Bridgetown Comedy Festival And Other Drunken Things

This last weekend I attended my very first Bridgetown Comedy Festival in Portland, Oregon.  I don't make visits to the PDX all that often, generally only when I visit two of my close friends (also known as bridesman/maid from my first failed wedding) Tim and Carli.  Buddies of mine whom I met when we all lived in the zine-making/secret cafe/dumpster diving/punk house/hippie commune which is our state's capitol, Olympia, Washington.  Fortunately for all of us, they moved down to a bigger, less government official filled version of Olympia in Portland and I moved up to the similar style with more Ethiopian restaurants version known as Seattle.

The Bridgetown Comedy Festival, now only in it's third year, felt like a city-wide staple.  Most events were fairly crowded, but never in a completely uncomfortable way (although I was drunk most of the time so comfort zones were non-existent).  Not only was I able to witness back to back comedy for four long days with the likes of Kyle Kinane, Jimmy Dore, Doug Benson, Moshe Kasher and Margaret Cho, but I met and saw now new favorites, Emily Heller, Nikki Glaser, Hannibal Buress and Paul Danke.

Comedy aside, Portland is full of cheap and delicious food.  I probably ate more gyros and pizza than I have in all of my twenties.  It was awesome.  Not only that, but good beer, weird ass novelty shops, awesome comic book stores and a giant retro-style arcade filled with 80's-90's arcade staples and pinball machines.  Some people leave their hearts in San Francisco, I left a high score on the Streetfighter II machine at Ground Control in Portland.  Sure a couple of the theaters I sat in smelled like garlic and BO, but I had lots of fun drunkenly doing time at the Tanker open mic, was able to spend time with old friends, bought some pretty sweet trade paperback comics including Henry & Glenn Forever, ate pre-mentioned foods and had a drunken conversation with Kyle Kinane (and yes, most of what I did was drunken while there).  Oh Portland, you definitely put a bird on it.          

It's Gettin' Severe Up In Hare

"Gentlemen, start your engines and may the best woman win!"

I recently discovered RuPaul's Drag Race, also known as my new reason to not kill myself this month.  It is the shit.  It took me about a week of treadmill running while playing, work-time headphone office viewing and some lonely Saturday nights in front of my computer, but I've FINALLY caught up from Season 1 to the final three queens ready to battle for the crown in the soon to be finale of Season 3.  Shit is fierce you guys.  If you aren't familiar, it's a reality competition show hosted by infamous pretty lady-faced drag elder RuPaul in which drag queens from all over the country compete in dancing, lip-synching, gown-making, nude portrait taking, crazy-ass challenges.

One day the queens have to make dresses out of wigs.  One day they might have to sell coupons for cherry pie on the street.  One day they might have to participate in a fake game show as a celebrity impression of their choice.  The crazy shit is endless.  Most importantly, for the bitches that don't bring it, in order to save themselves from being sent home, they have to "lip sync...for their life."  This show is genius.  It's Project Runway, American Idol and America's Next Top Model rolled into one glittery dick-tucked amaze ball.  Not only do I LOVE the fuck out of this show, it has inspired me creatively, metaphorically and fashion-wise so I decided to cut my hair weird.  That's right.  You better WORK!