Heavy Ro

Erry Saturday us grey sky, raindrop stir crazy Portland kids hit the Chesterfield (affectionately dubbed simply, "The Chester") for HEAVY ROTATION, a rousing woot woot of a time. We listen to different rotating deejays on a platter (much like a Lazy Susan at Hung Far Low on Couch St. and 2nd Ave). We have Wendy and Russell, the most lovely bartenders anywhere, stir us up Shirley Temples and Long Islands and we dance our faces off for four hours. Anywho, here's a random collection of snaps taken one evening. I'll dig up some more eventually, but for now you can inhale these suckers like it's Dim Sum dammit. Love - Sara Bear














DOOM on DOOM?!?!?




A Filipino Thrill

Okay whatever. I know this came out like, a bizillion eons ago but I don't give a rat's ass. It brings tears to my eyes. I mean, is it not the ultimate ode to MJ (Hello?! They're wearing their jailbird fits, complete with open-toes chonklas)?! How freaking many days and nights did they practice this shit? Thriller is so long, it could be it's own after-school special and with commercial breaks...seriously. And yes, Rae told me how late on the train I was on this but people work with me - I don't do youtube so if you've already seen it, just move right ahead along to the next post. But if you haven't, well then! Grab the Orville Redenbacher's Kettle Korn and enjoy.


Jade To The Max

In '92, Tonya, Joi and Miss Di took center stage for their breakout EP and for the next four years, I could be caught humming, I Wanna Love You Down while hopscotching, stirring up a punch bowl of Razzleberry Kool-Aid or fashioning together my own black, hooked bustier. Cause you already know I had the Bongo's soaking in bathtub bleach water.

These ladies were my dawgs.


The titillating trio however, are no match for our real deal Miss "One Glove" Jade. Extra sugar shout outs to my BFF of BFFs, Miss Ragen "Rae Rae" Fykes for all film and directorial credits.

Luh you boo.

Global Aerosol Files 1.0




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Dark Horse Comics recently unveiled its new series, Boomer Academy: The World Agent Adventures of Manny and Muriel. My superhero folks know how to retire proper and damn if the genetic wandering Jew gene ain't dominant (thank god, this blog would've had to be called something way less shiny like, The Vagabond Bastards And Their Cheetos Connection).

Since turning in their Clark Kent suits (my mom traded in her vast collection of A-line skirts for a banging mini and vinyl thigh-highs), they leave me post-its with the plant watering / dog feeding schedules scribbled on them and half a molding grapefruit in the fridge and bounce. One-upping X-Ray vision, deafness is the current aging superpower so mommy dukes didn't hear me when I screamed out, "Why yes ma, since you asked, I would adore a petrified piece of the Peralta Stone Tablets from your travels abroad!" as they hauled ass to the luggage counter.

That's cool because instead, they brought back snaps of random Spanish graff (the country of conquistadors, quaint cobbled alleys and brooding, hung men. Not the language your gardener speaks, thanks). And the random Europe-by-way-of-JFK-layover-WAX flick, which would make way more sense if you read all the blogs, thanks again.

As I type this, the hard of hearing couple is flying to Tanzania and Uganda (Shon, their arms must be tired. Ugh.) so be on the cookout for another Marvel installment soon. If you're into gorgeous global expressions of angsty youth and goop like that.
Planetary partners purusing the greatest cities on Earth while perserving spray can art. And their sexy. Sure makes leaping tall buildings in a single bound look doo doo.

Word to the mutha land - S.


Hands Up...

...I need the SUPER ILL LATE PASS for this!

LAST FRIDAY: ROCKBOX!!! It was sooooooo ILL!! I could only hang for a quick moment...but let me tell you...when I walked in... THAT PLACE WAS THICK!!!!! I seriously COULD NOT WALK!! It was MADDDD!!! Dj Kez, Matt Nelkin, & DunDiggy HELD IT DOWN!!!!!!!!!! I wish I had more flicks from the evening. I know there was a drunk man who managed to snap a photo with me...WHY..I'm STILL NOT SURE!! He also managed to spill his drink on FLO$$Y BRIAN afterwards. SMH. WHY DRINK THAT MUCH?!?!?!

Big up to my boy Stephen (pronounced STEVEN) and his peoples for snapping this lovely photo.

It's the only photo that's turned up from that evening. I know I look super bugged out...but whatever...it is what it is... ENJOY!

Last Saturday: Of course we all got down at EVRYBODY SAY HO!!!(HOOO!!!!!) and Ms. S.Dot hit you all with the ill PLAY PLAY the next day *Scroll DOWN y'all*.

But after that fly little get down we all hit the Chesterfield(two blocks up the street and that way) to catch the lovable, hugable, so fresh & so clean, always preserving his sexy....*DRUM ROLL PLEASE* Dj Queasy

He seriously PLAYED THE JAMS!! His mix was amazing...AND UMMM BLESS HIM a TRILLION TIMES FOR PLAYING SWV!!! *sigh*

Despite waking up with the ILL (when I say ILL I MEAN ILL) EAR ACHE the next morning...In layman's...Last weekend was DOPE!! Wish you were there!




Jingle Bell R♥C...

Happy H♥lidays Trilla's!!!
Rae & B♥♥gie♥


Wax Poetics...

Ms. Beat Street has NOT a clue. I straight up found this while getting my Google on. Let's not forget P-Boys and P-Girls.....

Wax Nostalgic
Wax, the New No Po Hiphop Hub, Keeps It Old School-- While Helping Out the Community
BY MARJORIE SKINNERAt some point, hiphop suffered a split.
What began as a culture that prided itself on its resourcefulness and inventiveness now blares from mainstream radio as a swaggering pissing contest of bling, bitches, and violence. In retaliation, Sara Moskovitz and Shannon Guthrie, owners of Portland's latest hiphop space, Wax, are dedicated to celebrating the elements of an old school aesthetic, far removed from the antics of contemporary idols who have deviated from hiphop's nonviolent, un-materialistic roots.
To do this, they've created Wax, an all ages epicenter of old school hiphop culture...

Elves and Hoes







Holly was hung on the stage with care. Run DMC, Paul Revere and 'em and even the grinch, was there. It was the ultimate bridgetown holiday hoedown. I think I even spotted a mistletoe hanging above a pair of hot toddys in the corner.

Braille Brizzy and his brood brought a blessed Christmas to Doug Fir's cellar in spectacular form. DJ Shines warmed up the air for Barry Hampton and the Triple Grip (Miss Ragen Fykes and Toni Hill on vocals, Skip Bowman on electric guitar and special guest Mark Steele on piano), who rocked with a nine-piece band, crooned classic carols wrapped in rhythm and blues.

A rap battle between Frosty and Rudolf, Def Con 5 breakers donning elf fits (red is your color Mighty Moves) and a lanky Grinch bouncing on and off stage intensified lupine-laced joints by Braille's latest gift to the music scene, The IV. Molasses delivery and timing by recent Portland transplant Theory Hazit rounded out the Ham and cranberry feast.


You've Got Ta Have S♥le...

If you know me...you know one of my weaknesses reside on my size 7 feet. At times I have to AVOID certain places because I KNOW as soon as I stomp in that place..IT'S OVER. I'm BUYING SHOES. NO MATTER HOW BROKE I AM! My boy in the Bay said it perfectly..."once you bring those things to the counter to check on the price (THAT'S HOW THEY GET YOU), it's a done deal..you have to cop em!!"

As much as I ADORE Dunks...I had to take a break from the lova-lova's. Every person with a decent sense of style has them. Footlocker has even tried to step up their game a tad bit...they even have some of the same shoes these fly little shoe boutiques have!! Dunks are flooding the STREETS!!

I've since found my heart in a different brand of shoe...or so I thought!! The other day I'm checking out this supppppeerrr fly women's sneaker boutique out of L.A. called Kendo--> http://www.kendo-la.com!! It's AMAZING!!!!!! I mean...seriously my eyes watered as soon as the web page covered my screen!! I felt like I was in SNEAKER HEAVEN!! AND THEN I SAW THEM...

YUP!!! The Nike Stiletto Pack Dunk High!!!! Isn't she lovely?!?!? I know, I know!! By this time I was ready to pack a bag for myself and my child, go to LA, cop these kicks, kiss the owner of Kendo for carrying them, and kiss Phil Knight for his lovely design team at Nike. OH yes folks... it was that deep!! LADIES...I Think we got a new Stiletto in town!


PDX Files 3.0

Lucky Portland bastards. Always getting two-fers. Tonight, there couldn't be a more fun way to bask in the sun of hip hop fun (duck for incoming cornball). Who needs Teena Marie live dolo when you can have her mashed up with purple power Prince, Snow's, "Informer" and Positive K talkin' bout she gots a man. Golden boy deejays KEZ, Matt Nelkin and Dundiggy are finna make you skeet until the sweat runs down your balls. Excellent.

Rock Box. Once a month, just so your uterus doesn't get all the glory. Holocene on E. Burnside. Bring the extra singles left over from Sassy's to feed the photobooth.


Post sweat fest, jog across the river to neck snap (you should be good and warmed up from Rock Box, but a little precautionary stretching never hurt anyone) and arm pump to some the best delicacies P Land has to offer. The line-up is thick and juicy. Like a good tenderloin. Which, until Morning Star evolves exponentially, I'll know nothing about.


The Hip Hop Project



Fortunate to have peeped the premier at the Brooklyn Art Museum last summer. Not one to get touchy feely and shit, but let's just say that I had a snotty, tear-stained Kleenex in the pocket when I left. It was a youth-filled audience and since the release in NYC, I have been emailing back and forth with the good HHP folks about bringing the film to our fair city. I'll keep us posted...


PDX Files 2.0

TJ toes.

It was a term the crew invented to describe feet after a long night out at the clubs in Tijuana, Mexico. Hard to help it, really. Combine exposed toes with a city whose average temperature never drops below 83 degrees Fahrenheit with strappy, sexpot heels affordable and available at the plethora of cheap bodegas along the Pacific Beach strip with an open bar, watered down Tequila sunrises, Puff Daddy and The Family remixes, flashing, seizure-inducing light shows and a 5am last call with a half mile trudge through the border town's streets and it's not difficult to conjure up the visual.

Affectionate, I know.

With too many weekends spent on Revolution Street donning my chunky, brown, three-strapped London Undergrounds and doing the cabbage patch kid and my own awkward versions of private dancer and rhythm nation, I knew too well the true definition of TJ toes.

Apparently, the jealousy my hands harbored all these years at not being given equal opportunities to be covered with a thick layer of sludge refused to remain laconic any longer. The tides turned and showed its visage in the form of my beloved (just as Club Safari every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday, holler) Goodwill bins. Hi, my name is Sara and I am addicted to the bins. These magical warehouses overflowing with used, smudged, stained, torn and otherwise iconic clothing, accessories, shoes and any number of other wardrobe and apartment-fattening chatchkies from golden decades before my time have become my ultimate paramour.

The bins are where Goodwill dumps everything in their inventory deemed unfit to sell at their regular retail stores. It is the last stop before the thrift crematory. In their attempt to make the goods move quickly, the bins sell by the pound. By the pound people. $1.59 for 0 – 20lbs., $1.29 for 20 – 40lbs., etc. Don't test me. This shit is crucial. On any day, the bins are peppered with the city's trendy vintage boutique owners, EBay nerds hoping to make a quick buck and common, broke folk like yours truly. I show up each weekend, wide-eyed and foaming at the mouth in my consistent, frenzied quest to increase my 80's collection. Vintage satin and wool letterman's jackets (shut your face, I scooped an '82 MTV this morning), puffy crinoline empire-waisted tea length party dresses, patterned silk scarves, soft butter leather clutches, suede ankle boots, shelf bra swimsuits, acid-wash Lee Riders jeans and early 90's Fat Boys and Young MC 12" wax is one that would make the corner crackhead (shout out to Redd!) beam with pride. Unmotivated and sane I am not.

8:32am Saturday. I inhale lukewarm coffee and a gluten-free English muffin, pop the, "Def Cuts of the R" Rakim mixtape in and 13 short miles later, I have arrived. I'm on the hunt today dolo. Even my closest trilla boo Rae, wouldn't have the stamina necessary to deal with me. My mouth waters as I approach the first bin. Mounds of color, fabric and funk hit me. The latter makes my eyes tear up a little bit but it's worth it. I dive in elbow deep and start humming Tamia's, "I'm So Into You". I smile sweetly at the middle-age Russian woman digging on my right. Her basket is full of toddler ware and husband sweaters. Suddenly, the older, sprightly little woman to my left, wearing a fit only she could be proud of, pulls out a Louis Vitton handbag. She's beaming, exposing two toothless gaps and a banging gold front. Bring it bitch, it's on now. Adrenaline pumping, lip gloss shining, I dig on. I'm starting to sweat and my biceps are throbbing. Thank god for Shower Fresh Sure in solid stick form and the carbs from breakfast.

An hour and half, an elusive label, The Italian Mob red, cashmere, short-sleeved sweater appliquéd with a terry cloth two-tone pink flamingo, a tan Casablanca leather hooded jacket, a Rufus Thomas LP (Did You Heard Me? Stax Records 1972) in spit shiny condition and a Robbie Sport spring green pair of pocketed skorts, I'm starving, fatigued and high off endorphins from all my new threads. Skills. But the best part of course, the part that makes me pause mid-aisle, the part that will cause me to immediately head for the ladies room post pay and bag, is my "bin fingers". All ten digits look up at me through that all too familiar sludge. A proud, thin layer of grime, dirt, germs, dried boogers and trace particles of food and poo, no doubt.

Today, new memories have been formed, new fits were purchased for less than an Alberta St. Thai lunch special and a new joy has been extracted from my all-time favorite extra-curricular activity. Back up off me or I'll run my middle bin finger down your Wal-Mart hoodie.

Magazines are the new black.

Deeply concerned bridgetown comrads (all 7 of you):

March forth with confidence and head held high into either of the two centrally-located Rich's Cigar Stores. Preferably now and trilla, leave the pepper spray at the loft. Self-defense class is on Monday.

Rich's, the only bastion of bookstores/magazine stands left in town without their heads up their over-caffeinated asses, has stopped buying TRACE and frequently runs out of the three issues of MISSBEHAVE they carry. Is three still even regarded a number? Single digits were so last year.

I fiend for Forbes and The Equestrian Weekly just as much as the next diva but for the love of jesus people. You have wall space to spare. I've seen it. Bring TRACE back. Is it not enough we're forced to endure daily wide-legged courdoroys and UGGS sightings? Portland may be touted as the next great city in this country but when hand-crocheted hemp beanies still run wild and rampant on the streets, the necessity of style bibles like MISSBEHAVE and TRACE are beyond apparent.

Please Rich's. Do the educated bitches and the uncoordinated heifers alike a favor and accept your challenge.



PDX Files 1.0

Congratulations Mr. Good Sir Kezzle, from the bottom-most area of my hip hop loving heart.

So proud. If this was the musical, I'd be Tevye, simultaneously jumping from rooftop to rooftop, singing (somewhat off-key, albeit earnestly) praises of your new entrepreneurship.

Keeping 360 Vinyl, 12" wax and Couch St. between 2nd and 3rd Aves. alive and well.

Not a businessman, a business man.

The DJ KEZ airwave listening party can be heard Sunday nights 10pm - 12am PST on KBOO 90.7FM and in the flesh every Thursday evening at the Someday Lounge in Chi-town 10pm - 2am


Lipstick Diaries

25 tracks of acrylic finger-licking, bun-shaking, tittie-jiggling, neck-snapping, two-stepping hot butter on a platter.

Dimepiece, the don dada new threads operated south in La La land, have baked up a banger first entry mixtape. Kid Sister, Gina Turner, Lisa Money, Foxy Brown, DJ Elle, KP & Envy and DJ Rashida help round out the swingset.

Download the sucker.


Dimpiece Lipstick Diaries Entry 1

Dimepiece Lipstick Diaries Entry 1



Oh yes I did. Welcome to Trillville homeboy's and homegirl's!!! It's seriously about to get thick up in this piece. Give us a moment..I'm sure we'll be everything you dreamed of...♥