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 Sam Adams' bike contingent at Pride 2009 Now that we are all finally recovered from our hangovers it’s time to reflect on the weekend. It was a wild success that saw the gorgeous Miss Sabel Scities win Portland’s Drag Race, 115 floats, thousands of attendees, very few protesters and about a million parties. Below are my weekend highlights but we really want to hear yours, so comment below! Continue reading »
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Continue reading » Check out LubeJob @ The Red Cap Garage tonight for an extra special little preview before Pride mayhem begins. Killer DJ lineup, and special wrestling guests! Continue reading » Oy. I am definitely still in recovery mode from my stellar weekend at Maggotfest, the annual rugby festival in Missoula, Montana. In a 72 hour period, I spent over 18 hours in a car as the gracious DD to a wild and crazy group of ruggers. The drinking started in the car on Friday and didn’t end until we got back into the car Sunday afternoon.  rugby girls know how to get down Maggotfest, my friends, is serious business. Serious drinking, costumes, nudity, ridiculousness, and rugby. Ok, so the rugby part isn’t that serious, but it is there–there are actual referees and real teams* and at the end of every game, there is only one winner. This was my red dress party. Unlike red dress, most of the gay folks at Maggotfest were ladies who could ruck, maul and scrum it like a rockstar. I would argue that Maggotfest was clearly where it was at. It was–in a word–epic. Continue reading » In an interesting turn of the W4W dialogue, my friend Lily Ann Page made an art installation and performance piece inspired completely from Craigslist W4W postings around the San Francisco Bay Area. Her artist statement is
Kathe Kollwitz, one of the Guerilla Girls will be coming to town to speak at PSU tomorrow, April 28 about the intersection of art and activism . The event is Bitch Magazine’s final lecture in their four-part Feminist Perspectives in Pop Culture Series. the Guerilla Girls are “notorious for their witty campaigns to expose misogyny in the art world (and maintaining anonymity by wearing gorilla masks and […]  Making cookies together is a sacred act of love. So you see a cute something something making eyes at you across the aisle of the bus and you start having all of these dirty images of the two of you comingling in someplace public and dirty. But you’ve never talked to this person and you have no idea how to cross the vast gulf of the aisle. Luckily, you have a few cookies in your pocket. This is how you will succeed–at love and at life. Always keep a few freshly baked cookies on hand just in case the opportunity strikes. Continue reading »
Lately I’ve been munching my way through interesting conversations with straight men calling about my 1980 Datsun 210 wagon for sale. Sometimes the questions about the car become questions about me. “I’m assuming that your husband has a car, too?” “You sound cute. I didn’t realize that you were so young.” Today’s conversation ends with his va
Continue reading » Here at QPDX, we spend a lot of time munching on various things—salads, burritos, omelets, carpets (I can only vouch for myself here, although I have a feeling that the other writers here are equally suspect). Sometimes the world outside of the kitchen is pretty shitty. Research shows that there are things that you can stick in your mouth that will make you feel good. Sometimes you are hungry and there is nothing in the fridge (and alternately, no one in your bed). […] |
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Among the craziness of Pride begins yet another festival that queers might have interest in…Pedalpalooza. Luckily it goes on for a couple weeks because our brains and bodies can’t really take cycling beyond the transport that we’re already putting in going from party to party. Indeed, my brilliant titling just goes to show how much energy I have left barely embarking on day 3. But the first of the gay bike schtuff starts tomorrow so I’m doing what I can to get the info up…
gue whispery words telling me to call him if I feel like it. It feels like this isn’t even about the car anymore. He’s not even that into my car. My car that looks to me like a Birkenstock and Carhart wearing dykemobile. The sort of thing that one would pack with smelly lesbos and drive to clothing-optional hot springs and women’s music festivals. It is decorated with bumperstickers that say “keep Portland weird” “No on 8” and “well-behaved women rarely make history” for goshsakes. I might as well have a bumpersticker that says “smash patriarchy with me and my hella hella gay friends.”