Parade season is in full swing. The crowds have already started forming for the Grand Floral Parade, which engulfs downtown for the next couple of days. However, not everyone “loves a parade,” and one of the more vocal detractors is our own Wizardboots.
In fact, last weeks Haters Ball, loosely disguised as an OurPDX Writers Meetup, took place during the Starlight Parade. (It had NOTHING to do with the fact that we’d set the meetup a month previous, overlooking the whole parade thingy. Ahem.) Wizardboots opened the evening’s entertainment at Kelly’s Olympian, after a harrowing adventure in which he had some difficulty getting his band equipment across the parade route. His mutterings of “I hate f#@king parades…” evoked the spirit of Maynard James Keenan. His music? Think Hank Williams channeling Mike Patton.
I hadn’t been to Kelly’s since the big remodel a few years back. The knife shop next door went out of business, so Kelly’s gutted it and turned it into a music space, cozy, cool. Kelly’s has reinvented its image, much like PBR. What was once the stomping grounds of old men is now hip with the new generation of drinkers. It was nice to see women welcome. There was a time when Kelly’s didn’t even have a women’s bathroom. I’m glad to see times have changed; women were the majority. Woohoo!
After seeing the guys in Wizardboots in their red shirts, I looked down at mine, which is no longer red, but somewhere between Carlo Rossi and Pepto-Bismol. Guess the red shirt was a good call. Mine had a pocket on it; Wizardboots had a big white moose on his. Add the squirrel lamp hanging from the bass drum, and you’ve got fodder for Bullwinkle references aplenty.
The writers meetup was sparsely attended, but those of us who made it were vocal and boisterous. Our Goddess-and-Keeper, Betsy, was put on light duty, passing her keys off to yours truly. “Whiskey, bartender!” I was celebrating a birthday and a year without drinking, so being designated driver was a bit of a treat for this bus-rat. (I was well-rewarded, having been treated to Brazil Grill beforehand.) Despite our attempts to get her hammered, Ms Betsy remained her ladylike self all evening. Sorry, no topless dancing or catfights.
Dieselboi was there, capturing the fun on video and even joining the band on-stage for a song, playing the hell out of Satan’s Tambourine. Yes, he can get jiggy with it.
While the evening held many highlights, a favorite was when the lovely young lady on stage choked her chicken. I got a thing about chickens, as Mickey Rourke once said. She also blows a mean horn. (Trumpet, that is. Dirty minds, tsk.) She took that chicken, stretched its neck and accompanied her buddy on the kazoo. It was Zappaesque.
Alas, Mr Wizardboots and company were only allowed so much time. The next band on the bill was itchin’ to get on with it. It appeared they had fifteen members and one groupie. It looked like a busy stage. We fled into the night. Stepping outside, we were greeted with the smell most associated with Kelly’s Olympian: cigarette smoke. Hit with a wave of carcinogens, we floated away. One used to have to go outside for oxygen. How the times have changed.
We made a trip to the Hawthorne food carts, for some Whiffies pies. I was ‘pie-deflowered’, (apple FTW) and made a mental sticky note to return for some of the other available grub. I was also able to put Twitter names and faces together. Thanks to Twitter, normal people now seem like celebrities!
The Grand Floral Parade? Yeah, it’s tomorrow, but I have a feeling the Haters Club will be nursing hangovers, tending to their offspring, or otherwise staying the hell away from downtown. But, there will be another OurPDX Writers meetup soon. (I’m hearing rumblings about a June 26 one-year birthday event. Shh…) Someone will be dropping a few hints as they become available.
Now, off to downtown before everyone else gets there…
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Next year we’ll just turn my van into a float and play IN that damn parade…..
Count me in. I can be designated driver…
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