9/15 Party on Bryant

A chilly night. All around people are prophesizing the end of summer here in Portland- Being a foreigner I must ask one question: Will this be an end of the terrific string of parties I’ve experienced since relocating from Austin? Well…I hope not. And in we go through the wooden fence, a fire pit burns to the right but that cloud of smoke smells too skunky to be pieces of hippie house furniture debris. On the inside one will note the artfully strung severed doll heads and reaching doll arms that line the upper trim of the den. Free Pabst in the kitchen and enough salsa to quell the hungry masses of a small country, or more in suit the impoverished many that make up the North East Portland party industry. The Marsupials are mid-set with wig worn Casio tone girl grooves, rocking as they were the vocal confidence was lacking and though I felt a slight need to shake down to the dance floor their timid stylings seemed mirrored in the crowd before them. The cakewalk was a saving grace as it was an actual cakewalk sans cake for prizes. For the next half hour I wandered around in the damp yonder felling more than slightly out of place within these dready habitations. Many pipes were passed and Carlo Rossi joined me in a classic country jug dance until finally the next band was set up and ready to rock. Melodic prog pop punk by their own admission, Upshit Creek seemed like a screaming break riff version of Polaris-you know…That band from Pete & Pete? Good job gentlemen you hiked up the mood and got the grooves warmed and ready for tonight’s most fatal of attractions: A sexy naked lady meets below the border mex-archist revolution who call themselves Adelitas (The name comes from a revolutionary women’s group that followed in the footsteps of the Zapatistas (honestly that’s just what a Mexican dude at the party told me so I’m ultimately unsure of the validity but he seemed wise enough)) They raged. They quaked. They hugged and puffed and kicked the shit out of all three of those pussy little swine in consecutive construction analogy order. The crowd was clutching their bellies with violent bouts of explosive punk rock whiskey shits caused by the drinking of heavy 5ths of kickass bass drums with a beer back of a dastardly brewed punk string electric renegade ensemble. I posed the question: Can tonight get any better? The answer there was No. It cannot and this party ended around the fire pit. Even the smoldering embers seemed like they wanted to go home at that point. Though I will give the reward for best pass out of the weekend to the dude who had supplied the Rossi for my previous tryst who fell asleep sitting up on a kid’s chair leaning dangerously close to the fire and yes. Still holding the jug with his sleepy little trigger finger. We left satisfied at least, and I look forward to tomorrow but tonight I have a basement and a sleeping bag waiting for my tired brown body in somebody else’s house.