Location:clean up on aisle seven
All of these ideas can be seen as "open source." I am relinquishing all control I may have over them on account of my position of thinking them up and publishing them here. In the act of sending them to you, you are granted, with absolutely no restrictions, full creative power over them. Feel free to realize, change, steal (you can't steal something that is free!), publish, claim as your own, destroy, become influenced by (either because you like them, or because you hate them so much that they give you better ideas), appropriate, spray paint, or anything else with them. You do not need my permission for anything.mmmmmdig.it.
P-Funk
by Pan Frederick
The two things I enjoy most about Portland, Oregon, as of today, are as follows: 1. The power of the pedestrian. If you're standing on the side of the road and it appears as though you may be thinking about possibly wanting to cross the street, cars will stop, sometimes screech, to let you walk. 2. No sales tax. If something costs $9.95, it costs $9.95. If you only have two dollars and two quarters and an iced coffee costs $2.50, you're getting an iced coffee. These are two very beautiful things.
Two things I am still getting used to: 1. Portland men. 2. Portland men. I just don't get 'em. Maybe there's nothing to get. Maybe they're really not that different. Maybe I've lost my mojo. Or maybe they're all nuts. Fucking loony. Don't get me wrong. Good looks, motivation and creativity are in abundance. However, shyness, taken-ness and asexuality are also rampant.
A few other things I've noticed: 1. Every store smells like a thrift store. 2. Vegetable gardens are often in the front yard, and they tend to spill onto the sidewalk. 3. People who look homeless may not be. 4. Happy Hour is required. 5. Haircuts are optional. 6. Eyewear as fashion, rather than function, is encouraged. 7. Lesbians do exist. Although sometimes they are mistaken for death metal band frontmen. 8. Indie-rock is king. 9. Unless you're anti-trendy. 10. In which case you're so far underground, you might as well be a mole.
I started reading the book Fugitives and Refugees by Chuck Palahniuk. It's about the people of Portland, or the "most cracked of the crackpots." The book begins with an interview with Katherine Dunn, a writer and poet of Portland. I think she lays it out nicely...
"Everyone in Portland is living a minimum of three lives. Everyone has at least three identities. They're a grocery store checker, an archeologist and a biker dude. Or they're a poet, a drag queen and a bookstore clerk. It's tricky because all the rich people are in disguise. You never know when the scruffy guy behind the counter could be someone rich enough to buy the store, chew it up and spit it out. The nice little old ladies from the West Hills - with sweater sets and pearls - they're all rabid advocates of the death penalty. We just accumulate more and more strange people," Dunn tells Palahniuk. "All we are are the fugitives and refugees."
Portland's funny. It draws people for accidental reasons. I've yet to meet anyone who is actually from here. But I've also only been here two weeks. And I haven't met that many people.
So what exactly happened to cartoons after the Golden Age of animation? Perhaps better understanding this will help those people out there who believe they actually enjoyed shows like Tiny Toons and Animaniacs realize they are terribly wrong, and that these were ugly shows created by people who couldn't draw if their life depended on it. This is all stuff that I have learned from reading publications like Wild Cartoon Kingdom, which was written by heroes of the animation industry like John Kricfalusi, who actually were working animators during the '80s. Since those magazines are out of print now, I will gladly pass the good message along.
Preamble to the Constipation:
My hope has been to contribute short, often full of expletives, opinion pieces to the Postandeason Community. I've been a little backed up lately. However, I have recently relocated to a city where I know no one, and I am hoping this lack of distraction will allow for more writing to occur. Here is a sample piece. I wrote this shortly before leaving New Orleans. It began as a rant on the bad drivers who think they're good drivers so they honk at everyone they deem bad drivers in hopes of teaching those bad drivers a lesson as well as cutting time off their commute - which averages to about 90 seconds. A minute and a half. That's it. However, the column took a turn somewhere along the way. I hope you can follow the trail, and I hope you're game for the journeys to come.
Honking and Waiting
by Pan Frederick
I can't write unless I've something to say. Lately, I got nothing. Even the excessively unnecessary horn-honkers don't rile me. Okay, maybe they still annoy the fuck out of me. But in a nice way. In a, makes me want to caress them sweetly, sort of way. I want to tell them, "It's okay. You're doing great. You'll arrive at your destination shortly."
I'm beginning to feel like I finally have my shit together. At least more than the honkers do. Because if I can make it across town without bolts of rage and barreling obscenities rushing around my veins and pouring out my mouth at those stupid idiots who don't know how to drive - they better get out my way - MOVE you Mother Fucker - HooOOOOOOONNNNNNNNK ......then I'm doing okay.
Actually, the true test of mental stability is getting through a Sunday Brunch without wanting to punch every hungover-er who orders a coffee and a water, a Diet Coke and a water, a fucking Bloody Mary - not too spicy - and a water, with a lemon - please. Whenever you get a chance.
That's my favorite. Whenever I get a chance. That's actually code for, "You better fucking bring it in two God-damn seconds. Haven't you heard me slurping on my straw for an hour over here. Lazy sack a shit."
Although, I'm sure they hate when I leave the bill and say, "Whenever you're ready." Because that's code from me for, "Get yo fat ass up outta my booth. You are not the only one who needs to eat today okay!"
Shit. I've managed to over analyze iced water and credit card receipts. Inanimate objects are making me neurotic. Or maybe just bitter. Actually, I'm probably just bored.
