Wednesday, February 13, 2008

little R. sings the blues

There are few people I love more in the world than the N's former roommates... all of them. He had good taste in past co-inhabitants, for the most part. While we still see a few of them occasionally ("hey guys, did I ever tell you about the time I was living in Canada and started a glam-nu-metal band that created fucking epic songs about Rohypnol? Sit back, I have a story"), some we only see every few years. Like R.

R., a college buddy of both of ours and current Portland resident, is always my absolute favorite. He looks and acts like a 12 year old, and is the most earnest guy I have ever met in my life. He's a human puppy. R. used to have a chinchilla in a glass aquarium in their apartment, and while working the graveyard shift at a classic rock station in college, would occasionally dedicate a 3 AM play of Yes or Steppenwolf to yours truly "kicking it late tonight in the Printmaking room on campus, woooo hoooooo!"

Anyway. R. Love him.

In a max-five-minute phone conversation last night, we discussed the following:

1) Vegan strip clubs.

2) The economy is so bad he's going to lose the lease on his art gallery (?), which he mostly supports by running a tee-shirt embroidery business with a man named Mag/ik (??); and this is problematic because right now the gallery manager Julie is living out of the back storeroom because they can't afford to pay her, and so she can't pay rent anywhere.

3) How the above money troubles has led him to take on extra part-time work, and by "extra part-time work" he means becoming a snowboarding coach at a private school.

4) That's right, snowboarding coach.

5) But even though no one has any money "you guys should totally move here you'd love it so much, there are lots of trails." (R. did not distinguish exactly what kind of trails he was talking about, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume hiking or running or something; which makes no sense because I would not like that at all because running is the Devil's activity. Or maybe he meant skiing, also problematic since neither the N nor I can ski worth a goddamn. Or, maybe he meant trails of cocaine on his glass-topped dining room set. Like I said, still unclear.)

6) The Spruce Goose.

7) By the way, R. reports he is "sporting some wicked rad sideburns these days."

Remind me someday to scan in his business card. It's comedy gold.

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