I am a victim of hate crime and Pabst

Being accosted for my apparent gayness is something I always thought I was capable of but never figured would happen (especially in Portland... especially in front of Powell's)

So its now 3:30 pm. I have been working at my office for a awhile before I realize I still don't have a shirt on, have not showered, have not anything. I know I slept because I remember waking up.

It is a beautiful day to be hungover, that is true. But enough about where I am... this is the story of how I got here.

So after full day volunteering at the Geek (FREE GEEK if your not hip) an opportunity to drink with some underage folk comes and I take it. A few beers at the Montage and I am on my way. A few PBRs and several shots of tequila later I am naked in a hot tub with 4 others. What do I remember... well I remember I was naked and drunk then time seems to slip. I wake up wearing only a towel on someone's couch in what a friend has called "The Independent Nation of Espoonabornia"

No time to dilly dally however, it was superbowl sunday and I have beers to drink before I sleep and beers to drink before I sleep.

I ride my bike to the MAX and jump on a west bound train. An hour later its Henry's and salsa, Henry's and guacamole, Henry's and water (I do need to hydrate after all), rum and coke, rum and water, rum and lime, lime and corona, corona and corona. Huh? Holly shit the Pats won! More drinking.

"About this time you mouth be getting dry... when your mouth is dry... you plenty high." -Thorogood

A person I meet that day and I are going to go to Cuba in November. Now all this is to lead you up to let you know the state of mind I am in last night when the train operator for the Eastbound line says, "Please deboard the train. The MAX is done for the night." Gee I sure wish I had been here 30 sec earlier and caught the train we saw leave. Jess, thinking that it was only 11:30 and another would run by shortly joked, "there it goes Phil, wave good-bye." But he is gone now and it looks like I will have a chance to burn some calories.

Another person is in the same situation, he has 4 very small wheels compared to my two big ones. The skate boarder and I go from around 185th in scary dark road with only a tiny flashlight to warn passing cars of our existence. We are lucky though that after a hundred blocks or so we flag down a bus.

His name is Ulysses. He works at the Tonic Lounge. He tells me about his impending visit with his formally estranged father after 15 years. He didn't watch the game but wants to buy me a beer sometime.

Then I get off the bus downtown. A short old man gets my attention somehow. We cheer "The Patriots won!" He explains his history as a WWII veteran from Greece. I wonder why he's not taller. We got along great. We walk several blocks to a particular bar. Fellini next door to The Satyricon. Nice place. They wont serve him (they must have some history from earlier that night) and because I am with him they wont serve me. "I just want to buy this guy a drink!" He says. I calm him down and we walk to another bar. My anecdotes on how crappy the OLCC is are totally lost on him unfortunately. We walk a block West and half a block south to a place I have never been before. Now before I have the ability to describe my shock at there being a bar downtown that I have never been to he asks me for the 26th time that night what a Godfather is. After explaining it again, this time to the bartender, I was very pleased to be able to learn a little about his past. I cant remember any of it mind you, but he did talk for about a half an hour. At some point I noticed that there were other people in the bar, attractive other people, womanly attractive other people. So I figured that there might be some bad karma if I let a short Grecian WWII vet buy more than one drink and I knew the blood content in his alcohol stream needed none of my help so I broke away to hit on a girl. I don't remember if the conversation actually started with her saying she had a boyfriend but it definitely was toward the beginning. The nice man next to her whom had been more interested in the rest of the group became very curious about my life and was asking a few questions. After only 10 min of dialogue I produced two empty beer cans as visual aids (of my excess I suppose, I can't think of any other reason why I took them out). In the next moment a server comes over and starts harassing me about the cans. "What the Fuck do you think you're doing?"

Now at this point I had a good solid buzz going but still I was able to respond appropriately, "huh?"

His temper went from annoyance to rudeness to violence. Now being that I had accomplished a lot at that bar already I was ok leaving. I had already got a free drink from my short friend (who left just a min before). I was very pleasantly /surgically dispatched by a girl. I was being picked up by some dude on a cell phone. All things combined it was a fine time to leave anyway.

"Would you like me to leave?"

"Yea. Get the fuck out!"

"{two second pause} ...ok then" I figure I offered... and so I should go. I stand up and then I am being assisted out the door (something that was not at all necessary). Still pleasant as I was feeling I said its cool to the other bartender who seemed to be a little calmer. That is when the empty can hits me squarely on my forehead.


"I offered to leave and I was leaving... then you decide to hit me with a beer can?" I look around the room for a sign that I had done something wrong. I didn't see any fires. I didn't use the bathroom. There were no swastikas on me. And last time I checked I had not committed any gross crimes against nature.

It takes me an entire block to figure out that the guy was nuts. But now I am back at, Fellini, the previous bar that we couldn't get served at. Well as long as I am getting kicked out of bars I might as well go in.

The bartender was very accommodating. She explained that I was okay and that I shouldn't have cans thrown at me, made me a Godfather and provided several pieces of paper. (Actually they were thin cardboard from the backs of ticket books they use... but the point is she was nice to me and went out of her way to accommodate my drive to spurn that man who wronged me.)

So I am writing a letter to Wm. Steven Humphery of the Portland Mercury (Portland's finest publication and likely the only people that might give a damn if I was hit by a can). In small print on both sides of 9x4 cards I detail the process of bringing that server from a bar I have never before seen to justice.

Now I need to find their office. So I head down to Powell's City of Books because they will have lots of mags with their address. A guy about my size and build asks me some questions about the city, namely where in it did he park. I tell him several times that we are now just off Burnside and Davis is two blocks that way. He says I am gay.

I can't recall exactly how he came to that conclusion but reflecting on the past 24 hours I had just been hit on by some guy at a bar, had a beer can thrown at me, made plans to visit cuba for all of next November with a guy I just met and was naked in a hot tub with 3 other guys and only one girl the night before, so maybe he was closer to the truth than I realized. I know homosexuals who have had straighter days. I suppose it wouldn't be unheard of to have assumed that at 2:45 am a trendy dressed man riding a Japanese ladies bike in front of Powells might be gay. I thanked him for the compliment (being gay is so "in" these days).

"I appreciate the thought but no really. I like girls."

"Sure you do."

This kind of exchange was becoming more and more regular for me. I noticed I was having to repeat myself often and not because I was mumbling (as I have been known to do). I can only say that my experience with the likes of the ASSes (FREE GEEK's Administrators of Systems and Security) like Richard, Doughnut, and Vagrant (whom are varying types of pacifists) has caused me to gain some patience.

"You are very, very gay."

"Do you know where the Portland Mercury office is?"

"What say I take your bike."

"Well I don't think I'm going to let that happen."

"Awww common."

"Did you see the Pats won."

"I didn't watch the game... You are so gay."

At some point he did grab me and try to shove, but I just met with equal resistance. Then he called me gay again. It never occurred to me that this might just be foreplay because I was fairly certain I was going to have to fight the guy. Upon closer inspection there is a good chance I was involved in some sort of bizarre mating ritual. A very sobering notion to a very drunk guy.

At some point I did just start walking away, but he was able to grab my bikes basket so violence would have been necessary. But as it turns out the next time he grabs me Portland's finest turn the corner. I wave them over. They probably have a lot of domestic violence calls given the way they handled it.

Police: "What's going on here"

You-Are-Gay Guy: "I just want to find Davis St."

rev: I told him several times it is two blocks that way

Police: "You seem to be the only person who doesn't know where Davis is, why don't you have a seat in the car."

YAGG: uhhh (one pus him in the car the other is talking to me)

Police: "So did you meet each other at a bar?"

rev: "no he started talking to me over here... I really actually am not gay."

Police: "I don't care if you are gay, sir

rev: ok then.

I tell them YAGG has been telling me my sexual orientation for the past half hour. The police get a decent chuckle from my unique comic styling.

As it turns out the Portland Mercury boxes outside Powells are all empty. So I cruse over to Pioneer Courthouse Square. There another short happy man was doing some trash inspection and removal. He also didn't know where the mercury was but he let me smoke his pipe of butter-rum tobacco. It tasted damn good so I gave him the apple I had in the pocket of my cargo pants.

The Mercury's office is way up on NW 23rd and Quimby. I bike up there without further incident. But I had lost 3 of the 4 cards in the process of being gay. Somewhere on the streets of Portland are the missing bar scrolls of rev.phil's drunk ass discontent. Then I had to go to the bathroom. Soon. I had been drinking/drunk for over 15 hours and my body was going to have words with me. That alleyway looks appealing, there is even a little foliage (though I can only imagine what kinda of plant would actually benefit from that fertilizer). Crapping in public not a skill that came to me naturally. You really have to hone your skills though practice, practice, practice.

how did I go from wanting to have my words appear in the next mercury to wiping my ass with their current edition? That's right party people: Alcohol.

And now that I have properly made this part of the historical record I think I could use a shower and some clean clothes. I imagine there is ink all over my ass.