|Written by AnDroid|
|Thursday, 16 July 2009 16:20|
Well we had a great time as usual at the Oregon Country Fair (OCF) last weekend. The group we assembled for camping at Zumwalt was maybe the largest we've had yet, and also probably the rowdiest, although we could scarcely compete with our neighbors, who brought a vaporizer and a three-foot bong and took acid the first night and giggled until the sun came up. Good people.
I go to a lot of strip clubs, but one of the nice things about the OCF is seeing nudity in a different, more normalized context. For instance, you're standing in line waiting for Pad Thai, and standing in front of you are three sixteen-year-old girls chattering about some inane bullshit in their high-pitched tones, and you're thinking, “Jeezus fucking Christ these girls are annoying,” and, oh yeah, also they're topless and have phenomenal tits. Should you feel creepy for noticing? Well, there are many states in which the age of consent is sixteen, but this ain't one of 'em, so I guess you should feel a little creepy, but we're not talking about sex here, we're talking about girls whose chosen form of pubescent rebellion is the harmless and beautiful act of revealing their newly formed fun bags, so please, for me, take a moment to focus your brain on blocking out their horrible voices, and take a crystal-clear mental snapshot of those perfect breasts to cherish in your mind until next year's Fair.
Oh, and unlike most strip clubs, the variety of breasts and body types you see at the Fair are astounding. Hairy hippie tits? Check. Bulbous veiny MILF tits? Check. Big floppy sweaty pancake tits? Double check. Tiny androgynous tits? That may have been a dude, but at this point it doesn't matter, because my short-shorts are doing very little to effectively hide my thunder. Winding down this peaceful path a carousel of debauchery spins to wild music, drenched in body paint, caked with dirt, and enveloped in a thick cloud of marijuana smoke. Once you've seen a naked woman in her forties puking up mushrooms onto her own hairy c-section-scarred belly, you'll never look at your bank teller the same way again, because beneath every pantsuit sweats a feral animal ready to tear into you with its bare hands.
I noticed this year that panties were a popular choice as a replacement for shorts. Also the penis pouch seems to be catching on. The old guy painted like a naked multicolored demon dancing at the drum tower on Saturday got a lot of attention. I have to imagine that guy doing financial consultations with clients on Monday after the Fair with bits of green body paint still smeared around the base of his shaved scrotum. Readjusting to civilian life after the Fair can be a difficult process. It requires a lot of pot smoking and self-reflective thought. I was irritable as all hell during the week leading up to the Fair, but I can't for the life of me remember why.
The OCF Naked Drum Tower Demon.
Photo by Kimbot. Copyright (c) 2009.
Coming back to Portland after the Fair, as opposed to, say, Boise fucking Idaho, is a nice transition. I can walk around assuming everyone is riding the same high as me and get away with it. No one glares at me for grinning like an idiot or smoking pot openly on a street corner. And just to reaffirm how chill this city is, Dave Chappelle came to town with his family on Tuesday and hit all the hot spots, happened to mention to a couple people that he might do a little performance in Pioneer Square at midnight, and based on that rumor, which quickly spread via the web, fucking 4,000 people showed up. It was actually too many people for him to be able to perform for with his ill-prepared audio set up (a single tiny guitar amp), but the point is Portlanders are fucking awesome, and now even Dave fucking Chappelle knows it.
Here it is, Portlanders: I know you're cool, you know you're cool, but do you know that the Oregon Country Fair is cool? If you've never been to it, clear your calendar now for next year (it's always the second weekend of July). If you have friends who tell you it's lame you should really re-evaluate those friendships, because your friends fucking suck. Next time you see one of the March Fourth Marching Band folks wandering around Hawthorne, just ask them, and they'll tell you the same thing: OCF rocks! I know a lot of you are into Burning Man, and that's fine, but you should be aware that we've got our own special gem right in our back yard. Besides, if I'm gonna spend hundreds of dollars on a trip to Nevada, it's not gonna be for that outdated shit fest.