Iced Borscht » Portland

Sunday Afternoon Links = Atonal Dorky Funniness

MC — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 22:02:33 +0000

Packers win 34-16!

1975, J.P. Donleavy: “Isolation is a necessity, also an acute loneliness and a sense of slight rejection.”
A crazy world of crotchet
Build a robotic xylophone
David Lynch discusses music projects
“God and Germs Are Everywhere“
Eight great Antarctic explorers
Factory farms infographic
“Fuck Yeah Marxism-Leninism“…?…?
Helen Thomas still hates the Jews
Houdini Fly inflates head and breaks walls
Marvel Comics’ long history of embarrassing itself on stage in New York
Mercury poisoning makes boy birds gay
Mutilated corpse falls from the heavens
Portland coyotes are everywhere
Prisoner fashion timeline
Richard Dawkins: “Christopher Hitchens, my hero of 2010.”
“Processions, Night and Fire“
Snake fang evolution
Simply Red vocalist issues apology to the all ho’s he banged
Submit your finest lesbian romance stories here
Superman vs. Muhammad Ali
The 50 states, depicted as food
The eternal question: Why did kamikazes wear helmets?
The Insanity Virus
The site Real-Life Superheroes supplies a handy list of Taser and stun gun laws
When women are most fertile, they avoid contact with their dads

THE HAM OF GRESH — I Gresh, Therefore I Am

MC — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 07:14:12 +0000

Recently a woman here in Portland ridiculed me for living near Gresham, a suburb that Portland’s indie-alpha culture finds repugnant.

“Why do you live there? she asked. “Is it because of the close proximity to all the great cuisine and culture?”

Or something. She thought she was being smarmy-yet-cute. But unbeknownst to her, the former greatly diminishes the latter.

So I told her:

GIRL…

The Ham of Gresh is made of stern stuff, it is the most purely triplicate articulation of the Godhead anywhere.

Like you, I am a mere commoner of Southeast Portland. But unlike you, I live scant blocks from the hamlet of Gresh.

I like misunderstood places.

I like coal piles.

I like coyotes, I like scorched engine oil.

I like places where the snow gets dirty.

I like places far removed from emergency renewable energy fairs, yoga parlors, Sleater-Kinney, bike shops, microbreweries and C.h.u.n.k. 666 Tweet-ups.

I like unpopular places.

I like the face-smacking winds of the Columbia River Gorge. I like Kevlar-bottom boats I can smash around the Sandy River with. I like places where ultimate fighting trumps roller derby as the key fringe sport of interest.

I like places that force themselves on the landscape.

I like blight.

I like whatever urban planners hate.

I like vacant lots.

I like wide-open places.

I like places where elk hunters outnumber pansexual dilettantes 100-1.

I like places with grease, gunfire and burning tires.

I like Gresham.

THE GREEN AGE OF COMICS BEGINS!

MC — Sat, 06 Nov 2010 07:52:50 +0000

Well, I’ve finally gotten around to publishing pdX-Man and Leafy Boy — Issue No.1: “Tits On Ice,” my much-delayed comic brook project with the great Ricky Sprague.

Here it is. Enjoy…

Some Farm-to-Table Freshness is About to Diddle Your Flab-Hangings

MC — Sat, 23 Oct 2010 01:21:42 +0000

Here’s a teaser/sample from the deep-fried dystopian “comic book” I’ve created with Ricky Sprague, who is a verifiable Champion of Humans. The whole spicy loaf will be appearing on this site soon. The following passage details the trauma endured by the protagonist, Quinton Dean, when he self-sabotages his best shot at journalistic transcendence.

Dean was crestfallen. His pursuit of the Lord Snowden Trinket was more than a labor of love. It was a spiritual and vocational quest. Dean used to quip that he was “doing the Lord’s work,” which made his fellow journalists at the Daily Error chortle. They so loved his wordplay.

It took him years to battle through the shame; ages to reestablish himself as a sage chronicler of the human condition. It was a bleak time. Dean succumbed to car ownership and gluttonous meals with excessive food mileage. His flowing brown hair fell out until all that remained was a shiny bulb of remorse. He ballooned to 155 pounds. At rock bottom, friends found Dean naked in the basement of a SE Belmont sex-magic bistro. He was slathered in a mysterious cocoon-type material, face down and positioned spread-eagle over a life-sized photo of swashbuckling tree sitter Tre Arrow.

Remarkably, there was a silver lining in this sludge. One day that story will be told. Today though, was all about ACTION.

Action indeed. Coming shortly to these pages.

CLEANING OUT THE LINK CAGE: Naked Portland Chicks on Bikes; Bridge Phobia; Evil

MC — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 16:00:09 +0000

Wednesday morning links.

THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH AMOROUS EPHEMERA

Also…