ROBBIE’S ANTI-TRUMPING TOUR BLOG: Portland Edition
(6 cities in 6 states in 14 days. Not counting 150 volunteers who put up 900 posters on the streets of LA on June 3rd 2016.)
Aside from Donald J. Trump, but even among his deceived and deluded followers, there are good people everywhere. My friend, Lowell, investigative journalist extraordinaire, always says that after he tells me another whopper about his meetings with confidential sources (names withheld) in the FBI, the NSA, Homeland Security, the Republican Party and even Florida. (Although, if you ask me, Florida is not in the United States. For that matter, San Francisco is somewhere in western Europe, isn’t it?) Whatever. After this little late night tour of mine, I believe him.
The good news is all the people who contributed in any way to this nutty trek. I truly want to thank you all! Happily there are so many of you and I’m so grateful. I’ll try to give you a taste of the late night “action,” as I remember it, however woozily.
Going city by city…
PORTLAND:
I flew up from the central coast of California and was picked-up by my cousin, Steve and his wife, Camille. Steve is 80 years old, a retired “people’s architect.” He and his troops built housing and repaired hospitals for the Sandinistas in Nicaragua and the Zapatistas in Chiapas. Camille is a terrific, albeit private, spiritual painter. Both are, in their own very different ways, more radical than I am. Surprisingly, Steve had never been out on the streets postering with me. (I’ve been doing this since 1986.) Their son, Marios, an artist and musician, who makes his own idiosyncratic instruments, also lives in Portland. He has been out with me several times over the years and was our getaway driver for this Portland “Art Attack.”
Please let me tell you a couple “good people” stories, because, in a magical way (especially considering the horrific reason for this project), they kept happening everywhere I went—and we need them right now:
The first thing Steve did was take me to “Reo’s Ribs,” (4211 NE Sandy Blvd), a little joint he’d always wanted to try, but, I guess, needed me as an excuse to actually visit. A giant goofy homemade barbecue grill, like an old repurposed steam engine, was smoking away out front.
Inside was cozy Louisiana charming, tricked out for Halloween. The food: Delicious. As we were eating, a large handsome black man hovered over everything, talking to everyone, except us.
Finally he looked down and asked me how I liked my ribs. I told him. He winked, stuck out a huge hand and said, “ I’m Uncle Reo, this is my place. I’m from Magnolia, Mississippi, one of 27 children. I just got back from Hollywood. I was on “Snoop Dogg’s and Martha Stewart’s Potluck Dinner Party show.” Say what? (Turns out Snoop is Reo’s nephew.)
Our new best friend whipped out his cell phone and scrolled through dozens of pix: Reo hugged by Martha and Snoop, him with Ice Cube and Seth Rogen, and so forth. He talked about his life for 40 minutes. Asked about us. I show-ed him some of the great anti-Trump postering hits our guerrillas had gotten up in LA. Laughing, he shook my hand so hard he almost broke it.
I then went on my traditional wallpaper adhesive hunt, gallon buckets preferred. At a local Sherwin Williams paint store (“We Cover the Earth!”) I scored enough for both our Portland and Seattle art attacks Then Steve and Camille walked me through their ultra hip “Laurelhurst” neighbor-hood. How “Portlandia” was it?
The show was shooting an episode around the corner from their house! Also, there were seven restaurants per block. But we were intrigued by, “Dashen International Groceries” (3039 NE Gilsan St.). A Hispanic grocery that was open but quite dark, except for one florescent bulb above the counter. Empty, except for one natty middle-aged man behind it, who was . . . Ethiopian.
Flipping a switch, he chuckled, “Oh, I guess you might want some light.” We were suddenly surrounded by the most varied array of Hispanic food products I’ve ever seen. Steve noticed a long row of old books behind the counter, written in Amharic, Arabic, Hebrew, English and Italian. The man proceeded to tell us the whole history of Ethiopia (long), stressing his hope that all religions could get along with each other, “No matter what that Mr. Donald J. Trump thinks . . . Oh my! You must be so ashamed!” We are.
As for the postering itself, we met our local crews at the venerable, very yellow, “Original Hotcakes House.”
My pals Tinkerbell and Clank, recent émigrés from LA, were there with their new friends, a couple of doctors and their precociously punning 13 year old son. My young friend, Leona, now in LA, sent us some lovely post “Portlandia” 19yr olds (blue hair), as well. We were also joined by the great street artist and illustrator, EMEK. We’d never actually met—it was an honor.
Of course it was raining. Of course no one (but me) noticed. That night we managed to get up about 80 posters around town.
A little after 2am, Steve and I were totally soaked and out of posters. I slapped him on the back and said, “Good job, comrade—let’s go get dry.” He was shocked, “Whatta ya mean? This is great—I’m just getting started!”
Hearing that, Marios hissed, “Dad, you’re 80 years old. You just had quadruple bypass surgery—get in the car!”
Annoyed, Steve slammed the car door shut, just as a squad car of Portland’s finest cruised by at 5 miles per hour. The officers stared at us and nodded their approval, perhaps thinking we’d just picked a crazy man up out of the rain. Close, but no (exploding) cigar.
Thanks Everyone!
- A little birdie told me that Tinkerbell has just received a new shipment of anti-Trump posters. So, Portland, get ready for another major fairy dusting, aka: round two!
No. No my friends. To mangle Yogi Berra’s great line,
“It ain’t over when it’s over.” We’ve only just begun!
Oh, and if you’re curious about Portland after the election, take a look:
Next up: SEATTLE.
November 19, 2016 at 12:06 am | Latest News, Robbie's Rants | 1 comment
