The Lab Rats
When it's hot, it's time to get sauced and conduct ridiculous
experiments. And that means it's time to find Doktor Anger.
On a Hades-baking evening last week, I found the good Doktor
in front of a video poker machine at the Triple Nickel.
Anger, who looks like Peter Lorre crossbred with a dumpling,
regarded me warily.
"Malt," he said. "What do you want?"
"Come on, Doc! It's time for a summer project." I gestured
to the pavement. "We will prepare a genetic map of Belmont
Street. It will be a great breakthrough."
"Fuck," he said, hoisting himself free. I took this as
"yes."
I intended for us to begin down at the Grand Cafe
and battle eastward, past the law offices and bush-league
Rastafarians and onward, ending blind-drunk and bulletproof
somewhere in Gresham. Then, I was sure, we'd have a true
psychic chart of the street, a sense of its mutations as
property values ratchet up and drinking becomes less of
a workman's daily comfort and more of a lifestyle accoutrement
for weekend leisurehounds. We didn't get farther than a
single roasting corner. Still, we observed the effects of
upscale radiation under our bleary mental microscopes.
Hunkered over a glass stenciled with a dot-com logo at
Belmont's Inn, Doktor Anger scanned the room. "These
people probably think a penny from every tip goes straight
to the Dalai Lama's private glee fund," he rumbled. I understood
his animus, but as I looked around, all I saw were low-key
neighborhood types out for a few afternoon shots. A cropped-headed
dude and a bikini-topped girl wandered in. "I haven't been
here since I had long hair," the guy said.
In other words, Belmont's is what bars have always been.
Across the way, though, the globe lights of the Aalto
Lounge whispered of what bars will be after the
final victory of the Tasteful. Anger and I navigated the
Aalto's blond-wood doors, settling into a pair of "mid-century
modern" chairs. A friendly guy strode out to deliver beers--thank
God, he had only 1 percent of the attitude sported by his
place of employ.
I dug the Morphine on the stereo. The long, narrow room,
all clean and meticulous lines broken by a Paul Klee poster,
was a cool enough refuge against the heat. Anger, though,
thumbed absently through a copy of Wallpaper*, glancing
at the pages as though they were a dispatch from an enemy
planet. His eyes rose to the window then, and he looked
at the convivial "hippie ghetto" across the street with
something like longing.
THE LAB RATS:
Belmont's Inn
3357 SE Belmont St., 232-1998
Aalto Lounge
3356 SE Belmont St., 239-4698
COMEDY LISTINGS:
Dave Crow
"Always a Portland favorite, Crow brings his humor
to town and we're better for it."
Harvey's Comedy Club
436 NW 6th Ave, 241-0338
8 pm Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday, 8 and 10:30 pm
Friday, 6:30, 9 and 11:30 pm Saturday, July 5-9
$8-$10
ComedySportz
Competitive improv highly favored by the all-ages set.
1936 NW Kearney St., 236-8888
9 pm Friday, 7:30 and 9:30 pm Saturday, June 16-17
$10, $9 with a can of food for the Oregon Food Bank
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