Portland, OR 9/11/08 Red Room

We noticed right away that even though Seattle's less than 150 miles away, Portland has a completely different flavor from the Emerald City. It seems a little less polished and a bit smaller. Definitely the type of place we could see ourselves coming back to.

One of the highlights of our stay here was hanging out with my friend from the days of yore, good ole Erin Leben. She took us to this restaurant/hotel that'd been built in an old high school. And while she seemed to think the place was cheesy, Frank, Calida and I were impressed.



The show that night at the Red Room was awkward. One member of the band that was supposed to open for us apparently felt that they were wronged by their place in the lineup, and dealt with it by storming out of the club before we even arrived. We played our portion of the show to about a dozen or so people and were paid $6. That's right. $6.



By the time we'd driven into Portland, some cracks were starting to appear in the machinery. Frank's amp was exhibiting some voodoo side effect of being on the road, Calida's keyboard had been acting up, and I'd lost the cable running between my head and cabinet. Luckily, a fine young local was kind enough to donate one to the Dirty Hearts cause.



Portland was the only city where all four of us knew someone. Terry had some friends she stayed up all night with. Erin put the rest of us up at her place. And Frank and Calida had a friend at the show who'd recently moved to Portland from Albuquerque.



This is a picture of Erin and I on her porch. After the show, she and I spent the rest of the night catching up at a local joint she frequents. And then I crashed out on the most comfortable couch in the world right there on her porch. It was like camping, but without the bears.



Keith