I GREW UP in Beaverton. Don’t you fucking judge me, I was a child. Actually, don’t judge anyone from Beaverton, why the fuck do you care? WHAT’S WRONG, GIRL, YOU DON’T LIKE SHOPPING AT TARGET? When I was of proper education, I attended Portland State University on a handsomeness scholarship [citation needed] and have lived in Southeast Portland since completing my degree.
I know what you’re thinking: “Who cares? Get to the point. All of these American Apparel ads kind of look like evidence in a high-profile sexy murder case.” I only bring it up to say this: I’ve lived in and around Portland, Oregon, almost my entire life. When you live somewhere long enough, the charms become banal, the eccentricities become obnoxious, and even the best ideas seem to turn into hackneyed degenerations of their once-glorious selves. For example, the first time you see a naked bike ride, it’s an invigorating display of the vitality of your dynamic bohemian city. The second time you see a naked bike ride, it’s still pretty cool, but less romantic. You notice more boob/wangs, and reflect on how it’s probably a pretty good day for homeless dude boners. The third time you see a naked bike ride, you want to plow into it with your car because these jolly naked fucks don’t seem to give a flopping cock about stop signs. I’M LATE FOR WORK BUT YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND THAT BECAUSE YOU BUY COKE WITH YOUR PARENTS’ MONEY AND FUCK OTHER PEOPLE WHO BUY COKE WITH THEIR PARENTS’ MONEY. YOU’RE ALL HAVING CAREFREE SEX WITHOUT ME. You know how we all have that exact same emotional response, right?
Look, all I’m saying is at some point you stop being sad that the Velveteria closed and start being stoked that a decent Hawaiian restaurant opened in its place. The problem is, the more you favor the utilitarianism of Spam musubi, the more your city slips through your fingers like so many delicious, tender slices of Kalua pork. It is with this in mind that I embark on a quest to appreciate anew two Portland institutions I have long taken for granted: Voodoo Doughnut and strip clubs.
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DOUGHNUTS ARE SO PORTLAND AS FUCK
I’m not a big fan of doughnuts, and I’m more of a “naked on the internet for free” kind of person—but anytime I talk to someone about Portland, they bring up these two clichéd Portland institutions. I never think about them, they just exist. They’re… well, they’re exactly the kind of thing I was talking about in the previous paragraphs… that’s why I wrote them. There are no accidents. Watch Loose Change, dude.
To examine these stalwarts, I’m going to experience them anew, taking special care to be aware of everything going on around me, and asking myself three questions:
Did I have fun?
How “Portlandy” is this place, really?
Should we be proud of it?
The first question is self-explanatory. The second seeks to address how much this icon of our city truly reflects our city. What does “Portlandy” mean? I don’t know, but I know it when I see it. Mapplethorpe’s penis is “Portlandy,” his haircut isn’t. Thirdly, should we be proud of these institutions? Do they speak to our successes as a community or our failures? Do these things make us happy that we’re not Cincinnati, or not? That’s the rubric I’m using—if you don’t like it, craft your own stand-up comedy career and write a tour diary for the Portland Mercury that allows you to eventually pursue different story ideas. Here goes!
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VOODOO DOUGHNUTS
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Did I have fun?
Well, I waited in line for half an hour. Ahead of me in line were two hella-brahs in Affliction T-shirts (like, literally wearing Affliction T-shirts, not metaphorically. Metaphorically, too, though). This is the Voodoo Doughnut lament, isn’t it? The line is too long, and it’s full of a bunch of fucking people from Beaverton (that’s OUR word). Well, it’s like the old adage goes, when life gives you bros, make bromethazine syrup.
Look, you’re reading the Portland Mercury, right now. You probably aren’t all that tuned in to the day-to-day operations of dudes with Affliction T-shirts. Expand your worldview! You can have a lot of your questions answered just by eavesdropping!
Q: What’s up with Brit? A: Shit’s like, whatever man.
Q: Did you see the fucking Oregon game? A: Fucking… Keith got fired so I had to pick up a bunch of shifts, I watched the replay though. So sick.
Q: Are you stoked for Jones Creek? A: So stoked.
Now I know what’s up with Brit! Also, doughnuts! I know the bacon-maple bar is King Shit when you go to Voodoo Doughnut. It’s always on the TV shows, millimeters from the quivering, fluorescent face of some bellowing haircut… but real talk? I don’t even like the bacon-maple bar that much. Don’t give me that dry-ass bacon. The bacon-maple-bar bacon is present-day Dan Aykroyd. Don’t give me that I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry bacon, give me that freshly cooked Spies Like Us bacon.
Instead, get Voodoo Doughnut’s apple fritter. It’s delicious, and it’s huge. You can actually live, rent free, inside the apple fritter while you eat it. (Fair warning, the landlord is an incredibly offensive caricature of an Asian man played by Mickey Rooney.)
How Portlandy is this place?
There are two Voodoo Doughnuts: Voodoo Doughnut the Place that Sells Doughnuts and Voodoo Doughnut the Scene. (Don’t worry, I ALSO want me to die for writing that sentence.) Voodoo Doughnut, the place that sells actual doughnuts, feels like it was pulled out of the LSD-fueled dream of a fat, old hippie named Scrumptious. It’s great. I’m glad it’s here. It always feels a little bit like I’m walking into San Francisco when I go there—more so now, after the renovation of the downtown space, but even back in the old hole-in-the-wall days.
Now, Voodoo Doughnut the “scene”? The Voodoo Doughnut with a line full of drunk girls holding shoes and civil engineers on terrible dates and people who are probably Bon Iver and high-school kids all lit up on being awake and probably Japanese tourists and somebody’s mom—and they’re all standing together in a line that has to zig around some dude on heroin? That’s fucking Portland.
Should we be proud of it?
Yeah, dude. When the inevitable Voodoo backlash comes, just let those hipper-than-fuck hip fucks eat cake. You eat the fritter.
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STRIP CLUBS
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Did I have fun?
What are you, an idiot? I’m sorry. Of course I had fun. Fun is what Portland strip clubs are all about. Many people like to bring up how our strip clubs are awesome because you can get hammered while looking at boobs and, and this is the important part, vaginas. (Oh, by the way, I’m a straight white male, so this is going to be from my privileged perspective—but please know in your hearts that I have Andrea Dworkin’s Wikipedia page open while I write this.) Getting drunk near vaginas is okay, I guess. It’s a little weird that it’s illegal to have alcohol and vaginas together in other parts of the country… is the cocktail of vaginas and booze too much for hard-working Midwestern penises? Wouldn’t booze make the penis less functional, reducing the risk of whatever state governments are afraid might happen? Am I asking too many questions? Why would you be so hurtful?
Booze and vagina are not why Portland strip clubs are fun. Portland strip clubs being fun are why Portland strip clubs are fun. They’re just fucking fun! Strip clubs aren’t usually that fun, they’re usually creepy and uncomfortable—most strip clubs feel like a Hooters, but with boobs instead of chicken wings. They’re full of bad music and people pretending to be interested in other people as people.
In Portland strip clubs I have seen a woman dance to MC Chris and a woman wear a Batman mask. On the trip I took to Sassy’s on the occasion of writing this article, I watched a stripper spend significant amounts of her time onstage giving the devil horns to a gaggle of hella burley metal dudes who cheered like proud parents. I had way more fun seeing that than I had looking at a vagina with a beer in my hand. One girl hid onstage and popped out and scared me while I was deep in conversation with some other super drunk person—oh, you’re going to combine all the fun of a Jantzen Beach haunted house experience with the adult motif of gazing at your boobs, girl with a Frida Kahlo tattoo? Well, you’re the best person in the world, and I’m going to learn sculpting so I can make a statue of you shaking hands with Jesus.
How Portlandy is it?
The strip clubs in Portland combine our seedy history as a wretched hive of scum and villainy with the current trend of body art inspired by the works of Shel Silverstein. They’re “Portlandy,” and they’re spectacular.
Should we be proud of it?
I bet there are a few of you who have read this far just so you can completely obliterate me with an internet comment informing me how misogynistic and exploitative I am for enjoying our city’s strip clubs, or for calling them “strippers,” or because I said, “Hey fellas, get a’load of this broad!” to a bunch of men in old suits and fedoras when I pulled up Andrea Dworkin’s Wikipedia page. Well, I’m sorry (lie). The fact is, people associate our beautiful city with strip clubs. Time magazine’s website listed strip clubs as one of the 10 things you have to try in Portland! Time magazine! Home of articles about glamping (glam-camping, natch! Luv u!). So yes, I think we should be proud of our strip clubs. Warm your hearts with the fact that, at some point, somebody has probably danced to the Mr. Show theme—and that’s only happening here.
Ian Karmel is your favorite stand-up comedian. He’s been on Portlandia, and has performed live at Bumbershoot and Bridgetown Comedy Fest. You can see him at Funny Over Everything on October 4 with Brent Weinbach at the Hollywood Theatre.
“most things i worry about never happen anyway” — tom petty
I was directed to this article because it was tagged with “Frida Kahlo tatoos” and I am 100% satisfied.
Ian Karmel is Portland as Fuck. Please make the a regular thing
I LOVE THIS SO MUCH.
You need a regular column every week.
Nice Mos Eisley reference – you’re alright by me, Karmel.
way to sneak in the Breakfast at Tiffany’s reference. Solid gold!
33 years of Portland have made me jaded. This article has awoken something with its fabulousness. Thank you, Ian Karmel.
it’s all right, most people who are from portland are actually from beaverton
I’m pretty sure it’s Mapplethorpe’s bullwhip up the ass that’s “Portlandy,” not his penis, but that’s all the fact-checking I’m going to do.
The article is entertaining, but the photo is f’ed. Who thought it was good idea to subscribe to typical hollywood bullsh*t and put a overweight dud with a pin up. Get a clue yo.
Its an article about strippers and donuts, thats Ian Karmel, the guy who wrote the article.
You make me proud to have been a San Francisco stripper probably before you were born. Now I am in Portland, and I am pretty damned Portlandy. Plus you were the emcee when I did open mike at Helium and that’s some tasty shit going on there. Less greasy and more satisfying than a doo doo donut! Yeah, I am a mega food snob…best pizza’s in Jersey and best donuts, hands and pants down…are @Stan’s in Westwood California. I mean the Reese’s peanut butter filled chocolate fucking special is something Elvis is flying in by the baker’s dozen to his grave site in Graceland as I write this. If you doubt me, I will order up a FedEx 13 pack to go from Stan and you and your stand up buddies can do a circle jerk of lard and sugar consumption consumer testing to make your own assessment. In the meantime, put a bird on it, cause hey yeah, it’s cool to be over trending. It’s so fucking Portlandy, just like this big kid comic I know whose name sounds like a British candy store. xx o
Funny stuff, great packaging. Would read again. A+
I had to move away from Portland. I know live in a horrible place called the Bible belt. People don’t believe or understand when I get drunk and rant about my magical homeland. Strippers here are sad and usually have 3 kids with the two guys in the front row. I pay them out of shame and to give them hope. the closest doughnuts are a crispy cream 45 minutes away and they treat u like scum cuss they know you drove 45 minutes for a doughnut and you won’t say or do shit. I miss home. Thank you for the article it was beautiful. Keep writing please .
I would love this as a regular column!
It’s so funny because he says “fuck” so much! I can’t stop laughing at that… Oh, let me wipe the tears away from my eyes.
I won’t tolerate another word against the photo.
Voodoo doughnuts is like, whatever. But it is Portland because a former member of Big Daddy Meatstraw owns it.
And that is Portland as fuck. (I am an old lady.)
I work with tourists every day. They go apeshit over Voodoo. Predictably, Voodoo backlash festers deeply within my own black heart. “Shut up about the fucking donuts,” I keep thinking, “they’re not even good donuts.”
Mr. Karmel, you’ve made me very slightly less jaded. I remain continually annoyed at Voodoo Doughnuts the Scene, but if that particular location on 3rd and Ankeny were to be replaced with a Shari’s or a meth lab, I would probably feel something approximating sadness. Thank you.
Also, hooray for strip clubs.
I feel like it was funny because of all the other stuff and it says “fuck” a lot because that’s how I talk, but you gotta make it through the day, too “Person” so keep on shining. Fuck.
Ian Karmel, the thing about you is that you are fucking perfect. You can talk whatever smack you want because you are a complete sweetie pie and because you say “ladies and gentlemen” a lot when you are doing stand up.
p.s. this is the first comment I have ever posted.
Great stuff, laughed multiple times. My one criticism, you’re a damn misogynist! No, just kidding. My problem? I was hoping for a little critisim of that sacred cow known as Voodoo doughnuts. It’s a weird tourist trap. It is an institution and I bring everyone who visits me there, but really, it’s not that special when you get down to the nitty gritty. It’s like some old bush everyone just has to come see and pet.
Some of the worst kind of people go to the Voodoo donuts DT.
All the ‘real’ Portlanders go to the 1501 NE Davis st. location. If they even go at all.
Personally; the stale coco puffs donuts are not that -great-; they’re pretty fucking nasty.
You’ll get stale donuts at the DT location and at NE; there’s noway around it.
Honestly; I’ve had better donuts from 7/11.
Where do you get coke in Portland? Who is doing the all american drug? I always hear about people snorting the-gift-of-the-sun but where is this mythical snow? Need to know
by next week, I have a group of friends that would like to have the cocaine blues all weekend from a fabulous friday night and we have no idea where to score? Should we start at Voo Doo or The Dancin Bare?
Karmel-by-the-C-Cup
This article should be printed and framed.
This is a good point, even if you don’t necessarily need to EAT Voodoo, you should probably at least see it. It’s next to a damn porno theater with hentai Fridays.
If you like the Apple Fritter, Memphis Mafia is pretty damn good too, though over the top. Their plain blueberry cake one is good too.
Ian looks like Jack Black and Jimmy Kimmel’s butt baby.
Thank you!
Real Portlanders get Voodoo Doughnuts in Eugene. I have never seen more than five people in line, and usually there aren’t any.
If only there was a Voodoo Donuts strip club.
Karmel, apples.
strip clubs? montreal
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDGlN6mluGA
Withnipples and Ian
Ian, I fully accept the notion that you are Portland As Fuck.
I really enjoyed reading this, and I agree about the strip club scene. I once hung out with arch-feminists who demonized strippers as evil people, and strip-club goers as sexual deviants – over time this turned me off to strip clubs entirely. I haven’t gone to a strip club in years, and reading your piece just reminded me of all the non-sexual hilarity that happens there.
I just want to give Ian a big hug. Thank you, Ian. Thank you.
This article is so stupid. It reduces Portland to just two very tired cliches. C’mon, dude. You forgot Powell’s.
What, the model has no face?
L to R: box, “Big Pink”; dear; big; big pink box; deer.
I fucking love you. As an NEP native, Just today, I was similarly lamenting the loss of businesses and landmarks that I deem truly Portland (specifically a former discount food store located in inner SE which is now Nostrana), and how many of the businesses popping up in their place actually infuriate me, because they are so fucking boring, and they only represent and repeatedly remind me of what is lost. Agreed on all counts, right down to the doughnut line and the club scene. (frumpy female, 39, Andrea Dworkin-disliking, self-identified sex-positive feminist)
Also, neither owner was ever in Big Daddy Meat Straw, but Tres was co-owner of the X-Ray where BDMS played, and where frontman Vince worked as a doorman.
I still detest Beaverton
HWY 217 gives me thoughts of suicide
Not sure if it’s the roads or the non-drivers that block them?
Get a good donut and enjoy eating it …..
Joes in Sandy!
Stay on your side of town bitches..
I’d rather dive into that rack in the picture
“Fun is what Portland strip clubs are all about.” Yes, FUN + the sweet sour sadness of the solo dancer on a Tuesday afternoon watching her 20s slip away one dingy dollar bill at a time scraped across scuffed marmoleum.
whoa, hawthse — didn’t know what ‘marmoleum’ was before…..thanks for that…..(seriously.)
(the mercury comments section is pretty fucking educational sometimes.)
When my wife and I got married at the 24-hour Church of Elvis, Stephanie paraded the whole wedding party through Powells. You could just feel the hatred pouring off of every patron there. Not sure which was more Portlandy, the wedding or the loathing we got at that pretentious used bookstore.
I am very upset that some one has to comment on Portland being F–k. I don’t care if they think it is a joke. It’s not funny to me at all. It is disrespectful and rude. Maybe the dictionary would come in handy to find other words.
Cynthia Armstrong – Kelso, WA
cindy:
i’m sure it was just a simple mistake — i’m sure the author meant to type ‘portland as making love’.
The editor wouldn’t let me call it “Portland as Gosh” because he masturbates.
Really thought he’d go off on a lot more than doughnuts and strippers. What about Powells? What about the Pearl? What about the Bubblers?
Also, when does ‘as fuck’ become the hipster catchphrase to avoid? It’s annoying as fuck.
Enjoyed the article… have to say, I am OVER Voodoo donuts. The scene is mildly entertaining, but the donuts are mediocre at best. Strongly suggest you mosey back out to Beaverton and try Sesame donuts. Those guys can rock a fritter. They even have mini-fritters so you can have a fix, without getting a stomachache…
Oh perfect. Let’s just crop out the model’s face entirely cuz all we really care about is boobs right guy?!? Good ole’ Merc – keep on alienating a good portion of your readership in order to be cool as Fuck. Thinly veiled sexism is certainly Portland MERCURY and Fuck!
THE MERCURY MADE ME POSE WITH A BOX OF DONUTS. THEY OBJECTIFIED A FAT PERSON. PLUS, THEY MADE ME PUT MY FACE IN THE PICTURE SO EVERYONE WOULD KNOW EXACTLY WHO THIS FAT, SWEATY, BUTTERSCOTCH DRUNK WAS. THEY ONLY HAD ME POSE WITH BREASTS TO HIGHLIGHT HOW I ALSO HAVE BREASTS.
Thank you! As a stripper, it was great to see that our outrageous brand of Portland entertainment is appreciated.
Annie’s Donuts are both more Portland and more delicious than Voodoo Donuts. This article is “Portland as Fuck,” if by that you mean lazy and senseless.
We’re also known for breweries. We have strip clubs. We have doughnuts. We have breweries.
WHY (?!?!?) hasn’t anyone thought to open up a strip club brewery that serves doughnuts?!?!
You’ve lived in Portland for this long and all you’ve found to do are donuts and strip clubs. Very pathetic, Ian. If we all start to act this way, you’ll soon see Portland as the new scene for fat donut-eating people drooling at coked-out strippers. Gross.
I’m adding to the “give Ian a regular column, or article or whatever” petition. Ian, you breathe new, nostalgic life into things that should never have started to feel mundane. Thank you.
Based on this one article, I would happily go see you perform, Ian. Thanks!
First, thank you all for your kind words. You can come see me October 4th at the Hollywood Theatre.
Second, did you even read the fucking article “4”. you for-goddamned bozo? It’s about taking on Portland cliche’s with fresh eyes. How come everybody else understood that and you don’t? Go eat all the bullets you can find.
That’s another thing: can’t find any fucking bullets in this town!
THANK YOU. jesus, the fritters at voodoo are the only reason to stand in that fucking bridge and tunnel line. ian, you’re classic as fuck.
Yes, you have fresh eyes and all you take in from our great city is donuts & damaged strippers.. well good luck to you! How pathetic. For the record, I’ve seen you at Helium and I thought you were great, but if articles like this (and rude comments from you) are what you are becoming then please don’t let the door hit you.
Most people appreciate original humor, not tired cliches and tons of “fuck” filler words for all the vocab words you don’t know how to use.
I would like to point out that Ian appears, on first glance, to have six fingers in that photo, and I found that very disturbing. And tantalizing.