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.

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.

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.

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.