Skip to main contentLast week I revealed my intent to become the "unofficial gay mayor" of Portland. Now that I've declared my candidacy, it's time to get to work.
But first it might be worth a few minutes to figure out what the hell I got my big mouth into here. That's why, since I know about as much as a stripper at Three Sisters on what it takes to become mayor, I consulted my co-workers. After picking their collective selves off the floor from laughing, my "friends" expressed real concerns. A couple of them are of the belief that I don't take myself seriously enough for such a significant position. Others feel I'm just trying to pull a fast one in the name of personal promotion, while one sassy pants said I don't have what it takes to be the gay delegate of anything, officially or otherwise.
They might be right. I really don't know what I'm doing. But that hasn't ever stopped me before. The bigger questions are: Am I ready to spend the next year-and-a-half of my life erecting an election? Will I need to raise money? Attend early morning power meetings? And just how much ass/baby kissing and hairy handshaking does one have to do to get this job?
As hilarious/frightening as it all sounds on the surface, the idea of running for mayor, in the traditional sense or not, has a small and ever-so-exciting echo of seriousness. I think this is due in large part to opportunities to discuss everything from gay bashing to the existence of so few lesbian bars that such a "campaign" would provide. And I'm not the only one who thinks discourse is due. Last week I received an email suggesting Just Out (our queer bi-weekly reader) sponsor a mock mayoral debate addressing the issues facing Portland's queer community.
Now, I could really go for that. Just think of it. Poison Waters and Darcelle could moderate a panel of local queers answering the questions of the gay. Mayor Vera's chief of staff, the quietly emphatic and always enigmatic Sam Adams, could square off with Robert Ball, the reserve cop and real estate investor who nearly changed the face of local government, on who has a better way to cut the budget--and their hair. Pink Martini bandleader (and former politico for Mayor Bud Clark, Gov. Neil Goldschmidt and City Commish Gretchen Kafoury) Thomas Lauderdale could go toe-to-toe with Oregon Ballet Theatre's soon-to-be-former frontman James Canfield (he needs a job, doesn't he?) on issues regarding arts and leisure activities. And what about our own David Geffen, money man Terry Bean? I would love to toss him a few queries about mustache grooming and his fundraising efforts for Gordon Smith.
Portland and Oregon haven't been in such bad shape for a long, long time, and if we queers don't start flapping our yaps we might lose some of the ground we fought so hard to gain. So next time you open your door, the person on the stoop might just be me asking you to say, "What the heck, vote for Beck." There are worse things you could do.
Girl on girl action, beer, music. Who could ask for anything more?
WWeek 2015