Oregon Shakespeare Festival Soothes the Souls of Those Afflicted by Interesting Times – Today More Than Ever Every season of Oregon Shakespeare Festival is a song cycle. Each tune thrills on its own, but take in the entirety of the album, and the meaning of its parts deepens quicker than the distrust of sun celebrations after seeing “Midsommar.” Even viewing
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Dissent is patriotic. Music makes life suck less. I hold these truths to be self-evident, especially on Independence Day. Doesn’t matter what kind of music you’re into. Doesn’t matter who’s in office. We should all be thinking critically all the time, and we need a proper soundtrack to kick our powers of incredulity into high gear. Plus, music sends audio
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The Iguana Tree is empty tonight. We stand under it, searching the monochromatic foliage for bursts of radioactivity – neon oranges and greens signaling the presence of Earth’s once and future overlords. We’ve already been food-poisoned, but as with radiation sickness, we won’t know it until it’s too late to do anything about it. New Year’s Eve 2017. Woo-fucking-hoo. Walking
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Memorial Day was once a day of the dead for me. We’d climb in my parents’ minivan and drive to the cemetery in South Town. This was a time to place flowers on the graves of my great-grandfather and a neighbor who’d made sculptures out of matchboxes and pipe cleaners for us as kids. I never really understood what my
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Every trip begins with music. It’s a door to foreign cultures for which you need fashion no key. Your brain is a lockpick kit, capable of jimmying any sound. Film and literature are similarly functioning gateways, provided you have subtitles or translated editions, but the magic of music is you need not know the words. Even if you have no
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“We do not know why this happened. We do not know how this happened. But again, to confirm, 13 are dead in rural southwest Oregon.” – CBS News Now the local anchor is speculating that this might be the greatest number of people killed in one event in the state of Oregon. True or not, that’s still 13 bodies, and
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Mary Ann and I bought our house in North Portland nearly five years ago. While I was excited about the diversity of folks living in NoPo, and we both dug the proximity to our jobs at the time, truth is it was all about the Benjamins. This was one of the few places two firmly middle-class folks could still afford
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