Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 30, 2009 at 10:10AM0 Comments
This marvel of gastronomic architecture you see before you is the most sacri-licious piece of Super Bowl snack-age ever constructed: A stadium built entirely out of junk food.
It comes courtesy of the good people over at Holy Taco, who apparently are big fans of saturated fat. Follow this link to holytaco.com for photos of the construction, directions on how to build your own Artery Clogging Arena, and a before and after cholesterol test in which a doctor actually faints from shock (okay, I made that last one up).
And for the record that’s 24,375 calories, 1,285 grams of fat, and approximately one billion forms of guac, cheese, jerky, chip, and Twinkie goodness.
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 29, 2009 at 10:32AM0 Comments
A few weeks back the “Oregonian” came out with their mid-season grades for the Trailblazers. In it they labeled much-maligned franchise cornerstone Greg Oden as the biggest disappointment of the campaign so far. It seemed a little rough at the time for all the reasons you’ve heard a billion times…he was still playing himself into shape, still testing out his knee, still learning the game, etc. The O has made a habit of being hard on Oden and actually I think it’s a good thing. Big stars don’t land in Portland very often. It would be easier to coddle him, instead the paper of record has let him know (repeatedly) that we have certain expectations.
And the thing is, they were right about Oden being disappointing. Take a look at his stats over the first half of this month. Through the 17th he was averaging just seven points and barely five rebounds a game while struggling just to stay in the game with foul trouble. As we watched, the ladyfriend liked to describe him as disinterested. “When is he finally just gonna get angry and start destroying people?”
Apparently the exact date of that Mt. Oden’s eruption was January 19th. Since then Oden has looked nothing like the spindly Bambi of old. Starting with a 24 and 15 against Milwaukee, the big man has been blowing people up. In the Blazers’ last five games he’s averaging 16.4 points and 11.4 boards. Not surprisingly he’s also managing to average 31 minutes a night…a number he hit just once in the previous eight games.
The reality of Oden’s recent flexing is that none of the teams Portland has faced have much in the way of a dominant center. Dan Gadzuric and Andray Blatche aren’t exactly Shaq and Tim Duncan. But I suppose it’s sort of like potty training…there are gonna be a few accidents here and there before you really get the whole tinkle and flush thing down.
Right now, Greg Oden has got his big boy pants on. And they are on fire.
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 28, 2009 at 11:13AM0 Comments
I know, I know, you’ll probably be propped up on a couch filling your head hole with an assortment of chips, dips, and beer (as will I), but before you work a good butt groove into that recliner why not check out some of the other nooks and crannies the weekend as to offer.
FRIDAY
Who said soul is dead? Not us certainly. But inundated as we are with radio-friendly neo-soul that relies on heaps of synthesizers, canned horns, vocoders, and autotune, we don’t blame you for prematurely mourning its demise.
So it’s all the more reason to shout it from the mountain top that Sharon Jones and her mighty, mighty Dap-Kings are playing the Crystal Ballroom this evening. Not since the Stax heyday of Booker T. and Otis and the Staple Singers has Southern flavored, from-the-gut rhythm and blues sounded so legit. Close your eyes and you feel like you’re back in Memphis, 1968. The sultry brass, sexy bottom-heavy funk, a voice that could shear the wool off a lamb, and the man-eating attitude to match.
In a town with a music scene so largely painted in the various pale shades of rock and roll (nothing wrong with that, by the way), it’s great to be treated to something so spectacularly raw. Bring a date, throw down the $21 without a thought, and let Ms. Jones and her Dap-Kings do their thing. Play your cards right and you just might get lucky. [Crystal Ballroom/9 p.m./$21]
SATURDAY
In the Marky Mark Wahlberg stink-fest, “Invincible,” the former Funky Buncher played a Philly dude who (against all odds, naturally) earned a spot on the Philadelphia Eagles during an open tryout. Massage that script just a tad and substitute Wahlberg for a Portland area woman and the NFL for women’s professional soccer and you too might one day inspire a true Hollywood story. (Though you’ll have to supply your own hardships.)
Portland’s newest major league team, the Portland Rain of the Women’s Premiere Soccer League, are holding tryouts today in advance of their inaugural season. Things get started Saturday at 1 p.m. at the Stott Rec Center on the PSU campus with a walk-up registration fee of $60. After that it’s up to you to try and wow the Rain coaches with your mad array of dribbles, corner kicks, and headers. When you become the next Mia Hamm, just remember who sent you (in your movie we request to be referred to as Captain Awesome).
SUNDAY
I just finished binging on five seasons worth of “The Wire.” One of the more colorful characters was the smack-addicted street vendor Bubbles. Bubs paid his bills (i.e. his dealer) by scouring the burned-out West Side of Baltimore for bits and pieces of viable metal, piling it all into a stolen shopping cart and taking it down to the scrap yard for dough. At first I saw him as a sort of court jester, the humanistic unintentional comedian distracting us from a sea of blood and misery. Now, though, in light of the economy I see him as more a professional role model (minus the smack, of course).
All of which is to say, who couldn’t use a bargain right about now?
(Whew, I knew there was a point here somewhere!)
Over at the Crystal Ballroom’s Bargain Hunting 101 Sale, more than 40 local designers and boutiques will give shoppers the opportunity to save up to seventy-percent on handmade clothing, jewelry, art, and more. Best of all it’s free…and with a noon start-up time you can still make it home in time to watch the Steelers reign holy hell down on the Cardinals. [Crystal Ballroom/Noon/Free]
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 27, 2009 at 10:51AM0 Comments
We’ll tackle the Blazers later in the week, but just in case you didn’t see Brandon Roy’s emasculating, borderline aggravated assault of a dunk on the Clipper’s Cheike Samb last night here it is. Sit down. Tie yourself to the chair. And duck tape your mouth shut. You will try to chew through the ropes when you see this…
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 27, 2009 at 10:37AM0 Comments
Everybody has a morning routine. Here’s mine: Wake. Shower. Don’t shave. Feed dogs. Curse the sight of my warm bed. Hop a bus or bike. Stomp into the office. Stumble down to Half & Half like a fiending junkie for my morning fix. It’s only at the last point in the morning ritual that life feels it’s not trying to gouge my eye out with its thumb.
Mainly because my caffeine dealer, Half & Half, is without a doubt the best coffee shop in town. I’ve sung their praises before, but mainly for the typically smile-inducing music (Neutral Milk Hotel at 9 a.m.? Sign me up.) or the joint’s ability to constantly produce the best, stiffest americano in town.
This morning though I smiled for another reason. I rarely get a chance to go there for lunch but the rotating cast of hand-made sandwiches always look impressive. And not just because they’re always jammed with more meat, fine cheese, and local vegetables than most. It’s how they name the sandwiches that makes me swoon. Past entries have included the Greg Oden, the, uhm, “Ham Job” and the infamous “Mama Cass,” another take on the ham sandwich that nods to the supposed cause of death for the Mamas and Papas singer.
Today’s entries were a little more topical. First up was the Ricardo Montalban (black bean puree, roasted squash, pickled onions, tomatoes, and cilantro), then it was the Blagojevich (black forest ham, spinach, red onions, and horseradish), and the Breedlove (turkey, chevre, grilled leek, and fennel). For the record that’s one dead celebrity, a politician, and a commoner who just became a celebrity by killing the career of a politician.
To top it all off, Nick Drake’s “Hazy Jane” was drizzling from the speakers like codeine.
It’s gonna be a good day.
Speaking of Janes…here’s a clip of Lou Reed performing “Sweet Jane” from 1974. In light of our recent beard expose, this mustache heavy jam seems appropriate.
(aka, Getting Engaged scores you sweet Blazers tickets)
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 21, 2009 at 01:20PM1 Comments
I got engaged over the Christmas break. More to come on this in the months ahead since I fully expect this blog to document my downward spiral into wedding insanity (“Local man strangles florist with cummerbund…Film at eleven!”). Nearly a month since proposing things have already started to move at a dizzying speed. Dates are being picked, venues are being reserved, guest lists are being edited…hell, I’m going to be fitted for a custom-made suit today. It is, quite frankly, horrifying.
But amid the gut-wrenching decisions (bow ties or regular ties, blue or bluer, and should we invite my aunt) there has been an upside. Namely, gifts. Like tonight’s treat from the ladyfriend’s aunt and uncle…the greatest gift of all: Blazers tickets. And not just Blazers tickets but AWESOME Blazers tickets. And not just AWESOME Blazers tickets, either, but AWESOME Blazers tickets for tonight’s game against Cleveland (aka Lebron and the James Gang).
How close will I be, you ask. Let’s just say that when Lebron does his little slapping the chalk from his hands bit in front of the scorer’s table before tip-off, I might actually look like Tony Montana after a bender.
I’m giddy. But, of course, go Blazers.
Anyway, on to the weekend.
FRIDAY
Unlike Batman or the X-Men, Superman has never really translated that well onto film. Too clean, too nice, too predictable (after all…how do you kill the Man of Steel?). But throughout the 1940s Superman was at least interesting. That’s back when Max and Dave Fleischer’s classic animated take of Krypton Boy blew minds in weekend theaters across the country. Battling a rampaging T-Rex in downtown Metropolis, taking on fire-breathing robots
This weekend, as part of the Reel Music Festival, Portland’s 11-piece Superman Orchestra will pay homage to the S-chested hero of yore by performing five original soundtrack pieces written to coincide with a big-screen showing of the Fleicher’s vintage work. Members of LiveWire’s Faces for Radio Theater Troupe will even supply voice work. And best of all…no annoying Margot Kidder. [7 p.m./Whitsell Auditorium/$5-$8]
SATURDAY
If you’re a child of the 80s then the first thing you think of when you see the world Apollo is the great (?) Carl Weathers as Apollo Creed dancing about in his star-spangled underwear in Rocky 1 and 2. But no. This Apollo, written and directed by Nancy Keystone, is a multimedia production about the evolution of the U.S. space program. Originally conceived in three parts, Keystone’s play (part of the Fertile Ground Festival for new works) is a mix of art, technology, and cultural advancement that traces our development as a scientific nation, one that happens to be populated by individuals still trying to overcome prejudice and small-minded thinking. [7 p.m./Gerding Theater/$30-$66.50]
SUNDAY
Another weekend, another reason to love Portland. Where else could you get an all-day music festival featuring over 20 acts covering almost as many genres—for free? In celebration of the Crystal Ballroom’s ninety-fifth birthday, the McMenamin crew has lined up a solid rock block: Everything from funky electronica, jazzy Latin vibes, jam bands, 80s dance DJs, prog, and more bluegrass than you can shake a green switch at. And if you want to give your ears a rest, the Crystal will be staging venue tours, beer samples, and food and drink specials throughout the day. To top it all off, Blitzen Trapper will close out the birthday bash with a headlining show on the main floor. [1:30 p.m./Crystal Ballroom/Free]
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 15, 2009 at 01:00PM0 Comments
Big night tonight for friend (i.e. unabashed man-crush) of the Back Row, Sergio Rodriguez.
Steve Blake went down with a separated shoulder in last night’s blood letting at Philadelphia, meaning that Coach Nate McMillan is left with a big decision regarding who to start at the point tonight against New Jersey. Will he throw the rookie, Jerryd Bayless, into the mix or will he finally take the bubble wrap off Serge and let the flying Spaniard run the team.
Since bum shoulders aren’t very quick to heal (and since the Blazers can’t afford to lose any ground in the race to nab a playoff spot), it’s basically an open tryout to see who will have their hands on the steering wheel for the foreseeable future. If you want a great piece of insight into the situation check out Jason Quick’s piece over at the Oregonian site.
Basically it boils down to this: Does Portland hand the keys to its most recent first-round pick, a player many thought was a jaw-dropping steal (especially after he blew people up in the summer league) or does Nate give the hot-and-cold running Sergio more rope than he’s handed him at any point in Rodriguez’s brief career. In fact, I’d say the relationship between Nate and Serge is a bit like that between a parent and a teenage driver: Nate’s hands are often over his eyes, his legs making faux-braking motions, while Sergio barrels and dishes like a man who’d just been tasered.
It’s awesome. And often awkward.
Obviously you know where we stand on this issue. Start Serge. Bayless is still only 19 and will get his shot. Every player makes bad decisions or whiffs on passes or hurls up bricks, it’s just that over the past three seasons whenever it was Sergio doing the deed it meant an immediate hook and a good long sit on the bench. Now’s the time for Nate to show a little patience, unclinch that sphincter and allow the Spaniard to do his thing. To make mistakes, to recover, and to redeem himself with a sick-nasty alley-oop to Nosferatu.
There is one major issue with Quick didn’t address in his column, though. And that’s the opponent. New Jersey (thanks to a dumb trade by Dallas) has one of the best and least-heralded point guards in the league in Devin Harris. He averages nearly twenty-three points and seven dimes a game and is fully capable of going off (he dropped 47 on Phoenix in November). In essence, tonight’s try-out could come down more to who plays better defense against one of the shiftier guards in the Association. Stop Harris and you stop the Nets.
Lock-down defense has never been one of Serge’s strong suits. But then, neither was that weird little mohawk he sported for a few games.
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 14, 2009 at 12:57PM1 Comments
The season premiere of “Lost” is next week. Wednesday to be exact. (To be even more exact you’d have to reference the to-the-millisecond countdown clock running down the digits in my house. Yes, the one with Sawyer’s arms and legs pointing out the time) The agony of the wait is killing me, so while you all are out frolicking in the mild winter weather or sharing drinks and meals with friends, I will be sleeping in my suspended animation hibernation chamber for the next week. Please…Do not disturb until next Wednesday at 9 p.m.
Until then…have fun out there.
FRIDAY
Sometimes when I’m sitting around the house, staring at my three dogs as they stare right back at me, tongues out, tails wagging, I get a little freaked out. Like, what if these guys, by way of the usual methods (radiated dog food, meteor strike, devious medical testing), somehow started thinking. What if they became evil, blood-thirsty beasts who were more interested in taking over the world than licking their own genitalia? And what if this happened to all the dogs in the city? I mean, we’re outnumbered probably 3-to-1. It wouldn’t take much for them to run us out of town and have us sniffing at the backside of out new four-legged overlords.
Of course, maybe I just really need to get a hobby.
Anyway, the Rose City Classic Dog Show starts tonight at the Expo Center. That means four thousand canines representing more than 150 breeds will be unleashed for five days of intense competition.
As long as they’re more interested in fetching Frisbees and chewing on their paws, we should be safe.
For now.
SATURDAY
I’m sure Rasta Thomas is an amazing dancer and artistic director. He’s a veteran of prestigious groups like Russia’s Kirov Ballet and was a member of the Dance Theater of Harlem. And besides, if I tried any of his moves my pelvis would probably fly into the mezzanine and put out a small child’s eye. But seriously, did nobody stop and tell him that perhaps titling his traveling dance troupe the, ahem, Bad Boys of Dance might sort of give off the wrong message (or, at the very least, make patrons think of a bad reality television show)? Instead of thinking of dudes fearlessly throwing their bodies though ballet, hip-hop, tango, and jazz, all I can think about is this:
So just to clarify: the Bad Boys of Dance are high culture, not a ladies night treat. For real…keep those dollar bills in your purse. (Saturday, 7:30 p.m. at the Newmark Theatre. Tickets range from $20-55)
SUNDAY
It’s pretty simple really. The annual Reel Music Festival is showing a documentary called Johnny Cash’s America at the Whitsell Auditorium. The press materials say that “Directors Morgan Neville and Robert Gordon tie together Cash’s politics, beliefs, influence and patriotism to explore how personal and political events shaped him and his music. Rich with vintage clips from all phases of his career, the film provides a view of our country that is particularly relevant today, on the eve of a historic political transition.”
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 13, 2009 at 11:57AM3 Comments
So I’ve got this New Years resolution. It’s sort of an odd one. But it’s basically this: I will try to stop taking crap off people. As healthy members of society who just want to get to work, get their coffee, read our blogs, then get back home without ticking somebody off, we tend to put our backs against the wall and not make direct eye contact as we quietly slide past any altercations.
When a person is talking in the movie, we quietly mutter to ourselves about what we should do when all we really do is nothing. When we’re riding in on the bus and some yahoo is yelling into his phone to let everybody know how oh so very important he is, we just grind our teeth and stare at the passing traffic. When a bicyclist blows through a stop sign we just swallow our tongue. Conversely, when a car blows through a red light because the driver is too busy talking on the cell phone we seethe…and then go back to listening to NPR.
This is how it came to pass that I found myself speeding down Lombard on Friday night chasing a black Ford Explorer with a terrified ladyfriend in tow. Let me back up first. We live near the intersection of Peninsular and Lombard and although the traffic signals are clearly marked and fully functioning, at least four or five times a week I see somebody blazing through the light like the burning crimson orb didn’t exist. I can understand speeding through a dark yellow light…it’s called a California red light. I get it. But these aren’t even close…
This is where I live. Where I bike. Where I drive. So here we were on Friday when this Explorer blows through a light that had been red for (and I’m crapping you negative here) a full two seconds. Boom. Right through. Not even a gentle tap on the brakes.
And just like that the redneck in me takes over like some chaw-chewing Sybil.
I noticed that he actually deigned to stop at the next light on Lombard and, fueled by the self-righteousness of my New Year’s resolution, I revved up the ol’ Subaru, fired through my green light, and pulled up next to him. Now, understand that the ladyfriend and I have been watching a lot of “The Wire” lately. Everywhere we look we see potential for drive-by shootings, drug buys gone wrong, or dirty cops. And here I was pulling up to a souped-up SUV and rolling down my window. She was, understandably, hiding her head with shame and calling me words I can’t print here.
“Hey man,” I yelled, sounding internally like Dirty Harry and externally like Soupy Sales. “Did you know you just blew through a red light in a really busy intersection?!”
The target of my ire was exactly like I imagined him to be. (A little pudgy. A squirrel’s nest of overly moussed hair piled on top of his head. A pudding ring goatee around his mouth. A little European pop wriggling from his speakers.) His reaction, however, was not. There were no shouts about what I could do to my mother or even a middle finger…just a shrug of his shoulders and a crease of his ample eyebrows that landed somewhere between “Hey, I’m sorry” and “Meh.”
And then the light turned green and the ladyfriend insisted we turn off onto a sideroad just in case goatee boy was planning to ram us into the Citgo station.
Could this new resolution to be more demonstrative really enact any real change? Probably not. But at least I had made my position clear (idiotic as it is) and wasn’t choking on a wad of swallowed bile. I didn’t feel tough. In fact I felt a bit silly. But I did feel calm. At least I’d made myself heard.
As we pulled into the New Season’s parking lot, me flushed with the thrill of my newfound status as mild-manned vigilante, my eyes were squinted like laser guided scopes …if I see somebody driving the wrong way, they were TOTALLY going to hear about it.
The ladyfriend has gotten really good at sinking so far into the passenger seat that nobody can even tell she’s there.
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 09, 2009 at 11:32AM3 Comments
Made my first trip out to a bar in this new age of non-smoking last night.
It was, to say the least, odd. It was like having to look your dog in the eye after you’ve had him neutered. You still love him, but he’s just not quite the same.
Portland has always been proud of its outlaw spirit. The common myth is that the city has more bars and strip clubs per capita than any other place in the country. And I don’t care if that’s true or not. The mere fact that it could be is enough for me. And now suddenly this hometown of ours has become just a tad bit more tame…one step closer to being just like any other pedestrian town.
It’s not that I’m a smoker (although I’m not above lighting up occasionally when I’m curled up next to a beer). I get it: it makes for a healthier climate for patrons and servers alike. But when the mandate is handed down at the end of a bullwhip, it’s tough to swallow. Besides, there are some places that just aren’t meant to be smelled in their natural state. A bar is among them. In fact, I’d venture to say I rather prefer the dirty ashtray smell of the pre-ban bar as opposed to the scent of bleach, urine, and puke that exists there now.
What’s worse is the feeling that the whiners won. I love my friends but I’ve always found it obnoxious when they would get persnickety about wanting to go to a smoking bar. “Please don’t pollute my lungs while I’m turning my liver into a bowling ball.” You don’t go the bar for your health. There are no vitamins in scotch…if there were I’d have a six pack by now.
It should be interesting to see if, against all odds, Portland regains its outlaw edge. I was living in New York City when they enacted their smoking ban. It worked…for awhile. But within a few months a few of the better, off-the-beaten-path dives were closing the blinds ’round midnight and inviting patrons to light up.
Here’s hoping the light at the end of the tunnel is a flickering Bic.
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 09, 2009 at 11:31AM0 Comments
Yeah, yeah we’ve blabbed on and on about Blitzen Trapper. And yes, I know we promised to stop. But just because we’re beating their album, “Furr,” into the ground doesn’t make it any less awesome. In keeping with our shamelessly plugging ways, here’s the new video for the record’s title track. Seriously, if there’s a better song out there, please let me know.
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 07, 2009 at 12:51PM4 Comments
FRIDAY
It’s a damn shame that when you hear the words “Girl Power” the first thing that comes to mind is the Spice Girls, a bunch of giggling tarts who nearly sent the women’s movement back to the June Cleaver dark ages.
That’s why it’s important that when a bastion of smart, insightful feminist thought like Bitch magazine asks for a little help in the pocketbook, we respond.
Bitch magazine is throwing a benefit concert at the Crystal Ballroom on Friday. Find tickets and info on our Events Calendar.
Bitch has been around for thirteen years now and for the past two has based itself right here in Portland. Like most non-profits they often need financial help…unlike most non-profits Bitch can get a handful of great bands to grease some palms.
The other reason I’ll be there is this: The office of the non-profit my ladyfriend works for is right next door to Bitch HQ. They have cute dogs and on more than one occasion have been quick with a light or a bottle opener. In other words: Good people. And in this particular setting, good music. Headlining the benefit are Mirah, Anomie Belle, and Kimya Dawson (who you might recognize from being all over the “Juno” soundtrack).
Think of it this way: If you trade in all your Spice Girls cds for cash, you’ll knock a whole dollar off the price of an $18 ticket.
SATURDAY
We like to think of witty snark as a relative new literary niche. But long before David Sedaris and any number of celebrity bloggers made it a national pastime, Mark Twain was poking societal tropes with his pen on his way towards becoming one of America’s greatest writers.
Equally as legendary is Hal Holbrook’s turn as the be-suited author tonight at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall. Fifty-three years into this award winning one-man show, the 83-year-old only seems to sink deeper and deeper into his signature role, the ravages of age only adding wisdom to an already clever character.
Besides, with Twain’s trademark whiskers, spending a wet, chilly evening with him just seems so very Portland.
The decorations are boxed up. The feeling of warm humanity have been replaced with red-faced stress. The hangover has subsided. More importantly, all your vacation days are used up.
In short, the holidays are deader than your first pet. But if you still have the urge to celebrate something (anything!) the Japanese Garden will host it’s own oshogatsu, or New Year’s celebration this weekend. Ring in the year of the ox with a master calligrapher, and learn how to draw the symbols for “hard work” and “prosperity.”
Year of the ox? As in, “year of the ever-laboring farm animal that toils and toils in the fields as he’s whipped by an unseen master?” Ugh. I thought ’09 was supposed to be better.
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 07, 2009 at 11:54AM0 Comments
This here is what’s described in the accompanying press release as a “re-enactment” of Jeff Merkley’s swearing in ceremony in the Old Senate Chamber.
And yes, that is indeed Dick “The joke just writes itself” Cheney. I’m sure this wasn’t awkward or anything. Upstart Democrat from one of the most liberal states in the union shaking hands in at gunpoint (twice!) with the poster boy for the last eight-years of cloak-and-dagger incompetence—a man who packs buckshot into the faces of the people he likes. Nope. Couldn’t possibly be weird.
Three questions:
1) I’ve heard of Civil War re-enactments and even re-enactments of Vietnam jungle battles played out with paintball guns. But photo re-enactments of a handshake? Who knew?
2) Do you think immediately after this photo was taken Merkley shoved a middle finger in Cheney’s face while his children kicked his shin?
2) Do you think it burns when you pee after you touch Cheney?
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 06, 2009 at 01:14PM0 Comments
I’ve always been a little strange with my choice of cultural fixations.
As a kid, while my other friends were getting into Garfield, I was pouring over Bloom County. I preferred deviled ham and Vienna sausages to Spam. And as much as I loved Nirvana, it was Pavement who first pried apart my musical third eye and taught me that the best rock was far removed from Casey Kasem’s Weekly Top 40.
It’s the same thing with the Blazers.
Don’t get me wrong. I love me some Roy and Rudy and Pryz and Oden, but I’m most likely to make everyone else in the room uncomfortable by ripping off my shirt and waving it over my head when my main men Sergio Rodriguez and Travis Outlaw are pulling off crazy-coo-coo above the rim hijinks.
Rodriguez and Outlaw. Or, as I call them, Serge and Nosferatu. Never have two more awkward looking athletes (Outlaw with a body made of elbows; Serge with his sorta-kinda mohawk) made such beautiful music together.
So when I get back from a Christmas trip to Arkansas only to hear that the two might be trade bait for the Knicks’ David Lee I was stung. It’s like finding out your junior high girlfriend’s family might be moving to some godforsaken place like Texas.
Now of course nothing is official. And given Pritchard’s recent track record it’s hard to argue with any master plan he might have. Roy is hurt. Pryz is banged up and Oden’s effectiveness is still an unpredictable ebb and flow. Lee (averaging 14 points and 11 boards) is known for rebounding and hustle and could help add a little muscle in the post…although considering the run-and-gun system he plays in, it’s hard to tell how he might fit in Portland’s scheme.
Regardless, I’ve got butterflies. This is the downside to fandom. Especially when you view your team (or certain players) like a scruffy little kid who’s finally making something of himself. We become attached. Sometimes irrationally so. We start to identify with certain traits. In my case goofy looking guys who try really hard, often screw up, but every so often explode in a mushroom cloud of fulfilled promise.
Like The Dude, we will abide. But if a trade means I have to ditch my growing collection of Dorito’s that bear a striking resemblance to Sergio (or worse, redecorate my headboard mural in Knicks colors), I will not be happy.
Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Jan 06, 2009 at 12:10PM0 Comments
(That poor upside-down skier? He’s the second link below, read on for more!)
Ugh.
Is there anything worse than the dull stomach punch of heading back to work after the blissful holiday malaise?
Paper cuts to the eyeball? Removing your toe nails with a pair of pliers? Sitting through Two And A Half Men?
What I’m trying to say, see, is that punching the clock after spending two weeks punching the snooze button bites it. Big time.
Apparently though, the key to coping is screaming.
A scientist in England (okay, okay…the psychologist from the UK version of Big Brother) says that the healthiest thing one can do in the face of post-holiday depression is to throw a wide-eyed, red-faced tantrum.
When your co-workers stare in horror at your kicking, crying, and hollering, just tell them it’s therapy. If, however, you’re not brave enough to try this technique in your office and are forced to swallow your burning cauldron of hate, just remember: At least you’re not THIS guy.
Bart Blasengame is a senior editor at Portland Monthly magazine. A native of Arkansas, he comes to Portland after spending six years as a staffer at Details magazine in New York City, where, he admits with much shame, he helped popularize the term “metrosexual.” The line to punch him in the stomach begins at the corner of SW Oak and Broadway. Blasengame has three dogs (one of which is named after his personal hero W. Axl Rose), a patient girlfriend, and a unhealthy obsession with ping-pong, Intervention, Razorback football, and AC/DC karaoke.
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Bart Blasengame’s dim-lit corner of the world revolves around local arts and entertainment: Previews, reviews, and small features. But since this is his domain (and since he runs almost entirely on caffeine and snark) he’ll also pontificate on the world around him in his own wise-ass way. Other times he’ll just poke things with a stick.
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