party party!!!!!!!

Music festivals come in many shapes and sizes. there are giant one night blow-outs such as the halloween rave 'Monster Massive" in Los Angeles. There are multi-day outdoor affairs with their attendant campgrounds and art installations such as Bonaroo and Coachella. Then there is MFNW, a multi-day bar, pub, and concert hall crawl. This is one of my favorite music festival formats because it gives passholders an excuse to binge on music and sample drinks all over the city for a whole weekend. Two years ago I went to a similar festival in Brighton, England and I loved checking out all the little bars and clubs in the city I never had the chance to visit. Last weekend MFNW took over the West and East sides of Portland,turning the whole metro area into a festival grounds.

My friend and I had been looking forward to the event for weeks. We had dutifully highlighted shows of particular interest, taking into account the venue's relative locations and the popularity of the talent. After talking to some other concert goers we found that we weren't the only ones who circled the dates Sept 18-20 in our calendars. One women we talked to at Dante's had created a her own printed itenerary with the sequence of shows she was going to attend culled from the official schedule as well as backup shows if the venues she had scheduled to go to were full. We knew that our nights weren't going to go exactly to plan. In fact, we hoped that we would leave the schedule behind as we followed the winds of adventure in several nights of booze, music, weed, and random encounters. So here, in true gonzo style, is my MFNW experience:

Day I: This is more of an appetizer then a legitimate kick-off to the festival with artists playing at only one venue. The real shenanigans begin on thursday when all stages are in full swing. But my illustrious compatriot, Keegan, and myself are ansty and staring at our shiny new green braceletts. These braceletts give us an all access pass to the festival (well besides the multiple VIP areas and the venues which are full of ticket-buying concert goers who get to skip in fron of us, but more on that later). We try to make it downtown for the Portland Chello project but miss their preformance. I've had a soft spot for Classical instruments playing rock music ever since watching the members of Apocalyptica wail out Metallica riffs on stand-up bases. We have a beer or two and listen to the mellow musical musings of some acoustic-guitar-playing-melodical-singer-songwriter but our hearts aren't in it and we return home, resting up our energy for day two of the festival.

Day II: Begins with a bang as we head to the Wonder Ballroom for the early show in the lineup. The Helio sequence puts on an awesome show. The drummer sported a huge grin through the entire set, seemingly ecstatic at playing in his hometown. Every time he banged on a drum his face would light up with joy and his grin would stretch ever wider, reaching demonic proportins. The spiffy lighting effects and the projected 'bandz in the hood' sign get us in that magical MFNW mood and I take a quick snapshot with my iphone. On the way out we were rejected entry to the VIP beer garden and a tricked out school bus that appeared to be a silk-screeening clinic. "I guess we are just AIP's (average importance people" I told Keegan.

***

The next stop is across the river to another ballroom, The Crystal. Keegan and I are full of Jaeger and mirth as we enter the venerable loft space. The Crystal is a beatiful establishment and the bouncing and swaying floorboards make it feel like your dancing on a spongy trampoline. The first act we see is a bit of a disapointment. A pianist wails away on distorted key notes which ricochet from the walls at a spectrum low and warbly enoug to kill dolphins. I didn't know that a piano could sound so jarring. Then Explosions in the Sky hit the stage and blew us all away with their resounding psychadelic rock sound. One of our friends who had bought a ticket for the show was in a walker, as he was the victim of a recent motorcycle accident. We used his handicap as an excuse to push us towards the front of the crowd. I gotta say that the band was great but I was pretty disapointed in the Portland fans. While Explosion's music isn't exactly dance-pop, they do play some bangin tunes that appreciate a little bit of crowd reaction. Maybe a few dance steps, perhaps even a little skanking or moshing are in order? But instead the portlanders stand stoicly with hands in pockets, staring blankly at the preformers. "These kids need to stop being so self-conscious and go a little mad hatter" I told Keegan. We turned heel after half the set and headed down to the Roseland. On the walk down MFNW run school buses passed by, filled up with passengers.

When we arrive outside the Roseland we find that Girl talk is rammed full of dance-happy portlanders and we are forced to take our bracelets elsewhere. We hightail it over to Dante's and check out We were promised jet-packs and another Scottish band which followed them. I was greatly impressed and fearful when, upon entering Dante's I was confronted with, what appeared to be a bad guy from super stree fighter. The bouncer that night was an intimidating charecter, outfitted with tribal tattoos across his entire face, plenty of ear guages, septum piercings, and other metal accountremant. He also carried a large hunting knife and what appeared to be a pair of handcuffs. This guy looked like he could eat two or three eastside skinny jean hipster bouncers for breakfast. Inside Dante's Keegan and I succumbed to the insistent schtick of a cute camel salesman and both purchased a pack of the cancer sticks. It then proved exceedingly difficult to convince the camel girl that we, in fact, did not want to recieve weekly camel promotions and coupons. I don't need my smoking habit to be advertised to my family. I'd rather leave the smoking for dingy bars and urban nighttime strolls. To round off the night we dragged our drunk and nicced out butts over to the Ash Street Saloon where we watched folk powerhouse "The Dimes". I dug the band but not the bathroom which was one of those exceedingly awakward 'its too big to be a single but not big enough to be a double' affairs. With a relieved bladder and an aching gut from pizza, beer, jaeger, and cigarettes I drove back home.

The word 'free' and its attendant concept and meaning present an interesting definitional problem. When we say we get something for free what exactly does this mean? Most of the time the implication is that we received something beneficial without having to give up anything valuable in return. We wouldn't say we go a bruise for free (no one values bruises) or that America won the Afghanistan war for free (it cost us valuable lives). But free can be deceptive.

In a new book called free, author Chris Anderson describes different ways companies brand their products as free and the different meanings the word can take. In todays economy something may be free if you make a qualifying purchase such as 'buy one soup get the second one free.' In this situation free is being used when it would be more accurate to call the deal, 'buy one get one half off.' Another common tactic corporations use is to not charge for a product but then to require users to sit through advertisements. Hulu streams tv for free to computer users but incorporates its shows with commercials which cannot be fast forwarded through. Another example is facebook which has millions of die-hard users who rely on it every day for their social networking needs. Despite its popularity, facebook if absolutely free, but its loaded with advertistements. We are still paying for these services, not with money but with our time. The time we use to look through these advertisements is not free time. In addition, advertisement is subtle in its deployment and manipulation and may cause us to buy products we have no need for simply because we were swayed by a pretty face on a commercial.

Free products or discounted products can end up costing us more than we expected. It's a feature of human psychology that we appreciate a deal. When we think we are getting something for less than its normal price we are pleased. This causes us to buy things which are discounted which we might not have bought at all in another situation. for example, imagine the baskin robbins across the street is having a 39 cent scoop deal on ice cream which is lasting one day. Now, you have a big dinner and aren't hungry but the deal seems too good to pass up so you buy the ice cream. Was this really a 'deal?' Take another situation, you are out for drinks with people you don't really care for. The conversation is awkward and stilted. You think to be polite you should stay for a few minutes but you are looking for an excuse to make an early exit. Then, the person next to you offers to buy you a beer. Do you take it? It's free so its hard to pass up, but again its not really free. the price of the drink is that you have to stay at the bar for the time it takes to drink it. Depending on your feelings on ettiquette you might even be obliged to buy a round of drinks in return.

There's nothing wrong with being frugal but, finding a good deal is more complicated then it first appears. When making a purchase we should look at all the hidden prices that come with that product whether that price be monetary, social, caloric, or temporal.

What the fuck are we drinking????

Our culture is in love with the principle of the free lunch. Consumers want to have the enjoyment of products without experiencing the penalty. In the case of coca-cola people want the flavor and sometimes the caffeine without the calories. I find it amazing that people worry about the calories in coke and ignore its more horrible side-effects such as the amount of rot the sugar will cause on your teeth or the carcinogens which make up the flavor in the chemical stew of diet coke or coke zero.

and take a look at this newly marketed product:
The contradiction in this advertisement seems to be patently obvious. Vitamin water is supposed to be drunk in accordance with an active lifestyle. Like Gatorade it is a drink marketed to an active set of people who migh enjoy the drink before or after exercise. So why should it have zero calories? Calories are good for us, they are what our body thrives on. Fat is good for us too. If we are exercising and burning calories and fat reserves then we need some way to replace these calories. Skinny water is another aspect of the weight loss phenomenon which emphasizes cutting calories and food intake as the best way to lose weight. Personally I think that a better, easier, and healthier way to lose weight is to exercise more, eat healthier food such as vegetable and fresh fruits, and avoid processed foods or fast foods. Weight loss should be a natural product of living a healthy lifestyle, not just a goal in itself. Alright, sermon concluded...

My social life at this point is strung up and down the Western Coast of the Great US of A. Most of my friends and relatives live in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle. After a brief foray to the east coast I made the relatively easy decision that the left side of the country is the place for me. It's the people, the nature, and the cities that make the West Coast a prime place to live. But now I'm confronted with a problem. With my social network strung between several different states along an expansive coastline, how am I going to see everyone?

I have been disapointed with the options for travel up the coast and along the I-5 corridor. Sure there are plenty of reasonable plane fairs between these cities but for the unemployed, poor traveller, there aren't a lot of premium budget options. If you can get together a few people for a car trip then prices are reasonable but if you're driving by yourself its better just to fly.

I wish there were more car share options for travellers. Back in the day our parents simply stood by the side of the road and stuck their thumbs out for a ride. But nowadays with the unibomber, Ted Kazinsky, cocacola zero, and other social menaces it just doesn't seem prudent to leave one's life to the mercy of the road. The internet should be the new place for hitchhikers. Our parents don't trust the anonymity and openness of the web but people in our generation use their computers for everything, only turning to RL (short for real life) solutions when absolutely necessary. Instead of bumming rides on the road travellers should be able to plan their trips ahead of time by signing up to online communities and arranging trips. Everyone could offer something, whether it be a car, money for gas, or maybe conversation and companionship on a long train ride.

An online trave/rideshare community would have several benefits to traditional hitchiking. First, people could plan their trips ahead of time so that making it to granny's funeral didn't depend on the wim of big rig truckers. Secondly, the online community could fulfill multiple functions. It could be a place to arrange rideshares, exchange travel tips, dispense travel warnings, and act as a social network to keep people who met each other while travelling connected. But its most important function would be to make travelling up and down the coastal states an easier and cheaper journey. In my mind I can envision listings offering and asking for rides from Vancouver BC down to San Diego.

Right now there are a few websites that serve some of the functions I am describing. Craig's list has a rideshare option but listings are always posted at the last minute and rides usually don't cover long distances. Ridester is the most popular rideshare only website but its listings are woefully limited. couchsurfer.org is an online travel community but it is more oriented towards connecting people for cheap or free accomadations rather than for transportation. I am now putting out a call to all techno nerds: let's make this website for the mutual benefit of all!

Last night I was riding the metro back to Eagle Rock after another spectacular night of breakdancing. My joints ached and my body was freezing cold. The layer of sweat I had quickly accumulated while dancing had immediately chilled when I stepped outside, making me a sopping wet, shivering mess. I had no idea how long it was going to take for the train to arrive. Across the station I noticed two breakers from the session. The younger guy, Adam, was practicing a spinning move and his brother Donnie was watching. I had met both of them last week on the ride back home. Among the still forms either sitting or standing, the bboys stuck out like little spots of energy. I decided to go over and say what's up. I needed some conversation to distract me from the pains coming from my frozen and aching body. I walked across the station, giving them a wave and a little bit of a two-step. 'bboy bboy," I said conspiratorily.

"Hey, what's up man?" the younger replied. "haha, white boy can dance huh?" Donnie said, couching his comment in a laughing tone. We exchanged high fives, we did the slap and pound thing. I actually pride myself on knowing what type of greeting to give to people depending on the situation (the slap and pound, the high five, the slap and shoulder pound, the hug, the half hug, or the handshake) and this seemed like the best option at the moment.

“Ah, not much. Just waiting for this fucking train,” I said, hoping to commiserate over something we both could understand, the awfulness of the public transit system. Sometimes it’s difficult to communicate verbally with other breakers. We are all so hyped up during the session, sweating bullets, thinking of move variations, checking out the guy in the corner doing a windmill nut-grab, that we can’t really muster the energy or the attention to have a coherent conversation. Plus I really don't know anything about these people except that they can do some awesome shit with their bodies.

We bullshitted a bit more about future dance sessions and then the train finally arrived, late as usual, and we hopped on. Once the doors swung shut and the chime sounded the question that both of them wanted to ask sprung forth, “so you white?” Donnie, the older brother, asked me.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” I answered awkwardly, giving a little chuckle and a shrug of the shoulders as if to say I couldn’t help the fact. “My dad is Polish”

“Polish?” Donnie interrupted, saying the word as if he had never heard it before.

“Yeah, you know eastern European, and my mom is English, Irish, that sort of thing.”

“So you all white.” Adam said in a definitive way. It was as if my description of my background didn’t make a difference. It didn’t matter what part of Europe my ancestors came from. I was white to these kids and that’s all that mattered. I realized at this moment that they probably didn't dealt with people who were “all white” very often in their lives. They might have friends with mixed backgrounds, know people with some caucasion blood, but not like me. This is one of the things I love about LA. If you walk around the city you notice that everyone is a blend of brown. Most people aren’t immediately distinguishable as a certain ethnicity type. They are a mixture of cultures. One of the first times I went to the breaking session, I went to sign my name in on the sheet. There was a space for ethnicity. I noticed that one person had simply written, East LA, as if this region of Los Angeles was its own distinguishable community. I paused for a moment, staring at this square where I was supposed to identify myself, and then I just left it blank, probably because I didn’t want to write the word 'white' which seemed so god-awful boring.

After teasing me a bit for my white boy status our conversation turned to other things. We talked about what we liked about bboying and different types of graffiti styles. Then the topic of food started and once again our differences started to surface.

“I’m going to go home and eat as much pork and rice as I can.” Donnie told me, running his hands through his hair which was sticking straight up from sweat. I noticed, not for the first time, that his hands were decorated with a snake-like tattoo, winding up his arm and through the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Yeah, I kind of sugar loaded right after we left, I had a twix and a power aid and now I’m not that hungry but I should probably have some real food.” The train shook and I reached over to grab at the pole set in the middle of the train-car.

“Is that a white boy thing,” Donnie said, laughing at my confectionary-laden diet.

At that moment I laughed, thinking that this was a silly comment and that eating candy was a ‘me’ thing, not a white thing. I have always had a sweet tooth and I can’t resist treating myself to some sugar, especially after I have worked out hard and felt that I earned a bit of indulgence. But once I got home and the conversation seeped further into my brain I realized that it is a white thing. Donnie and his brother aren’t spending money like I spend money. I probably take out around $20 a day from the bank. Some of this goes to groceries, toiletries, and other essentials, but a lot of it is spent on little things. I might buy a coffee at starbucks, or a cookie at subway, or a bottled water at 7-11 or a nice bottle of beer at the corner liquor store. None of these small, incidental purchases cost much but they end up totaling quite a bit of cash when I buy at least one, sometimes several of these items a day. Donnie isn’t spending money like this. He waits until he gets home to eat a meal and I’m sure he isn’t buying bottles of Evian after the break dancing session like I do. The other reason that consuming like I consume is stereotypically white is that the wealthier i.e. the whiter you are, the more likely you are to consume non-essential things on a routine basis. One of my friends lives part-time in Napa, an area of sprawling mansions and wineries. He shops at a store which is entirely devoted to the non-essentials. This store caters to the wealthy and stocks items such as: organic jams, fine cheeses, aged wine, Italian olive oil, natural sea salt, and dark chocolate. These are not things that one finds at your local supermarket. On a more mundane scale, many of the things I take for granted and rely upon as comforts are not enjoyed by the poor. Take coffee for instance. There is not a coffee drinking culture among poor people. I remember catering a lunch once and drinking a cup of coffee after we had eaten our meal. I was the only caterer who drank coffee. The other people considered it as simply something we served to the guests.

Poor people do not have the luxury of feeling tired or the leisure time to try to get rid of that feeling with a drink. Poor people simply stick it out. And to say that coffee is a cure for tiredness is a lie. Everyone who drinks coffee knows that if you are truly exhausted coffee isn’t going to improve your performance on anything. It might prevent you from falling asleep but its not going to help you ace the SAT if you’re taking the test at the end of an all-night bender. Coffee makes us perkier, dissipates low levels of sleepiness, and makes working a bit more tolerable because all of us have a little buzz going. It’s a non-essential that poor people do without.

Well Donnie and his brother got off at the next stop and I was left alone to my philosophical, bourgeois musings. Maybe Donnie and I come from different world with different habits I thought. But we both love being bboys and that’s all that matters.

I love Portland and I have to put in this entry about it. I know this is supposed to be a travel blog but I am rationalizing making this entry because I am a visitor to Portland now more than a native inhabitant. Coming back to the city for five days as a visitor put it in a new light for me.

I feel conflicted tooting Portland's proverbial horn because there are so many people who have already done an excellent job of doing so. Portland has an unbelievable reputation. There are constantly articles in the New York Times talking about how hip and eco-friendly Portland is and I have had countless conversations with people who haven't been to the city but want to really bad because they hear that it's 'so cool.' All this Portland ego-stroking used to really get on my nerves. I didn't understand what was so great about it. I was born and raised around the city and while I enjoyed some of the spots with local flavor such as Powell's, the bookstore that spans an entire city block (not as big as it sounds, Portland's blocks aren't nearly as large as a bigger city's blocks) and voodoo donuts, the donut store open all night long, I found the city rather small compared to the other metropolises on the I-5 corridor (Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles.)

It takes some seperation to find out what you truly love. This is true of both women and cities. Coming back to Portland made me appreciate old things that I had taken for granted and discover new things that I had not previously known or enjoyed about the city.

Old Thing: Walking around downtown there are always a ton of people. there are people walking on the sidewalks, riding bicycles in the street, and hangout out in squares. Not like LA where you feel like an intrepid adventurer if you step outside your car. New thing: Oregon beer culture is great. Walking through the beer aisle in Safeway is like walking through a speciality drinks store in any other city. Old Thing: Running in Tryon Creek state park. I used to do it a lot when I was younger but I forgot how lush and beautiful the forests are. New Thing: drinking coffee and reading books in the cafes downtown. Portland has a great coffee culture I wasn't aware of. Walking in the pearl district I see a coffeeshop every block. Old Thing: Going out to good movies that are pretty cheap. Portland has a ton of movie theaters that play intellectually stimulating films at low costs, with nice seating too!

Every country has its traditions related to drinking. The English have warm ale and chants, Germans have wheat beer and sausage, Americans have natty light and beer pong, and the Spaniards have Canas and tapas. A Cana is a small glass of beer, about 8-10 ounces according to my expert reckoning, and a tapa is a small serving of food which is served gratis (without charge) with every drink.

Tapas are a great tradition. I make this statement without reservation, even as I leak more gas than Saudi Arabia from all the salty, greasy fried food I have been eating and the excessive amount of beer being thrown down my gullet. The tapa is not usually a gourmet dish, although in Madrid I did have some excellent sea food tapas. Usually the food is along the lines of some sort of potatoe fries concoction drenched in a ranchy type sauce or small sandwichees with proscuitto and mayonnaise.

My first experience with tapas was in Granada, a small mountain city. I believe that most Americans would have a similar response as my brother and I when we entered our first tapas bar, utter shock. “You mean this is totally free?” I asked disbelievingly, staring at the little dish of cheesy noodles and pretzels sitting in front of me. “Es Gratis?” I reiterated.
“Si,” the bartender simply retorted, already moving on to the next customer. Now this was a foreign culture. Not only had he given me a dish for free but he hadn’t even charged me for the beer yet. I would return to this particular tapas bar several times in the trip, not because the tapas were especially good but because I liked the way the bartender would yell “chico!” at me and slap my beer down on the counter for me to pick up at my leisure.

This was a refreshing experience after living in the states where nothing is free except water at restaurants and Wifi. In our culture deals are communicated through upgrades. It’s always a better deal to buy the extra large instead of the medium or get two instead of one. Morgan Spurlock famously criticized this “super size” culture in his muckraking documentary on McDonalds. Corporations are acting irresponsibly when they tempt already unhealthy people to eat and drink to excess with tantalizing deals. But while it might not be a good idea to get the supersized double Bigmack or the Xtreme Gulp slurpy it is usually a good idea to have a little food while you’re drinking.

There are many benefits to the tapas culture which I feel are worthy of enumeration. Firstly, serving food with alcohol makes people get drunk less quickly. This means less fouling out, less bad decisions, and more fun. Secondly, people eating and drinking for longer periods of time is good for both the patrons and the operators of the drinking establishments. People become more socialized, enjoy their nights out more, and have fewer hangover, and bars get more money from their patrons. Spanish drinking nights are also extended because of the types of drinks Spaniards guzzle. Popular drinks include tinto verano, which is red wine mixed with seltzer, and, drinks which mix fanta or lemonade with beer. These minimally alcoholic drinks allow Spaniards to eat, drink, and tapas hop well into the wee hours of the morning. My brother and I found out about the protracted Spanish nightlife schedule the hard way when we showed up at a dance club at 1am ready to party. I’ve never been told by a club manager to come back later. Even when a club is totally dead the manager will say something hopefully optimistic like, “ there’s plenty of room to dance.” But this night we were told to come back at 2 at the earliest. I’m pretty sure there was no one at the club.

Lastly, and most importantly, the tapas culture ties drinking to other activites besides, well, drinking. In Spain drinking, eating, and conversing form a triumvirate of activities which are inseperable from each other. Drinking is a gastronomic and social phenomenon in Spain. When I step into a tapas bar I notice all sorts of people. There are young people, old people, business people, students, even kids. Because drinking is tied to other activities it is less demonized than in the states. Drinking is a normal and accepted form of consumption. This is a marked difference from the states where many young adults put on an uncompromisingly sober face to their parents and then get as fucked up as possible in basements, garages, and pool houses when the adults backs are turned. This is simply another symptom of our supremely capitalist mentality which values products and end goals over processes and experience. (I totally ripped of this last comment from Herbert Marceuse’s One-Dimensional Man.)