Smoking Hot

We stopped at Devon's parent's house on the way to Portland. It is weird seeing a friends childhood home for the first time. It is never like you imagined it would be. My concept of his house did not involve a cul-de-sac. My concept definitely not involve a room with carpet on the ceiling. Devon's parents had prepared appetizers for us and fed us hamburgers. I took a little, but much needed, nap on the couch. Devon's dad gave Devon a birthday cigar which was then and there. He looked incredibly smug smoking the cigar wearing his smoking hot cowboy hat and aviator glasses. This cigar would later leave a less savory taste. The next morning he said that it tasted like someone pooped in his mouth.

The Ash Street Saloon was an impressive venue, like Nectar in Seattle. Apparently, there are semi-professional wrestling matches here when bands are not playing.

Between Scott, Brad, and Devon calling their Portland area friends in advance, we were able to pull a decent crowd. Decent for an out of town show at least.

The first band was sloppy drunk. If their instruments were heavy machinery, there would be dismembered limbs everywhere. The front-man wore a sleeveless shirt and the bottoms of his jeans rolled up making him look a bit like the hillbilly character in The Simpsons. His phrasing reminded me of Wolf Parade and in this context, I found this set entertaining.

It was incredibly hot. When Jared rocked out, sweat would drip with every head throw. It was more like pour, really. Like rhythmically tipping a glass of water until just a little water poured out, again and again. Although I thought the sound worked out alright at Bob's Java Jive, the sound was immaculate here.

The last band, Oceania, announced at the beginning of their set that this was their CD release show and their last show. These radicals had some other tricks up their sleeves. At the end of their set they literally released their CDs upon the audience by throwing them at the audience. One hit the suspending stage lighting causing the CD to open and fall directly to the floor. One hit Scott in the head. The keyboardist was nice though, and his music was dark and interesting.

Devon's friend Nick offered us a floor to sleep on. He lived on the top floor of a house that was converted into apartments. I am not sure what the other apartments looked like, but this one looked to be the remainder of whatever division had happened. The door to Nick's bedroom was high enough to allow a hobbit to pass. If any ring wraiths happened to crash our little party, we could just have taken one of the swords off the wall and dispatched them thusly. We were soon packed like hot little sardines on his living room floor ready to get three hours of sleep. Then onward. California here we come!