What the Market Will Bear
Ah, I'm delusional. Today I braved rush hour traffic out to the warehouse the Oregon Ballet Theater has out in Beaverton, not all that far from Nike World Headquarters, to unload, inventory and reload a truck, just to be told that we needed to re-unload the damn thing, since the trucking company wanted to come pick up their trailer, which they expected to be empty. Turns out the truck we're actually supposed to load comes tomorrow.
When my boss asked where the communication had broken down, causing her to hire all these extra people (like me) to come load the truck, the reply was, "We thought it was understood."
If a certain truck driving buddy of mine from Florida reads this: if you receive a shipment of theatrical goods from some entity that writes "OBT" on its crates, I packed it, and we have something in common. We have sold one of our sets for "The Nutcracker" to some place in Florida, and have made well and sure that all the pieces (with extras) are there.
I could give you a blow-by-blow on this one, but I won't. It's all in a day's work for a warehouseman. Nonetheless, it is a matter of historical record that when the order came down to unpack the truck, I said, "Well, I think we really have our flakiness to thank here today...", since we hadn't fully loaded the damn thing yet.
And this: the New Boss has been sold. Yup; so shortly after converting form a music venue ("We were losing our souls," one of the bartenders told me) to a pool hall/salsa dancing instruction concern, they decided to become a cowboy-themed bar.
I say cowboy "themed" because let's face it; this is Portland. The only cowboys here are pathetic, frat-boy wannabes who just don't fucking get it, or gay men dressed as cowboys (or actual gay cowboys: they exist).
When The Tulsa Kid told me this one about our favorite pool establishment, I pointed out first that there is a cowgirl themed joint happening about five blocks north and another three west. Just too much for one neighborhood, I averrred.
"But doncha see?", he asked, "It's just warehouse space for frat boys! We largely have them contained to downtown, and when they come to this side of the river, they'll go to the cowboy bar."
I took the conversation in a somewhat unrelated track when I said, "Well, it might be nice. I can't remember the last time I was in a cowboy bar that had more than four people in it." Then we discussed the difference between cowboy-themed bar and real cowboy bar.
We discussed what the fate of the excellently-maintained pool tables in this joint might be-I pointed out that all types like pool-and at that point, The Only Ms. S got in on the conversation. She pointed out that she could think of not one of her friends who could outlast her on the mechanical bull. I said, "Well, I've never been on a mechanical bull. Has she?"
It turned out that no, no she hadn't. I said, "Well, that's just pure pissedness. Cussedness." I feel some sort of showdown coming on. She's an ex-stripper, and I'm from a town internationally famous (when not for its fine woolen shirts and blankets) for its rodeo. Shit's on. Gonna be a rumble.
But I did say, "Well, it might be kinda nice..." trying to make myself feel better about what is sure to be a waste of everyone's time: I've been dressing in a manner, these last few years, that could easily be described as '1970's Redneck', but that wasn't my point. My point was that maybe just maybe this would bring a bit of realness into this, perhaps the most insulated bubble of art-school goin', not really paying attention to the rest of America neighborhood. Tulsa's response was quick.
"Oh yeah? And while yer tryin' to shoot pool? Your favorite patriotic New Country songs?"
"Great Christ," I said. "Fetch me my thirty ought." Yup. If I gotta listen to that Toby Keith faggot doing his level best to make each and every fat motherfucker from East Dinklefuck wanna kill everyone who has a Funny Name, I'm gonna go beyond postal. There will be a throat-stomping each and every evening. Though I myself will sometimes karaoke his song, "I Love This Bar."
"'What the market will bear', indeed." I said.
So, I gotta go back out there, tomorrow. Details to follow.
When my boss asked where the communication had broken down, causing her to hire all these extra people (like me) to come load the truck, the reply was, "We thought it was understood."
If a certain truck driving buddy of mine from Florida reads this: if you receive a shipment of theatrical goods from some entity that writes "OBT" on its crates, I packed it, and we have something in common. We have sold one of our sets for "The Nutcracker" to some place in Florida, and have made well and sure that all the pieces (with extras) are there.
I could give you a blow-by-blow on this one, but I won't. It's all in a day's work for a warehouseman. Nonetheless, it is a matter of historical record that when the order came down to unpack the truck, I said, "Well, I think we really have our flakiness to thank here today...", since we hadn't fully loaded the damn thing yet.
And this: the New Boss has been sold. Yup; so shortly after converting form a music venue ("We were losing our souls," one of the bartenders told me) to a pool hall/salsa dancing instruction concern, they decided to become a cowboy-themed bar.
I say cowboy "themed" because let's face it; this is Portland. The only cowboys here are pathetic, frat-boy wannabes who just don't fucking get it, or gay men dressed as cowboys (or actual gay cowboys: they exist).
When The Tulsa Kid told me this one about our favorite pool establishment, I pointed out first that there is a cowgirl themed joint happening about five blocks north and another three west. Just too much for one neighborhood, I averrred.
"But doncha see?", he asked, "It's just warehouse space for frat boys! We largely have them contained to downtown, and when they come to this side of the river, they'll go to the cowboy bar."
I took the conversation in a somewhat unrelated track when I said, "Well, it might be nice. I can't remember the last time I was in a cowboy bar that had more than four people in it." Then we discussed the difference between cowboy-themed bar and real cowboy bar.
We discussed what the fate of the excellently-maintained pool tables in this joint might be-I pointed out that all types like pool-and at that point, The Only Ms. S got in on the conversation. She pointed out that she could think of not one of her friends who could outlast her on the mechanical bull. I said, "Well, I've never been on a mechanical bull. Has she?"
It turned out that no, no she hadn't. I said, "Well, that's just pure pissedness. Cussedness." I feel some sort of showdown coming on. She's an ex-stripper, and I'm from a town internationally famous (when not for its fine woolen shirts and blankets) for its rodeo. Shit's on. Gonna be a rumble.
But I did say, "Well, it might be kinda nice..." trying to make myself feel better about what is sure to be a waste of everyone's time: I've been dressing in a manner, these last few years, that could easily be described as '1970's Redneck', but that wasn't my point. My point was that maybe just maybe this would bring a bit of realness into this, perhaps the most insulated bubble of art-school goin', not really paying attention to the rest of America neighborhood. Tulsa's response was quick.
"Oh yeah? And while yer tryin' to shoot pool? Your favorite patriotic New Country songs?"
"Great Christ," I said. "Fetch me my thirty ought." Yup. If I gotta listen to that Toby Keith faggot doing his level best to make each and every fat motherfucker from East Dinklefuck wanna kill everyone who has a Funny Name, I'm gonna go beyond postal. There will be a throat-stomping each and every evening. Though I myself will sometimes karaoke his song, "I Love This Bar."
"'What the market will bear', indeed." I said.
So, I gotta go back out there, tomorrow. Details to follow.
Labels: fun, th' workin' life
posted by rich bachelor | 11:08 PM
11 Comments:
Gay cowboys? That's so YMCA... UGH
It is difficult to ascertain which are the gays dressed as cowboys and which are the actual gay cowboys. My personal feeling is that most cowboys are closet gays anyway. Otherwise, what's with all the macho shit? Ever notice how much rednecks like things such as pro wrasslin' and this new ultimate fighting bullshit? I watched one match at a friends house the other night and thought it to be the most homo-erotic thing I've ever seen (along with being the most barbaric).
HA HA HA!!!!!!! That is so true. I never realized that before!
I was going to make this a post at the space, but decided it would be better off as a comment over here at the bachelor pad.
Man, you think the bar and music scene in portland sucks? (you are quite probably correct)but try the entertainment on the coast. Yerrcchh!
I made the unfortunate decision to do a little hop-over-the-barsing in Seaside last weekend. I was told by the inarticulate giant at the door that my five bucks would get me in to see the famous, no-name house band, during which time I would be treated to some wicked bluesy music. What I got was mostly pre-recorded cover songs, along with some shitty electronica and a cute little chick singing Steve Miller songs.
Since the band sucked, and I was sitting there looking ridiculous in a huge corner booth, I thought I would turn my attention to the aforementioned elitist boobs. There were many extaordinary pairs in the building but they mostly belonged to snotty 22 year olds who were coupled up with wannabe gangsters. The older boobs were not so elitist.
When the hippie crowd (all 5 of them) came in, I decided to switch over to some drunken political talk. The reaction to my offer for them to join me at the big corner booth was skepticism. I'm sure the short haircut (you know this problem, Rich)and the football jersey didn't do much to convince them of my sincerity.
The main hippy, a twenty something know-it-all from Eugene, absolutely refused to agree with anything I said. At first I told him "Hey buddy, I'm agreeing with you here - I'm on YOUR side in all this". Since this wasn't good enough for Mr. I ain't old enough to be a real hippy man, I switched tactics again. I seem to recall setting him up with the ol' "Bush and his cronies should'a'na got us into this damn war" (to which he reluctantly agreed with the aging frat boy he thought he saw) then slammed him with the "Nuke 'em all and let Gawd sort 'em out" right hook.
Well, guess it was kinda fun after all.
Man, I'm glad you can have fun with what you have. Clatsop county: a Bob Seger song waiting to happen, as I always say.
Lat night, I was in a similar place, as I had opted to go to a cake walk (!) in which one of the lady's friends had posted a cake.
The entertainment? Two white people attempting to act Japanese, which is to say-Funny, because we don't understand it, and two Americans attempting to act French because it's...I'm not sure.
The upshot was a buncha pasty hipsters making fun of something because of its cheesiness, but also not wanting to be seen as elitist pricks, dancing and cheering, despite the fact that musically speaking, it was crap. Heh.
This is meta-meta-meta shit, in which a buncha fools aping people who really feel things are making fun Of it, but are attempting to make higher fun Out of it, and failing since they aren't clever and also have no soul.
Fortunately for me, I have fun bitching about things.
No, Clatsop County isn't a Bob Seger song waiting to happen. Its a Bob seger song that barely cracked the top 40 and is now long past its prime. Like Ted said - fish, coffee, poetry, and rednecks? I hadn't thought about it like that until he mentioned it, but it is sadly true.
Hey, Bachelor, Thanks for the link, my friend...If I had known you were going to do it, I would have saved that smart-aleckey Religion post until later.
(I was mainly trying to stir Toad up...)
I haul mostly lumber and plywood, so unless the dancers have been ground into pulp and pressed into 4x8 sheets, I doubt I will get to haul any of them.
Maybe I'll bump into one the next time I go to sing Karaoke... ;}
well, there's a lot of lumber on there: mostly very big crates and supports and stuff.
As we all were loading it, all of us admitted that not one of us had ever seen "The Nutcracker": on TV maybe, but not live, and most of the people I was working with have worked with OBT for years.
I've never seen it either, (other than on TV...And THAT was a long, long time ago...)
The sad truth is that the market caters to the lowest common denominator (which was the point of your post...), and I'm afraid that I fall closer to the bottom than to the top of that equasion...
Rather watch Jerry Springer and listen to Toby Keith than watch "Cats", or "The Nutcracker Prince"...
Can't help it. I am what I am...
And who was it from Pennsylvania who mentioned the whole thing about pulling the troops out of Iraq...Hmmmm....? Was it "MURTHA???" ;P
I don't normally engage in political talk with hippies, much less anyone else.
Yea TB Cap'n, I'm with you. Only my T.V. poison is either the Maury show or reruns of Roseanne or the Golden Girls. Whoo HOOO!
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