Burnside shopping East and West of dimpled hipsterville.

Hello Portlanders. Cereal Man here. Been away for awhile. But now I'm back with minimal vengeance.


Yesterday brought Jazibee and I into the Burnside heart of Downtown. With minor detours to the left of food carts, and to the right of cinema 21.

Our first stop on our destination was Ray's Ragtime. Dragged by the arm of JaziBee, I found myself in what was clearly the pantheon of vintage hipster outlet stores. (And I thought I had met my match at Andy and Bax) Kudos to the hipster behind the counter who knew the concept of smiling. He must belong to the non aggressive side of the cereal bowl.

Next on our route was Powell's books. Where Jazibee let loose her feminist principles in the Purple Room, aggressively clutching a copy of Nietzsche's essays on feminism. I thumbed through books containing gay art and studly photographs of WWII soldiers. Before pushing Jazi up the stairs into the Pearl room. We perused the "fun" books, such as the Pin-Up photo albums, the cake wrecks collection, and the art of the VHS box book. Finally, she settled on an issue of Bust magazine, and I purchased a book entitled: "Beefcake. The Muscle magazines of America 1950-1970," with some racy and titillating photographs. Outside, I encountered Olivia. Whom I'm proud to say has joined the rest of us in the class of unemployed, unpaid locals. If only she wasn't going to Paris in a few weeks, she wouldn't have an envy number seared on her pretty little head.

Starving, Jazz and I made our way to the food carts where I purchased a lamb euro, and she got some gross, nasty looking chicken shit at this Vietnamese cart. BLAH. We sat down at that scary bricked park area right across the street from, "The Escape nightclub," or as I like to call it the, "baby prostitution rink." The area was less frightening during the day. So we sat down, fed birdies, and laughed ourselves sickly over this overweight man who was lying down on a bench cuddling up with a Hello Kitty doll and taking a nap. It occurred to me at this point in our venture that I should have my camera out. So then it began, my inconsistent snapping of pictures. Here, there, and everywhere.

From the park we walked into Jackpot Records, where, again, the cashier/record expert treated us to good service and gay friendly smiles. It didn't hurt that his black hair and black beard made him one of the most dashing hipsters this side of the river, but also that I just happened to be wearing my Jackpot Records shirt. And here, as Jazi purchased a Bikini Kill c.d. that I made her promise I could copy when she was done, we reminisced about the July of last, when we came to this very same Jackpot Records and basked in the glow and touch of The Thermals when they performed their free show.

Up the Burnside road, past the creepy annoyingly antiqued Billy Galaxy, brought us to Buffalo Exchange. Where I forced myself NOT to purchase t-shirts to add to my collection of hundreds, but instead something for my legs. Both shorts and pants my closet was lacking in. As a man, or, should I say, a man who desires other men sexually, it's very hard to shop for pants that look good on my body. As well as the fact that sometimes, I forget about the scope and magnitude of my ass. Which even un firmed is quite large. Luckily though, I found a cute baby blue pair of shorts that help me pass for a hetero. Or a transgendered female. Which could come in handy, if I'm ever trapped in Gresham again. It was also here that I reminisced about the time I stole a button from this establishment by slipping it in to Jazi's purse, as she purchased a Suzi Quatro pin.

From there, we made our way into Spartacus. Where all of my favorite fabulous Spartacus employees, save for Ajah, were there. And wouldn't you know it, they happened to be selling spanking porn for five dollars! Lucky for me, Miki was there to take my money. I don't trust just anyone with my fetishes. ;)

So, up along Burnside even further, did we walk into Everyday Music to find that they had completely rearranged the store (AGAIN) much to my distaste. I mean, are they going for feng shui? Cause I'm not feeling it. Jazi purchased a c.d. by the guy from Starfucker (his solo work).

And so it was then that we made an exhaustive walk from Everyday Music, to Cinema 21. Passing up the chance to smoke Hookah in concern for our lack of funds. But I am now the proud owner of my ticket for the June 18th showing of Tommy Wiseau's, "The Room!" The blogger dashboard will be on fire come that night.

Luckily we managed to catch the streetcar just in time, got off at the Camella lounge to find that their selection of Bubble teas sound highly unappetizing not to mention employee-less, and on the way to Voodoo Doughnuts, discovered the holy church of Elvis. Really bloggers, there are no words to describe my experience at this patch of wall located between 4th and 5th, just near the Chinatown entrance. Due to the bad lighting and vicious glare from with in the windows, my pictures can't even tell the clear story. You...simply...must...just...go.

And so Voodoo Doughnuts was ours. We waited in line behind a vibrating orgasmic baby, who was shivering and pounding the glass of the doughnut merry go round. My bacon maple bar was handed to me by a cute hipster in a grape colored voodoo doughnuts shirt who resembled Kermit the frog. He was nice enough, so I tipped him a quarter. (It's no secret that the employees at voodoo have their picture in the dictionary next to the phrase: dick fuck hymen doucebags) Which is not to say that they are ALL like that, but, most of them are.


Once our doughnuts were consumed, Jazi and I stopped in at the Paris Theatre to find out what just exactly went on in there. And now that we do know, we'll probably never go inside again.

And with that, boarding the max at the Skidmark fountain, our day was done. I will admit that in comparison to 2008's downtown venture with the then still in high school Jazibee, my heart wasn't too much in it. Be it because of unemployment, lack of bread, or just recalling all the things I lost in the fire. Yet through it all I still manage to keep a smile and enjoy what is left. I've come a long way since my Holden Caulfield phase.

Now, why can't everyone else?