Get Your Fix.

Portland /// Swan Lewis

Once again it is a Thursday in Old Town, Portland. And once again I am bouncing around the scene. Tonight’s agenda? The Fix- a spot advertised to, well, get your fix. And what type of fix? Well, that was exactly what I set out to find.

First up, the advertised Fix. Live at Someday Lounge. A niiice little spot that has the capability to become a little too crowded- and by a little too crowded, I mean with youngsters, hip hop stars, and the folks who want to get the weekend started a day early, which is a Portland speciality.

So upon entering, I catch my man Brian who is holding down the foto aspect of the event for various websites. Dope. I enjoy a well documented event. I get in a quick ‘what up?’ to B. and listen to the scoop. During our conversation, I notice a couple of old friends at the bar: Fogatron and Manic D.

I make my way to the bar for a Tecate and an embrace with these cats who I hadn’t seen since I split almost two years ago to the lands of hojas de cocas, fine wine, and castellano. Immediately the fun/trouble begins with tall tales and slightly more intelligent than Seinfeldesque cultural observations. The perfect mantra to the beats of hip hop pushing through the speakers.

The night, for us, quickly progressed into conversationally toying with some bored (or scared?) girls celebrating a twenty first birthday and then fleeing the lounge to hit the pavement to people watch. Fog and D. took me to THE prime area of people watching which included spying a street cat holding court over five or so police officers, a runner, a sweet and talkative woman with a service dog trying to sell pet food, and another woman who dropped the question of the night, “Can you help me with twelve thousand dollars or some abandon real estate?” Fucking classic. Too bad I had neither, and it reminded me of just how close I am to my brothers and sisters living in the streets.

We then headed to Berbati’s to see what was up. A couple of promotional stickers on other’s property and a conversation with the Voodoo girl later, we enter Berbati’s. Niiice. A familiar face at the door and some reggae on stage. And not dreaded white boy hippy reggae either. The real deal. Black men with locks wrapped in a Bobo Ashanti ‘turban’. Not that I disrimahate on white reggae, but I am sure you all feel me that reggae just seems a little bit better when it is created by the male gender and melanin laced skin. Fuck, it just is what it is. Regardless, I appreciated doing some light dancing to the riddims, and feeling the Ital vibe.

Of course, I had to wash down the positive Love with some Magic Gardens action. What can I say? I hadn’t seen pussy in a while. So I took in a Spirit, a Heineken in a can, and some naked ass before I concluded my Thursday night. Not bad for a five or so block radius.

And now for the weekend.