When my husband first brought up the idea of going to Portland to see The Twilight Singers at the Wonder Ballroom, I turned him down. I said no because I knew I would be too darn busy at the end of May to go. Not everybody can say they are so busy in real estate right now because they are a Sacramento short sale agent but I'm one of those few. Well, he decided to go anyway, booked his flight and hotel, and I pretty much forgot about it for a couple of months -- until last week.
You know what? I could go if I wanted to go, and I did want to go. Life is short and then you die. So I lucked out and was able to buy tickets on the same flight. Upgraded our hotel room to the penthouse, called the petsitters and we left yesterday morning. We had just under 24 hours in Portland.
I love Portland. I love the homes in Portland, the way the city protects and preserves its history, its progressive environmental stands, the people, its culture, the food, all those beautiful bridges, its public transportation system, the parks, museums, shopping, the Oregon Zoo, the Japanese Garden and, of course, the music scene -- just to name a few of the many excellent reasons to enjoy Portland. I mean, where else would you see hipsters like this little old white haired woman, dressed head-to-toe in black, with a cape, pink shoes and big pink bow in her hair? She was a toss up between Glinda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West. Very Portlandy.
We hopped on the light rail from the airport that dropped us in front of our hotel. We took the street car most around town, and tried to take it all the way to the OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry), but we ended up at the end of the line. Someday the area will be connected, but it's not now. What is there, however, is an aerial tram. The Portland Aerial Tram holds 79 people, travels 22 miles per hour and lifts people from the south waterfront for a 3-minute ride over the freeway, houses and trees, up the hill to the Oregon Health & Science University. We bought tickets and rode it up and back just for the thrill of it. Then, we called a cab and went to the OMSI to play for the afternoon.
After a seafood and steak feast at Jake's Grill for dinner, we rolled our fat little bellies into Wonder Ballroom a few minutes before the opening act began. Like with most music venues, there were few places to sit. That's because they can cram more people inside without providing seating and because younger people don't mind standing. There were 2 rows of seats on the second floor. We're old people. We headed for them.
I made a joke about the two rows being reserved seating for the over-40 crowd, but nobody sitting there was laughing about my comment. We located 2 seats in the center, after stepping on toes and making everybody get up for us to get there. If this had been a church, everybody would have slid down and let us sit at the end, but because it was a concert hall, nobody was moving out of their seat.
When I decided to get up and get us a couple of drinks, I thought about going the long way around. This involved making everybody stand up, or, I could just crawl over the back of the knee wall and jump to the floor. Being 10-years-old, I jumped to the floor. Except it was a bit further away than I had counted on. Instead of landing gracefully on my feet, I stumbled and slid, almost face-first on the floor. The bartender came running over to make sure I didn't know any lawyers and made me promise to never do it again, but I was unscathed.
After the excellent opening act, Margot and the Nuclear So and So's -- which is a horrible name for a band but amusing all the same, especially since there is no Margot -- we decided to leave the Over 40 Crowd and our comfortable seats. The floor was filling up fast with bodies. Now, if I had been a single woman, I could have pushed my way to the front row without any problem. However, being a married woman, the social protcol is different. You really can't push your way to the front with a husband in tow much further than maybe the third row. That's just being polite.
Problem was a woman to my left insisted on slamming her back against me. Maybe she didn't like the fact we squeezed into her spot, her territory. I can recall being at an outdoor concert a few years back and trying to explain, without much luck, the concept of personal space to some stoner guy. Personal space is that area that encompasses the reach of your arm in a circle all around you. This woman didn't look like the type who would appreciate a discussion about personal space. So I did the next best thing.
I asked her what kind of perfume was she wearing. Told her she smelled really good. She answered me: cigarettes, whiskey and Aveda shampoo. We laughed; she backed away and granted me my personal space. Then, my husband and I danced, and jumped, and bounced about, and sang along, and thoroughly enjoyed The Twilight Singers and Greg Dulli. I was engrossed. Gunshots baby, let's cut through the crowd. I didn't stop for one minute to think about Sacramento short sales. Honest. No short sales crossed my mind. I need to do this sort of thing more often.
Photos: Elizabeth Weintraub
Comments(2)