Doughnut kingpin Tres Shannon wants to make the whole city his fun park.
At 2:42 am, Tres Shannon decides we need to see if Occupy Portland has shut down the Port of Portland.
It’s a Tuesday
morning, 30 minutes after Shannon’s weekly set at Dante’s with his
Thanks to Julian Assange, we now know how Oregon’s top company fights corruption, counterfeiting and Croatian smugglers.
Packed aboard buses and flatbed trucks, the workers rolled
through the wide boulevards of the central business district of
Indonesia’s capital toward the tall towers of the Jakarta Stock
Portlanders pay a steep price in the nation’s toughest rental market.
The first place Lindsay Bozanich finally found to rent this year came with fingernail clippings in the bed.
probably belonged to the former resident of her $800 Murphy
How a burger baron, four indie rockers, a bleeding-heart Muslim and a group of trash tour guides are fighting for the 99%.
The air is hot and humid in the Portland Building’s dimly
lit second-floor auditorium. A mix of flannel-clad twentysomethings,
long-haired retirees and fussy neighborhood-watch types have filled
DJ Nick is back. He needs to get out of here, because DJ Nick is trouble.
He’s just one of the problem people the Safety/Peacekeeping Committee worries about in the Occupy Portland camps.
It’s poor, it’s dangerous, it’s growing like crazy—and it’s more important than ever.
In case you didn’t get the invite, Portland is an endless
party in a shining urban utopia where everyone has a $1,000 bicycle,
eats locally sourced gourmet dishes from food carts and is blindingly