Nightlife
Picks
I am looking at the rain. The rain is looking at me. The
rain watches me. The rain watches you. We feel it. It feels
us. It has become our lives.
And despite this, we will have a Carnival,
goddamn it.
Chilly-ass Splashtown may seem like one of the worst places
to mark Fat Tuesday (for the Catholic calendar-impaired,
it's this Tuesday, March 7, the day before the 40
days of Lent begin, for which period Max Malt will give
up sunlight entirely). But Max is here to tell you, laddie
bucks and lady pals, we got it easy. Try having Mardi
Gras out where Max grew up, in a state with more electoral
votes than hot party spots, which is saying a lot.
I remember (sorta) stumbling into a scum-sodden railroad
bar back home one 'Gras 10 years back, accompanied by a
half-dozen of my closest amigos--not a one of us had reached
our majority, and only half had ever seen the business end
of a razor. But we were true Americans, and there's no way
we were going to let the blue laws stand in the way of getting
loaded.
Jules was our leader. At 17, he already had a swordsman's
swagger and a mean way with the ladies, who often fell for
his "I'm a junior in college" routine 'cause of the mangled
tangle of black beard he cultivated. He'd have to smuggle
his temporary paramours out the back while his 'rents crunched
breakfast. An inspiration to the neophyte.
We bellied up with what confidence we could muster, a few
of us sporting second-hand, N'awlins-esque bead necklaces.
Old Del, a grand wizard of the tap brotherhood with
the worry-lines of 1,001 bouncerless nights gouged in his
face, cocked an eyebrow askance. But he was an honorable
tradesman, and he served us our Hamm's as we demanded
it.
As we carried on our pre-Lenten revels, one old crust-necked
yeoman down the way called Del over for some convo.
"Some of these new fellers look mighty young, Del," the
relic said in a suitably quaint drawl.
Del barely looked up from polishing away at the brass.
"Sam," he said, "these kids get thirsty just like everybody
else."
I had never stood in the presence of a living saint
before that moment, and I haven't had the pleasure since.
But at that blessed moment, I felt the power of the Holy
Father move within Del, and I ordered another Hamm's, and
I cued up some jazz on the juke, and it was good.
So take it from Max. Wander into this Mardi Gras week in
search of a little Carnival voodoo. The weather may not
cooperate (and you might not be able to trade beads for
juju), but some Portland types have the right idea. The
Viscount Ballroom's Tuesday fête, featuring
soul-on-fire singer Tahoe Jackson, is fully in the
spirit, and the post-Mardi, still-Gras Lava de Mure
spectacle at Ohm promises the right level of semi-mysterious
decadence. Let the loa seize you.
PORTLAND
MARDI GRAS EVENTS
CARIBÉ LATIN DANCE PARTY w/ Latin DJs
On board the good ship Portland Spirit, with pre-boarding
cocktails and dance lessons at Fernando's Hideaway
824 SW 1st Ave., 248-4709, 9 pm Saturday, March
4 (ship boards at 10:30), $15 advance, $18 at the
door
FAT TUESDAY
with Tahoe Jackson, Porterhouse Quintet,
DJ Aquaman, a poetry reading and a full gospel choir
The Viscount Ballroom, 722 E Burnside St., 233-7855,
7 pm Tuesday, March 7, $6
MARDI GRAS MASQUERADE BALL EXTRAVAGANZA
with Lava
de Mure, samba, AKALA Fire Theater
Ohm 31 NW 1st Ave., 223-9919, 9 pm Saturday,
March 11, $10
COMEDY
CHRIS ALPINE & PAT MAC
Stand-up
Harvey's Comedy Club, 436 NW 6th Ave., 241-0338,
8 pm Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday; 8 and 10:30
pm Friday; 6:30, 9 and 11:30 pm Saturday, March 1-5. $8-$10.
COMEDYSPORTZ
Frighteningly popular competitive improv
1963 NW Kearney St., 236-8888, 9 pm Friday, March
3; 7:30 & 9:30 Saturday, March 4. $10, $9 w/
can of food for the Oregon Food Bank.
THE HILARIOUS COMEDY TEAM OF TIM CONWAY & HARVEY
KORMAN--TOGETHER AGAIN!
When Dorf attacks!
Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, 1037 SW Broadway,
796-9293, 7 pm Sunday, March 5, $34-$48
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Willamette Week | originally
published March 1,
2000
|
