Tom Cook drew your favorite Saturday-morning cartoons.
You’ve seen Tom Cook’s work. You don’t know the name, but if you’ve seen He-Man, The Smurfs, later Scooby-Doo or Flintstones,
or a host of other Reagan-era cartoons, you’ve seen a panel or
Putting parables onstage is an often iffy endeavor, but
there’s no denying the impact of a successfully staged allegory. British
playwright Dawn King’s Foxfinder, making it
Portland has vending machines with Neil Young singles, guitar strings, pregnancy tests and lap-dance coupons.
Smitty’s Vending is where vending machines go when they
die. At this metal graveyard on busy Southeast Main Street, Pepsi logos
fade gently on a bed of broken glass behind barbed wire and a lock
I expect the gas station to be empty. It’s 11 pm on a
Sunday night, and I’m out on the border of Gresham to check on my
broken-down van and maybe slip inside for shuteye. Instead, I see
The logistical challenges of waking up without a place to piss.
It’s 8:30 in the morning and I have to
pee. This is a common problem, I know. For most people, it is easily
solvable. For most of my own life, it was easily solvable. But now that I
live in a
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.