KUFO/Alpha Broadcasting Fires Local Talent To Bring Us Crap

If you haven't heard, The Rick Emerson Show and Cort & Fatboy have all been yanked from the Portland airwaves on 101.1 KUFO. Aside from perhaps KINK, I don't know of a group of radio personalities who were more connected to Portland and the Portland scene. Word is that a guy named Ditch who bases his whole schtick on catering to the bottom feeding mouth breathers is coming to town from San Diego. Rick Emerson, Tim Riley, Sarah X Dylan, Cort, and Fatboy are all long time radio personalities who have been big supports to Portland.

Please let KUFO and their sponsors know how you feel about this. This is just bad for Portland.
101 KUFO
2040 SW 1st Ave.

Portland Or, 97201

Telephone: 503-222-1011

Lisa's Request

My good friend Lisa thought this was TMR worthy. Who am I to argue?

What We Need

To start, I am very aware of the essentials… the things required to survive. Beyond that is an infinite list of things that need to change, be taken away, and/or added to make this a better world. These things are negotiable and obviously biased. These are the things that wars are fought over, friends bicker about, and make the news. Today I want to address the following… the lack of new monsters and the definition of celebrity.

There was a period long ago when it seems there was an enlightening with monsters. Most monsters seemed to have come about in a period of time that is relatively the same… Vampires, Werewolves, Zombies, Mummies, Frankenstein, Creature from the Black Lagoon, Aliens, and Clowns.

I say it’s time somebody in Hollywood, or anywhere, come up with the next monster. Sure, we’ve been given the likes of Michael Meyers, Jason Vorhees, and Freddy Krueger. But those are characters, not monsters. I suppose the same could be said for Frankenstein, but I would have to argue that Frank falls under the Zombie category. Pretty much anything “undead” would be a zombie, right? Well maybe not. Vampires are undead. Mummies are undead. So, do you need to be undead to be a monster? No. Werewolves aren’t undead. It’s very complicated, but for the sake of argument I am declaring Frankenstein a Zombie-esque creature and leaving all other undead within their own category.

How hard can it be to come up with something new? Zombies crave brains. Vampires want your blood. Werewolves want your meat. Mummies want… well… what the Hell do Mummies want? A daddy? Bad! What’s left for our new creature? The heart? Eyes? Our souls?

Is this new monster undead? Is it alive? Is it from this world? Probably. Going alien is the easy way out. It leaves things too wide open to the imagination. It needs to be from here. But where? The water? Dirt? The dump?

And what is its weakness? Most monsters have a Kryptonite; sunlight, holy water, a cross, a stake, or a dismantling of their head.

There’s a lot to figure out here, but I think it’s time. We’ve been inundated with the same monsters over the years. It’s time for a new beast.

Next topic… What defines celebrity status? It seems there was a day when a celebrity was somebody who had accomplished something within the arts, whether it be acting, music, a writer, or live performance. A celebrity entertained us. They had talent. They were accomplished. I suppose athletes qualify here as well. Now, all you have to do is apply to be on a “reality” show, do something stupid enough to make the news, or lived within the womb of a rich person for 9 months and you get instant celebrity status.

Paris Hilton... Spidey… Joey Buttafuco… These people have done nothing, yet they have been handed the world. I know the source of this. It’s easy to blame the media for trying to trick us into believing these people are worth any more than we are. Nowadays we don’t get real news about the important things. Today, people find what Britney Spears has stuffed in her orifice far more important than what terrible thing a government has allowed to happen that day. The bottom line is most people are stupid, myself included. We allow these people to be celebrities by watching those stupid Hollywood Access type shows and reading People magazine. We watch reality shows that allow networks to profit off serious human dysfunction. We then believe it as “news”. And our government loves it.

So what do we do? Can the majority of Americans be saved from this? Maybe. The media has proven they can control our minds. Why can Wife Swap still be on TV, but Arrested Development only lasted three seasons? Why can the Jonas Brothers have multi-platinum albums, but most of America will never know who Gogol Bordello is? Because we have lost our ability to think for ourselves.

So what’s the next monster? Ladies and gentleman… I introduce to you… The Fauxlebrity… It will eat your soul, destroy your brain, and erase any ounce of creativity you ever had. Let’s just hope there isn’t a Twilight series written about the Fauxlebrity.

I Can Still Taste The Doughnut

Yesterday was all about consumption. It all started with a phone call from my parents. For some reason they were headed to the Farmer's Market even though it was nearly pitch black outside from thick cloud cover with buckets of rain pouring down. And to top it off, there was thunder and lightning in mid-October. But nothing is going to stop them from picking up their flowers.

Dad told me to think of somewhere good to eat in Hillsboro. That's like hoping for a good song on a Nickelback album... it ain't gonna happen. The dining culture in Hillsboro is all about "tolerable". The majority of people here are very satisfied with average, and whenever anything interesting tries to make a run of it they usually vanish within six months. There's Players Deli who makes a satisfactory sub sandwich. There's the Hawaiian Grill who heaps on monster portions of the meat of your choice on top of a mound of rice and macaroni salad. There's the world renowned Japanese place. We have a decent Indian buffet place, and we have a tolerable Mongolian style spot. That's about it. Everything else is pretty much crap. One option that has recently popped up out here is Vivi's. Vivi's is a tiny little Pho hut that is cranking out some delicious meals. I had told my dad we would hit the Hawaiian place, but for some reason my subconscious drove us straight over to Vivi's. And it was good. I had a Beef Satay soup. Dad claimed his Pho was the best he had ever had. I've been to this place during the work week and you can't find a place to park.

We headed back to my place. Mom dumped off two half gallon jugs of fresh apple cider... my Kryptonite... and two Halloween doughnuts from the Beaverton Bakery. As soon as they pulled away, the doughnuts were in my mouth, followed by a big glass of cider.

It was then time to figure out what was going on with Rick and Tony. It started with me meeting them at American Dream Pizza at 5:00. Just as I pulled out of the garage I got the call to just meet at Tony's instead. As we all headed to American Dream in Tony's car the other options began to fly... "What about HUB? Oh we should go to Vincente's. How come we never go to Flying Pie? Could we get a table at HUB? Are we going to the food carts afterward for Whiffies pies?" We eventually ended up going to the Laurelwood to check out their pizza. They've always had good beers, but the place is overly kid friendly which means kids screaming at their half sauced parents. Tony had already eaten so Rick and I broke into a plate of tator tots covered in melted cheddar with bacon and onions. I had an espresso stout that was delicious. Rick had bitched and bitched about our last outing for pizza when we forgot to order pepperoni. All he wanted was a good pepperoni, mushroom, and olive pie. The waitress took our order. I pointed to Rick to order whatever he wanted. "We'll have a BBQ chicken pizza."

So now I need to go back almost 24 hours to the night prior. Pat and I headed into Portland and told Rick to meet us at The Rose & Thistle, a nice little Scottish bar. I've always loved their plank style cod fish and chips. The first thing out of Rick's mouth was about how much he hates cod. I reassured him they had more food. We sat down, checked out the menu, and low and behold they also had halibut fish and chips, as well as the cod. The waitress comes to take our order. Pat orders some meaty pie thing, I ordered the cod fish and chips, and then Rick... orders the wee plate of cod fish and chips. First of all, I'm just embarrassed he actually used the word "wee" when ordering anything at 38 years old. And secondly, HE ORDERED COD!

Back to last night... The BBQ chicken pizza was ok. To this day there is only one pizzeria that makes a truly delicious BBQ chicken pizza. That place is Pegasus in Eugene. They actually smoke the chicken, and the pizza is drenched in sauce. Everybody up here skimps on the sauce, thus giving very little sign that you are eating anything remotely related to BBQ.

From there, we headed to the Rogue Brewery. We did a drive by to see the place was packed out. We then opted for our loyal stand by, The New Old Lompoc. Their beers are always reliable. We hung there for a couple beers and a couple hours of guy talk.

We hopped in the car and made our way to Voodoo Doughnut. The line was roughly forty feet long, so we diverted our mission to Voodoo II, where the wait is always minimal. And there's a reason for this... they didn't have any of the usual specialties. It was a window full of sprinkle this and sprinkle that. I opted for an apple fritter. There would be no bacon maple bar tonight. To my horror, they were also out of milk. Ack! How was I going to eat an apple fritter without milk? I, somehow, forced it down, but it was not pleasant.

We headed back to Tony's where Rick and I hopped in our cars, and I headed home. It was 10:30 and I felt relieved I was actually going to be home before 11:00. I was stopped at the train tracks on Milwaukee just off Powell. The train was long. My phone rang. Arturo was just making his way out and wanted me to meet up. I asked where he was headed. "The Ringside," he said, where he was planning on meeting up with John A. and his girlfriend. The Ringside is one of the oldest fancy steakhouses in Portland. I was wearing double layered t-shirts, shorts, my converse, and a beanie hat. Arturo convinced me there wasn't a dress code in the bar. The train finally passed and I made my way. After snaking my way through downtown, I pulled into the Ringside's parking lot, and Art was waiting outside.

We walked in. The bar was packed and we had to wait it out. Everybody was dressed up ala Portland style. I was definitely underdressed. We grabbed a couple of chairs at the bar. Art made some chit chat with Jimmy the bartender. Jimmy looked like a Jimmy who would be the bartender at a fancy steakhouse bar. He was older, a ring of short hair surrounding his bald head, knew all the scores of the day's games, and looked like he had the answer to every dilemma in life. I spotted a friend across the room, but he kept looking at me like I was from the unknown. A table opened up, so Arturo and I grabbed it. My buddy Mark finally made the connection and came over to say hi. John and his friend showed up and the food was on. John, Tori, and Arturo went through eight plates of happy hour food and then devoured a piece of cake. Arturo pushed an oyster shooter on me that didn't sit well with the apple fritter that was still haunting me. I couldn't even finish my beer. I was stuffed.

For those who don't know... John Ashford is the greatest chef in Portland who isn't a chef. That man made some ribs one weekend that I can still taste.

The bar closed up and we were forced out. We said our goodbyes and I hopped in my car. It was 12:30. I just wanted to curl up in the back seat and go to sleep, but I made my way home and was asleep within five minutes of pulling into the garage at 1:00 a.m.

The Perfect Cure

After losing the longest relationship of my life, I was in desperate need for something good. It was nearly five months ago that I learned The Pogues were coming to Portland. Imagine taking your five favorite bands and learning they were all going to play at one concert together. That is how much I wanted to see this show. I called Rick and asked him to pick up tickets as I am usually the one who grabs our tickets for the show of the month. As expected, Rick dropped the ball. By the time I found this out the show had sold out.

After scouring Craigslist for weeks, I finally found one decent human who was willing to part with his tickets at face value ($60). The majority of tickets were going for $125-150 a piece. Why? Well, The Pogues are legendary... the godfathers of Irish Punk, and a huge influence on modern music. This tour was nearly impossible. The band's frontman, Shane MacGowan (see above), should have died fifteen years ago. The human liver is not designed for his abuse, in which he admits to have started drinking at four years old. MacGowan (now 50 years old) makes Keith Richards look, and sound, like Kelly Rippa. And to top the whole show off, word is that this was the original line up of the band.

The band formed in 1982 where they blended traditional Irish music with Punk rock energy. The band quickly drew attention drawing interest from Elvis Costello who jumped on board to produce some of their greatest songs, and even Joe Strummer from The Clash sat in with the band from time to time. At one point, MacGowan was canned from The Pogues and formed his own band The Popes. Where most bands breakup and then inevitably reunite, The Pogues were always one band I was certain would never come back together. Not because they wouldn't want to, but just because I didn't see how MacGowan would be able to.

Read "A Drink With Shane MacGowan", or watch the documentary "Shane MacGowan: If I Should Fall From Grace" for a better understanding of why it would be easy to determine that a reunion would be nearly impossible. Imagine walking up to a homeless person who has been drunk for 45 years and ask them to go on a tour and front a high energy band. But somehow, through all the chemicals, MacGowan never forgets a lyric. His ability to annunciate may be a deficit, but he still knows the words.

Last night I walked into the Roseland Theater where the place was packed for a sold out show. The audience was made up of primarily short Irish men wearing their driving caps, soccer hooligans, and a handful of Punk rockers. Long before the show even began the crowd was chanting and waving their beers in the air. I really believe most people there were as shocked that they even had the opportunity to be standing there to see this event. And then out went the lights.

The Roseland erupted with energy as the band walked out. And sure enough, there was MacGowan... cigarette in one hand, drink in the other, sunglasses on, and staggering. Nobody in the room expected any less. His opening words were, "Fuck you!" And the crowd cheered. The Pogues broke into nearly every classic song. Shane sang on most of them, but retreated to the back stage area every three of four songs to take a break while the band went into instrumentals and other hits from their period without MacGowan. While the band was as tight as ever, MacGowan's timing was off, but he never forgot a lyric. In between songs he would attempt to speak with the crowd, but it was pretty much a muttering of, "Wuh wuh wuh... skheeeee," as he let out his laughter that resembled most toothless transients you hear on the streets. The man behind me said, "He's plowed, but I would have been pissed if he was sober." The show wasn't any less than I had expected.

There was nothing perfect about the show, and MacGowan is pathetic, but it reminded me of a show I saw at the Memorial Coliseum back on November 26th, 1976. When I saw Elvis Presley perform live, I wasn't seeing Elvis. What I saw that night was the man who was Elvis, but... it was Elvis. And what I saw last night wasn't Shane MacGowan at his finest, but it was The Pogues. And it was exactly as I thought it would be... Greatness.

Why 2009 Bites Weenies

The year started out with a lot of hope. After eight years of buffoonery and abuse of power in the white house, America voted in a new style of leadership. Things were sure to get better, but not even Obama could fix things in a personal world.

To start, Carol's house was broken into by what was certainly some low life, doesn't deserve oxygen drug addict and would be better off under my back tire. Shortly after that, Carol was laid off. Her dad's health has also added a lot of stress on her and her family.

A couple months ago, I then lost my job. Luckily, I was able to get it back after a bit of a fight. During the whole process I also learned of significant health concerns within my own family that I'll keep private for now. Things were really piling up.

Finally, in what I hope is the last bombshell of the year... Carol and I split up. The distance between us became too much for her. I can't hold a grudge against her for anything. Long distance relationships are tough. I'd say we gave it a pretty decent run of two and a half years. There were just too many roadblocks in the way I suppose.

Anyway, I hadn't been on here in a while and thought I had better update whoever may still look here.