So you're wondering where the heck you'll be able to watch the Cubs get creamed and be served domestic beer by a topless woman—somewhere other than at home, that is. Just head east on Southeast Powell Boulevard until the cross streets start getting into "Genius IQ" territory. Pretty soon you'll come to the appropriately named Double Dribble Sports Tavern (13550 SE Powell Blvd., 760-7096). There's also a raised stage where strippers working solely for tips take their last lap of youth with thigh-slapping, labia-flapping, booty-bouncing élan—just don't expect them to be nice. Or not kick you. While you're there ask about DD's very competitive keg prices. They (or the ladies) will knock you over.
The Towne Lounge's queer night/weekly social club/theme party, The Meet Department (Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Place, 241-8696. 9 pm Tuesdays. $2. 21+) makes no T-bones about its intentions for guests—that their, uh, meats meet up. But for their now-legendary inaugural bash they went one step further: To get in, you had to creatively bare a "meat diaper," a human-sized cloth version of the traditional blood 'n' guts sopper-upper, somewhere on your loins. But wait, there's more: A DVD "invite" starred Splendora Gabor and Linah Cocaine, a charming duo of oh-so-proper dandified Sissyboy drag queens who occasionally blurt such improper words as "cock 'n' balls" out of their lipstick-stained mouths (in French, no less). The press kit appropriately arrived in a Styrofoam, cellophane-wrapped tray complete with our very own meat diaper. Très yuck...pardonnez-moi...chic!
If you ever get your bush whacked at Wax On Spa (734 E Burnside St., 595-4974), be warned: They've got porn in there. Not outright porn porn—there are no black plastic wraps in this joint—but crotch shots are crotch shots. While sipping wine and waiting for your pubes to be ripped out with hot wax, check out the little black coffee-table album. They've got Polaroids of freshly shorn bush—or non-bush, to be exact. You can see landing strips in a variety of shapes, barely there bush and bald bush. And if you flip to the end, there's even dong! All for the price of a stranger plucking your short-'n'-curlies. A small price to pay for a privates show, if you ask us.
Although the incredibly deluxe Hotel Lucía's (400 SW Broadway, 225-1717) "pillow menu" may sound like it involves a late-night visit from a beautiful, dutiful geisha, in this case it's literally a list of—count 'em—seven types of fluffy pillows they'll deliver to your room for free. The selection: soft, medium, firm, extra firm, neck, reading, and body. The top choice of hotel guests (by far): soft. The shocking news: Only about one in eight guests take advantage of this cozy and comfortable bedding benefit. Come on, people! Build a fort! Have a fight! Or just spread them on the floor and pretend you're at the Sultan of Brunei's (or Michael Jackson's) birthday party. Geez, how can anyone have too many pillows?
Religious fanatics: hilarious. Religious fanatics who claim to be His mouthpiece warning the rest of us to mend our sinful ways, lest He unleash a devastating flood upon us: priceless. Pastor Lloyd Day, of Salem's Beth Tefilah Messianic Congregation, issued a dire warning on his website (bethtefilah.net) last month. In a torrent of homophobic rhetoric, the pastor shared what the Lord told him in a dream: to gather his flock and run for higher ground before June 18. On that day, He would send a giant wave across Portland to wash away the sinners in the Pride Parade. Maybe Pastor Day meant the wave of goodwill among the revelers.
Portland brides and grooms, take note: Don't schedule your wedding for Nov. 17 if you harbor any hope of staying dry. That day holds the dubious distinction of greatest chance of rain—that's 80 percent, according to the National Weather Service. July 22, with 3 percent chance of rain, is your best bet in PDX for open-air nuptials if you like it hot, hot, hot (this year, it topped out over 100 degrees). Better yet, defy the gods and tie the knot in Salem on July 12, which has been rain-free (well, at least until this year, when two-hundredths of an inch fell from the sky) since the NWS first gathered data in the late 19th century.
When Conrad Loebl took on the title of head booker at Berbati's Pan (10 SW 3rd Ave., 248-4579) last January, he noticed that the club didn't have a regular gay-themed event despite the bar's healthy proportion of queer employees. He was also tired of the usual jams being played at queer nights across the city: house, electro and indie rock. Did the gay scene have no soul? Why not please the gays and the hip-hop heads all at once? In April, Tha' Boom was born, ushered in on the shoulders of DJ's like Automaton, K-O, Rad! and Ill Camino. Now Mondays downtown mean watching breakdancers show off their spins while blinged-out queer couples grind to Aaliyah in the corner. Holla!
Ask any guy in Portland: Local stylist Tiffany Willden's tush is, in one word, mesmerizing. She's well-known around town for her subtle white girl's bubble butt: a head-turning combo of high and tight perfection, less prominent than J.Lo's but still substantially adorable in jeans (her favorite are a pair of Gold Signs from Blake). And it's not like Willden works out to make the ass stand up and say hello. It's her hearty Colorado hillbilly genes. She expands on the subject by modestly admitting, "Everyone in my family has this ass, but mine's the best." So we really need to thank Mr. and Mrs. Willden for the miracle that is Tiffany's backside. In the meantime, if you should catch her at a bar listening to bumpin' beats, ask her to shake her rump. It's a spectacle to behold.
It's common knowledge that Crush mixes up some tasty cocktails, but, every week, this trendy wine bar also invites white witch "Wanda Weegie" (really a warlock named Mitch Calhoun) to mix up knockout Wiccan potions (booze) (every Wednesday night at Crush, 1400 SE Morrison St., 235-8150. 7 pm. Free. 21+) while portending the future and crafting freebie charms made of candles, herbs and other magickal materiel. In fact, "Wanda" was kind enough to send WW a freaky charm box full of mystical fare like dried apples and herbs, candles, ribbons, photos of herself looking all enchanting and even a dollar bill to pique our interest. Whether it be long-term predictions or more obvious insights about your next day hangover, Wanda's tarot-card readings—delivered in a Russian/Spanish/Texan accent—ensure that your drinks include a sidecar of entertainment. Come for the mixers, stay for your fortune, and leave with a dry rub for your next pork roast—for free!
Fred becomes Felicia for a day or for life at Over the Rainbow Transformations, a "dress-up studio" in Tigard (235-3452). Owner and girlieness guru Victoria Sinclair performs whatever services are needed to transform a middle-aged, hairy, muscle-bound tractor operator into a princess—from body waxing and makeup to "mannerism lessons" and shopping trips around town, for the final test of believability. Most enticing, ironically enough, is the closet: jam-packed with enough wigs and loud outfits to rival Cher's own backstage bounty. Sinclair, a Texan "raised surrounded by bigots," first opened her doors to transgender friends as a private club in 1999. When the demand outgrew her time, she started charging for gender transformation services. Now, the genetically female mother of three is a doting den mother to a wide variety of clients who range from straight part-time crossdressers to post-op trans women looking for new makeup tips. Sinclair's eventual goal is to run a "transgender community center offering resources, funding, events and everything else." For now, we'd rather be made over by Sinclair than Queer Eye's Carson Kressley any day.
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