First rule of vandwelling: Don’t let anyone see you vandwelling.
The cops may be on to me. It’s 10:30 on Monday night and
I’m walking “home” to the van where I’ve lived for a week. I’ve got one
eye on a police cruiser as a black-and-white Radio Cab
If you’re just looking at the roses, you’re missing half their charm.
All roses look pretty, but not all roses smell pretty. Any
schmuck can admire the petals, but those who want to enjoy the sweet
smell have to be a little more strategic about things.
Come along as culture staffers revisit controversial stories from the past year.
Pedalpalooza is Portland’s greatest celebration of bike
culture. Starting June 6 and continuing through the rest of the month,
cyclists will get together to make new friends while taking costume
Why I left a comfy job and sweet apartment in Ohio to live in a van in Portland.
I’m lying on the backseat of a busted old conversion van
that reeks of oil and cigar smoke in the parking lot of a Space Age gas
station near the Portland-Gresham border. It’s not quite 6 am,
Look down your street. Even if you live in the West Hills,
there’s a good chance you’ve got a van or two parked nearby. Vans are
everywhere in Cascadia—and some of them double as houses.
Portland’s pro Ultimate Frisbee team struggles with credibility and the defection of a local star to rival Seattle.
There’s a roar from the stands at the Roosevelt High
School football field—the kind usually heard only on those brisk fall
nights when the Roughriders take the turf. A player dives, arms
Miniature golf is still wholesome. Unlike
kickball, dodgeball, roller skating or pinball, it’s still mostly
played sober, fueled by ice cream and the sweaty palms of teenage
romance. Among the
Despite celebrity status, a local therapy llama continues his charitable work.
Animal therapy is big and getting bigger.
Veterans returning from the Bush Wars are raising dogs to cope with
post-traumatic stress disorder, and recent studies show that animals
Portlanders are slow to part with public relics. Rather
than phase out the iron hitching rings that line our curbs from the days
when people actually rode horses in Portland, the city repairs and
A priest, a rabbi and an atheist walk into a bar. They
put their names on the list and hope to get called up for three minutes
onstage. They’re aspiring standups—like everyone else in Portland