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Pantsless in Portland

The creator of Erotisphere writes about the website,
the Portland scene, and life without pants.

by AnDroid

Portland Closes Due to Heat

Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 30 July 2009 16:20

“If Baltimore shut down in 104º they'd never be open! You gotta fuckin' suck it up, man!” Kimbot's birthday was this week, and the heat shut down Portland almost as bad as the cold did last winter.

On Monday we ate ganja snacks, a birthday gift from a friend, and bussed it downtown for burgers at Captain Ankeny's Well, which secretly has what's got to be one of the best burgers in Portland. The burgers were amazing, but the heat had turned what used to be one of the classier bars in the neighborhood into a festering shit hole. The servers were friendly, yes, and a few regulars were hanging out, but the air conditioning had broken down so it was 90º in there. A quick glance around the bar would tell you that the whole system had broken down: Every table was covered with splattered food and spilled beer, every chair was slightly sticky, and the bathrooms were a horrible stinking nightmare with clouds of fruit flies swarming around puke-stained toilets and no soap or hand towels anywhere in sight. This is what happens when “extreme” weather hits Portland. Everything and everybody ceases to function.

The pot hit me hard sitting at Captain Ankeny's. Our friend always makes those things so fucking potent they should be illegal. I started thinking about the origins of the universe and the nature of reality, and for a moment there, staring at the fish taco truck out the window, beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, I thought I was going to fucking lose it. It was one of those moments when you realize just how close you are to snapping, and you think about that guy on the bus who was masturbating openly and talking to himself and his pants fell down when he stood up, and you think, “That could be me. I almost started doing that just now.”

Then the cook came over and asked us how the burgers were, which brought me back to reality. I'd forgotten how gargantuan they are here (½ lb). Kimbot and I really should have just shared one, since we each had half a burger left. So we got a plastic box to put the leftovers in and walked out into the sun, but then I was carrying around a box with two burger halves in it, and I was like, “What the fuck do I do with this?” Luckily, in less than five minutes a young guy came up to me and politely asked if he could have my leftovers, so I gladly handed it over and said, “These burgers are fucking great. You're gonna love it.” He immediately tore into the thing like an animal.

From there we met our friend S. at the Commodore, which had a working A/C and was extremely clean (I believe there is a direct correlation here). It was about as dead as Ankeny's had been. S. lives in an apartment above the Commodore. The apartments do not have air conditioning. He told us about the usual social norms breaking down in the building due to the heat. “People are propping their doors open, I guess to get the air flow going,” he said. “You walk around, and you look over, and you're staring at some guy in his apartment. It's like, come on guys! This isn't a fucking dorm!” At this remark a guy sitting at the bar, probably one of S.'s neighbors, turned to glare at him. In a lower voice, S. said, “Some people hang out down here all day like it's their living room.”

Tuesday was the big day – Kimbot's birthday. My gift to her was a massage at Common Ground Everett House. I was going to float in an isolation tank while she got her rubdown, and then we'd sweat it out together in a sauna. Afterwards I could write a blog about the experience. I called and made an appointment for 6pm, giving us a few hours to hang out and get ready. A couple hours later I got a call back from the receptionist at Common Ground and was told that the masseuse had to cancel the appointment due to heatstroke. Heatstroke! So we postponed the birthday plans and sat around watching movies and drinking beer in our hot-as-fuck apartment.

Yesterday morning my friend Brandon tweeted that the MAX had been delayed due to the heat, which made him thirty minutes late to work, and since his shitty job has a shitty “occurrence” system and he had already accumulated too many “occurrences,” probably from when the MAX was delayed due to the cold last winter, he'll probably get fired now.

I spent a few hours dripping with sweat from head to toe in my apartment and finally couldn't take it anymore. I decided I'd walk to Gladstone Coffee, have a nice iced coffee and a slice of pizza, chill out there and use their free WiFi to do some updates to the site. I put on some clothes, threw my netbook in my man purse, and walked up Gladstone. I was finally going to beat this heat and get some fucking work done. But when I got there the place was dark, and taped to the door was a sign:



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