were metal and we were covered by mud by this point, so the footing was treacherous.

Other obstacles included the tires in the classic football training arrangement, hanging from ropes in a cage that you have to crash through, and a hill of the things trying to suck you in or spill you out. Several trenches had been dug out, some we had to jump across in quick succession, others we had to crawl through. These crawl trenches were covered and pretty long, so the interior was pitch black. There was someone in front of me and I was able to keep tabs on them by the reflectors in their shoes. But suddenly these disappeared and I knew there was a turn in the tunnel. This slowed my down a bit as I didn't want to ram my face into a wall.

About two thirds of the way through the race I finally ran out of breath and had to slow down a bit. This cost me my target time. I was hoping to complete the race in thirty minutes flat. My final time was just over thirty-five minutes. Not bad, but on par with what I'd been racing last year, so it's hard to say that I had any improvement.

After the end of the race and showering off I jumped with the kids through the bounce castle and then took my first ride on a mechanical bull. Held on pretty long but the cost was my pinkie finger. Mashed it up pretty good, scrapping a good chunk of the knuckle off, and leaving it swollen for a couple days.

With the first mud run behind me, my Saturday was far from over. Next was the Portland Starlight Parade. I marched with the Portland Zombie Walk group. Dressed in my zombie best, we scared the kids and adults alike, all in good fun. We even had a set of zombie Disney Princesses. Before the parade, we were hanging out with a Mardi Gras band, the Grimm float (but I only knew a couple of the folks that were there), and the cheerleaders from PSU. There was much revelry (including me leading a crowd in the Chicken Dance).

What sort of summer adventures do you have planned?

Read to me

So, I love books. Like, far beyond my ability to read them. I have a huge library that is filled with equal parts those I've read and book intentions. I'm a slow reader that spends a great deal of my free time in social pursuits and a large range of hobbies. Finishing a novel within a month seems like a pretty good feat at this point.

But that doesn't prevent me from becoming excited when an author comes to town. It means one more book to buy, but I promise it's the next one I'll read. On the plus side I'll also get it autographed. Maybe a photo op, exchange some banter, and get some insight. The best part, though, is the reading.

There is a certain magic to reading a book, when you've sequestered yourself away from this world and enter into another. On the other hand, there is something far more special in being read to. I read most nights to William from many of my favorites: J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and H. G. Wells to name but a few. It is a great chance to bond and geek out together.

And I really like to be read to as well. As you may imagine, by naked women is one of my favorites (which we just visited one again for satire and parody. And yes, I may reference this quite often). Other times I greatly enjoy hearing these works straight from the horses mouth.

One of the greatest things about Powell's Books stores is that they constantly have visiting authors and events. Here are some of the more memorable.

Chuck chucks a moose at me.

The first time I went to a Chuck Palahniuk reading, it was for his Portland guide book, and he taught me about Santa. The third time I saw him talk about the devil and romance. But it was the second time that was the most remarkable  As usual, he read an original short story for the tour. But before this he was asking quiz questions from his novels. Up to this point, I had only read one or two, so I wasn't up on this knowledge. Joy and I had taken up seats in the upper balcony area, but she sent me down to where everyone else was getting prizes. I stood in the aisle at the back when Chuck asked a question from Lullaby, a book I had recently finished. I enthusiastically raised my hand and jumped around like I had just been called down to join the Price is Right. I was picked, gave the correct answer, and ran up to collect my prize: an inflatable "moose" head, signed by and filled with the spittle of Mr. Palahniuk. The thing used to hang on my wall, a crazy conversation piece, but these days it just hides in the closet, waiting for a man cave to hang around in once again.

There have been several readings that I've gone to where I didn't really know much about the author, I was just familiar with some of their works, or those separated by a single degree. Such was the case with Eoin Colfer. I'd heard about the Artemis Fowl series, but never read any. But he was designated by the Douglas Adams estate to write a final chapter (the 6th in the trilogy) of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series. I was handed a raffle ticket on arrival, which doubled as a line number for signing. Eoin turned out to be a very funny guy to listen to as he explained how he got to write this book and it made me quite excited to get to reading it. Then the raffle began. The first prize was a gift certificate to Powell's, which I didn't win. But I did get second place: the poster board of the book's cover. Way better that the first place win, as mine was unique (as far as anyone else there was concerned, no one else in my city is going to have one of these bad boys). The raffle prizes also came with a little "DON'T PANIC" hand towel and a book, the Guide to the Guide (which summarized the other books up until this release. I had Eoin sign everything but the towel).

I've also been to a fair number reading for Star Wars books. I'm not really a fan of the Expanded Universe, but the ideas still intrigue and excite. I was present for Star Wars books about zombies, planet crushers, and Ocean's 11. I was also there for the 30th anniversary, where there was a panel of authors from across the years discussing how the books have evolved in that time. Each of these events tends to draw out our local cosplay army.

Anybody else also attend such readings? Did your parents read bed time stories and give you long lasting, fond memories? Tell me about it in the comments below.

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.

A whole city to discover

So, the year is full of these holidays which have traditions that get people to behave ways that would seem strange any other time of year. Halloween is my favorite. It asks us to dress in a fashion we normally couldn't get away with and others are only going to compliment us on our most hideous choices. People open their doors to complete strangers and then hand out candy with only a minimal threat. And it only gets better when you grow up because there are parties, alcohol, and women dressing as slutty possible.

At the other end of the year you have Easter, which has these strange practices: hide eggs and hope the kids can find them all before they rot (since the adults have likely already forgotten where they put them), surround yourself with bunnies, and eat candy until you're sick. Oh yeah, and Jesus or something.

But littered through the rest of the calendar are these really esoteric days. And the one that presented me with a small adventure recently was Columbus Day. And just what are you supposed to do on Columbus Day? Well, just what are we celebrating? Christopher Columbus sailed across the Atlantic, did not find what he was looking for, and was a total dick to the natives.

There really is only one thing you can do on Columbus Day to do it justice: dress like a pirate and go around "discovering" things that others already knew existed, "claim" them for King/Queen/Country, and leave a flag.

This was a small voyage of just a few intrepid adventurers along the shores of Burnside. We first landed in a quaint cove, exchanged banter with the wenches, and threatened to return. Next, we sailed across the alley to a small isle, where we were creeped-out by a Crispin Glover look-alike (to be fair, we also annoyed him by not buying anything, in true Columbus style). We rounded the corner to reveal a village of natives. Here we had the traditional Columbus Day drink: a cheap margarita. We then explored the caverns under a pink mountain and trekked  to a distant shore where we espied unveiled treasure chests. After a second tour of the big pink tunnels, we made our way to Haiti for some sugary delights.

Along the way, we left a trail of notices for future travelers:

• Finders keepers. - C. Columbus
• Let me explore you. - C. Columbus
• I saw it first. -C. Columbus

We may do this again next year, bigger, more organized, and with a better claim.

We didn't end our pirate adventures for the week though. The following Friday saw us with a group of scalawags to sing the night away with classic (and not so classic) shanties. The room had plenty of space, and liquor, which is important if you don't want to be pillaged (and if you do, it can be arranged).

Gorillas in the Midst of PDX

So, I've lived in Portland and it's environs for over a decade. Some may argue that it will take another two before I could really claim to be a proper citizen. But I like to think I've been somewhat naturalized by having a son born downtown or that I've at least been adopted by the local community. I've walked every street, drank at most of the bars, and tipped a fair share of the strippers.

There are various landmarks in the city, many of which I've learned the history of, climbed, and/or been married to. Rarely does such knowledge, talent, or relationship get tested or prove of much use. Unless you are the hosting a walking tour, the best you'll get is mild banter out of it. 

Yet a scavenger hunt can prove to be the best use of such trivia (except an all PDX episode of Jeopardy is produced). So when the offer to join the Gorilla Challenge came in, I knew I'd found a very special calling.

The basic premise here is that you are given clues to various locations around town, upon visiting those locations you must provide photo (sometimes video) evidence of having been there. And not just any photo, you have to be doing something slightly questionable. Additionally, there are some mandatory physical challenges to complete.

A team of at least two people is required to participate and costumes are encouraged. So I gathered together my wife Joy, our long time friend Atheana, and new racing buddy Bonnie. We decided to go with a wedding party theme for our group. Since I was the only male it was obvious I should be the bride. Bonnie played my husband (in a tutu), Atheana a bride's maid, and Joy was the flower girl. We went with the name "Wedding Crashers"

As for the challenge itself, all contestants met at the Rock Bottom Brewery, got signed in, had a drink or two, and waited for the start time. While we mingled through the crowd I got complemented on being such a beautify bride many times. We met Mark Eisnehart (past and future American Ninja Warrior participant and fitness guru) and was interviewed by Laddie Read (of Mainstreamed Media, a platform for the disabled to be a part of the press). After a review of the rules, we got things started, with a quick jog to the other end of the block to get our first clue sheet.

We quickly identified our first item which sent us up to the former ground-zero for the Occupy movement, there we had to have a picture of one of our team members picking up another member in front of the pioneer statue. Then it was up to Ira Keller falls for a three legged, four fisted gorilla crawl. This was the first of our physical challenges. The next was a YMCA dance-off against another team in the park. Then, for gross-out factor, we had to spray "fruit punch" into another team member's mouth so they could spit it in a cup. Turns out the fruit punch was actually red dye and vinegar (lucky me Atheana had volunteered to be our taster for this challenge).

Other photo/video scavenger items including singing and dancing like a lemur in front of Portland's most tourist happy location, the Chicken Dance by a building dedicated to a candy maker, acting like a gorilla outside a benefactor of the homeless, a mimed tug-of-war outside the guardians of history, and Marco Polo by the worlds smallest park. 

We covered miles of territory during the event, scavenged ten of the twelve possible challenges (we failed an eleventh), and completed the event after two hours. We didn't win one of the prizes, but better luck next time.

Grimm tidings

So, some time ago I spent a day in Estacada at an old lumber mill musing over a crime scene. Seems a federal agent had been murdered, so I was called in to take over the case from the local law enforcement. The hitch was they only needed two FBI agents and there were three of us on hand. I was odd man out.

But I just got a second chance. Once again there is a murder, an abandoned car our only clue, and I would be on hand to help.

This is how I returned to the set of Grimm.

We had a very early call time, forcing me to leave home long before I normally wake. I had to head out to the remote reaches of north Portland's industrial district. Actually, the Grimm studio is right down the street from where the Tomato Fight had occurred.

I was really excited because this time I would get to be a uniformed police officer. Last time I wore my own suit, trading in the suit jacket for the blue FBI field windbreaker. Both times I got a gun, but police have a utility belt which comes with "mace" (a live can of training mace), handcuffs (let the fun begin!), a radio with shoulder mic, and a telescoping beat stick. I played with all of my toys while waiting for filming to begin.

For the second time in my extras career, my "character" actually had a name. From the random grab bag of name tags I was given "Oster". That's Officer Oster to you.

Our group was composed of several cops, a couple detectives, and a few perps. We were filming on the main PDX police station set. I've never watched the show (although I nearly did once, which is almost a story of it's own), so I can't say what kind of action has taken place there, but I can tell you where this fictional police station sits within downtown Portland. Since the building is just an artificial set in a warehouse, the view outside the windows is a huge photo panorama. Pictured is what you'd see if you were standing outside Whole Foods Market looking south (on Burnside and NW 13th).

I wasn't working with Nick (David Giuntoli) and Hank (Russell Hornsby) this time around (but I did when I was an FBI agent, though they were rather stand-offish). However, I did have Sgt. Wu (Reggie Lee), and he's a really nice guy. We were just goofing off, trying to stay out of the way while the crew set up the lighting for the scene. We were joined by Captain Renard (Sasha Roiz), all of us checking the doughnut box for treats (unfortunately, there were none).

When this episode airs, I'll probably just be this blur way in the background, as the scene takes place inside the Captain's office while the rest of us are out in the main area. When it came time for filming, my job was to get some coffee. I got a surprise here. Unlike the doughnut box, the coffee machine was not empty. It was full of nightmare. A horrific black sludge, probably made by Cthulhu the last time the stars aligned, poured into my prop cup. The rest of that coffee table was just as scary. There was a half empty cup of joe behind the machine that was hosting its own little evolution experiment.

We did the scene many times and then headed back to base camp. Most of us changed into street clothes for the next scene. We were taken down to Union Station to act as passengers coming off the train. Obviously, our ride was interrupted by a freight train blocking the back road we were on to get between the studio and the station. When the train came to a complete stop several minutes later, still holding us up, we decided to take another route. Once on location, I was paired with a woman and we were to be a couple arriving from St. Louis. We were asked to improvise our story, so I soon became her whipped boyfriend.

It's a difficult thing to maintain control of a public space, especially one where there is constant in and out traffic. We closed off part of the street and part of the sidewalk, but people continually tried to walk through, or become gawkers while on camera. The cool bit was when an Amish family came out of the station in time to be in the background of our final take. I just image trying to explain what we were doing to them.

After we finished, we piled into the van to return to home base, catching a ride with Reggie who thanked us for our help.

That was the end though, a short day overall. The biggest disappointment being that they didn't feed us!

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

Tomatocalypse

Tomatogeddon

Words I used to describe this event before attending, but how do you prepare for something like this? What exactly am I talking about?

Well, on Saturday I attended the Portland chapter of the Tomato Battle. When I first heard about this, through some web discount site or other, I knew it was something I had to participate in. Looking at the pictures on the site, I was guessing this would just be an epic food fight. Oh how naïve...
It's not until you arrive on site and see the mountains of tomatoes that it starts to sink in. How did they get here? Well, all those fruits and veggies you buy from the store can only sit on a shelf, at the warehouse, or in a crate for so long before biology starts to get out of hand. So they get donated. Then, splat, there they are,unceremoniously dumped from a truck. And these puppies are RIPE. Shortly after the mountain makes an impression, the scent makes a more lasting one. It was rather warm this weekend, and I'd swear these things were fermenting right there in the parking lot.

There's some pre-action live music and costume contesting (I didn't dress fancy, didn't even really cross my mind). Most dressed to be silly, some went with a tomato theme, such as a group of "softball players" with their jersey's marked with the names of various species of tomato. Some took a historical spin and played off the Roma. But the most inspired were the Bloody Mary ladies, whipping folks with celery.

But then came the main event. Hundreds of us were funneled into the tomato cage, and told not to start throwing until everyone was in. I nabbed a spot next to the largest mountain (center in the photo above) and grabbed a couple of these not quite rotten fruits, as others were doing the same. I was only slightly disgusted by the thin white coating. Mold? Fungus? It wouldn't matter shortly. Then a couple tomatoes flew through the air. And like any classic food fight, it snowballed into chaos from there.

I hadn't really considered what this was going to be like. I discussed it with a fellow combatant as we marched in, who mentioned he wished he'd brought a cup. Not for drinking, but for protection. Sure, I said, this will probably be a little on the rough side, a bit like being hit by a water balloon. Yeah, but not one of those overfull, almost pops just throwing it kind. But one of those barely filled, have to really chuck it to break it kind. And they are full of jell-o instead of water. My only protection was sunglasses, which is no protection at all. Because when this battle gets going, you are covered, head to foot, every square inch, in ketchup.

There were a number of greater hazards I had no concept of, going in. One, red tomatoes = weird water balloons, green tomatoes = rocks. Those green suckers were numerous and painful, plus they didn't break on contact. Two, sunglasses + tomato paste = blind. But I found that wiping the glasses off with my tomato soaked shirt was actually somewhat effective. Goggles are the way to go really. Three, ketchup is slippery. Especially when you're standing in 4 inches of it.

It took no time at all for most of the tomatoes to be nothing but mush on the ground that you would just scoop up and throw indiscriminately around. I'd shout "Nothing personal, but take that!" and lob a handful behind me. On more than one occasion I misjudged the depth of the juice and nearly scraped the nails of my fingers on the asphalt beneath.

Once there is nothing left but a mash of jelly, your relationship to it changes. You start treating it like sand or snow. I made a tomato angel pretty early on. Many people laid down to get buried in it. The next thing you know others are sliding on their bellies like penguins across the ice. Of sliding into home, hoping the umpire calls "safe".

Truly, it's the most disgusting thing I've ever done. It smelled worse than you are imagining. It resembled what the aftermath of Hannibal's Battle of Cannae must have looked like: ankle deep in red slaughter. Oh, and I haven't even mentioned the taste of it, because yes, it will get in your mouth. Sweet and Sour! And it stings the eyes. But I continually wondered what it was doing for my skin. The vitamins! And what a conditioner! Such body and hold!

Sometimes you would be hit unintentionally and some would say "sorry". I could only respond with "I signed a waiver, and that means you can't tell me you're sorry!" Such was the camaraderie. And the sensuality. Something about getting covered in food really brings out a certain kind of animal with people. That, or the fact that there were so many of us that you are constantly rubbing against someone else, and things sure were slippery.

And as I hosed myself off after nearly two hours of battle, in cold water and a setting sun, I could only think that I'd love to do this again next year.