Blues Festival, Day 1

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Notes from the Blues Festival, Day 1

  • Do not go to the Blues Festival immediately after playing you day’s turns of Kingdom of Loathing. You will walk around noting the location of the burrito stands, trying to figure out where to get spices to make spicy burritos (+5 adventures!), and start thinking you need to drink 20 beers to store up adventures for tomorrow. You will also look at the people with balloon hats, and wonder why they did not get more long skinny balloons to create balloon swords and a balloon monkey familiar with power over static electricity.
  • The beer is quite bad. There is MGD everywhere and one little stand really far away from things that sells Henry Weinheart’s, which seems to be the same price, color, and flavor as the MGD. I walked the extra distance and got the Weinheart’s just to feel like I got good beer. There is so much good beer up here in Portland, that I sort of have to wonder why none of it is represented at the show. Then, I look at the program and advertising around the stages and note that the whole event is sponsored by MGD.
  • There was a nice big cajun food booth. The blackened chicken was not blackened, but I do think it was chicken. Note to world: “blackened” does not equal “we cooked it conventionally, then rolled it in some of the cajun spice powder.”
  • You know how most concerts have “that guy?” This festival had about a dozen of “that guy”s, including:
    • Mr. Orange. Bright orange, black, and way too tight cyclist outfit, including hat. Shirt looks like it is from a bicycle shop, until you read the text proclaiming “Team S&M” and “Too fast for love.” (Okay, who knows, maybe it really is from a real cycle shop). Too much energy. Way too much energy. Bouncing around, “dancing.” Those around have to just stop and stare.
    • Zamphir, Master of Devil-Stick. Okay, Zamphir is not quite the term I was looking for. Neither is Riverdance. At any rate, Mr. Devil-Stick man was doing a slow interpretive dance while playing with the devil-sticks. Shirtless, with pink shorts. He reminded me of an effeminate version of Ex-Con-Bob.
    • A guy with a sandwich-board-like sign containing a very Francis E. Dec, Esquire rant about technology and wireless and brain control.
    • Others that I never bothered to write down and cannot remember now.
  • The porta-potties are called “honey buckets.” The one I used looked like someone had used the Bible to wipe their ass. The cover was torn off and torn in half. A great many pages were missing. It was resting right next to the seat.
  • I think it is a state law that all women in Portland between the ages of 18 and 35 are required to not only have, but to wear clothing that publicly displays, at least one tattoo.
  • One of the Greenpeace ships (the Esperanza?) was docked near the festival. The Greenpeace people were out protesting Safeway (one of the other sponsors of the festival) and their sale of genetically engineered food.

I hurt. It was a lot more walking and standing than I expected. Today will be worse because there will be many more people there, all packed in. I will have to try the African food booth this time.

Posted in: Dear Diary Music Portland

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