[from Portland OR] The restaurants and grocery stores in my Portland neighborhood reflect the bounty of its Asian and African immigrants. I’m pretty sure Kingdom Kuts and Highland Christian Center manage Portland’s Black community. 82nd Avenue, the city’s long-time ‘avenue of roses,’ is the only place in any city I’ve ever lived—Vegas included—where prostitution is blatantly occurring, with the sidewalks shared by schoolkids and young women in fishnet stockings with the butt panel carved out. When I used to take the train to get to work, I was solicited twice – despite being in a giant winter coat – why else would a woman be on this street if not for that? And then the tents, RVs, bodies on the ground – especially since the pandemic and, maybe I’m imagining, worse when Trump’s in office. I fight with my sisters to convince them that Portland isn’t just the snooty White city we saw when we visited family up here as kids – especially my middle sister who cares about staying true to our bad-SoCal-town roots – littlest is happy to be a bruncher :) Portland also isn’t just the hipster city the nation thinks it is. So when something hipster occurs out in far-East Portland, I get excited and I show up. This new bar/bottle shop is connected to a record store. The long-time coffee shop, Mudd Works, across the way has now moved in too. The bar, with tables up front, a modest horseshoe bar in the middle across from a tall case of wine, a little stage in back, and stairs up to an outdoor area, felt ramshamble community, in a good way. The ambiance is grown-up punk but the events range: Mexican wine tasting with cumbia music, hip hop and funk. I appreciate the creativity and guts. Also found out later one of the owners is a Mexican guy from LA - shine. The wine list is not only affordable but well appointed. It was a wild range of ages, leaning young this night. Young enough that NiceButAlsoDangerous joked the set started at 6p because the band had finals to study for. The band: well, wooooeee!! I heard the darkness of Nick Cage! Riffs from Led Zepplin! Guitar from Lynyrd Skynyrd! Mumford & Songs vocalizing! Then they were joined by boys on guitar and drums. I heard Radiohead!! Flaming Groovies! I was thinking the whole scene felt like the movie Singles (what a soundtrack) … AND THEN A KYRA SEDGWICK LOOK-A-LIKE WALKED IN. I was maybe a little high on a new venue close to home. Because the band was also... just a house band to be fair … and a bit troubling. The guy was old, the girl was young – goth of course. The guy looked liked Laura Palmer’s dad from Twin Peaks (spoiler: he killed her, and probably slept with her). No laws, I guess, against an old man and young woman darkly harmonizing together. Anyway, I had one task before we left – to establish exactly who I am in this neighborhood. I strutted over to the record store and asked the sullen clerk (sadly, he was more round and jolly than sullen) whether they had any Lost Sounds albums. He said, “Ahh, we don’t…. And I only know because I love that band.” I responded, “I know you love that band” <head snap>. Ha- what I really said was, “I love them too.” But I did sashay my ass out of there. Flex: success.
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