In Europe, Halloween is little kid shit. You dress up until you’re, like, twelve so you can trick or treat. Then you graduate into adulthood, and much like with the Easter bunny, you’re just too old for that BS. Not in Portland, my friends.
In an alternate dimension, Axl Rose and Marilyn Monroe drink tall boys at the Sandy Hut.
When I called home to Colorado on Saturday to see what mini-nephew Patrick was dressing as for the evening (Batman!), I mentioned my costume to my mom. “Oh, are you going to a Halloween party?” she asked. What my mom doesn’t understand is that the entire city of Portland is a Halloween party, and if you don’t dress up—at least smear some damn fake blood on your forehead—you are a lame sloth not worthy of existence in this fair city. Or so it seems.
Billy, dressed as a favorite household item—duct tape! Or something.
No, I didn’t have a party to attend, per se, but over the course of the evening we went to two bars and a live show, and there wasn’t a single person in street clothes. In fact, as we waited at a stop light on 28th and Glisan, mustard and ketchup waved to us from the sidewalk, and our drinks at the Sandy Hut were served up by Gem from Gem and the Halograms. I chatted with the possessed chick from The Exorcist for a while, while Axl Rose bought me a beer. Charles Manson was playing Buck Hunter in the corner. King Diamond met up with us at the Doug Fir to watch Red Fang play, where, ironically, I even saw Fang the Cat from the 511 house hanging out. Oh, and forget chicks dressing up as “slutty whatever” for Halloween. The new trend I’ve noticed is guys dressing up as slutty chicks for Halloween. An interesting development.
I don’t know about you, but the movie The Exorcist haunted my childhood. Catherine was trying to talk to me about real estate for a while, but I couldn’t follow what she was saying because she was too damn scary.
Red Fang, bitches!