Clawhammer and Clothespin

I am growing old. Sam actually found a white hair attached to my scalp, like, the real thing. Grey hair. Horrible. And the thing is, I don't even feel like an adult yet. I mean, I have an adult job but I still rent (and have roommates), spend money haphazardly on rabbit-fur jackets, often drink more than a regulation glass of wine in an evening, eat cupcakes for dinner, and laugh at poop jokes.

So it's always kind of shock to me when my friends do adult things like open up a sweet vintage store with a gallery leaning, complete with art openings, bands, and the ability to take a credit card. But that's what happened. Margaux Rust and Lauryn Moore are the lovely proprietors of the relatively new Clawhammer and Clothespin, a well-planned shop with the right ratio of racks to floor space, curios, books, and men's and women's clothing. Clawhammer and Clothespin emerged from the duality of design and beauty, a philosophy you'll see in the clothing : no wolf sweatshirts and kitsch windbreakers, but a well-edited collection of classic clothing from a variety of eras. The shop is located on SE 36th and Division, open from Wednesday to Sunday, 11 to 7. I went home with a few treasures, Jocelyn scored an amazing pair of boots (having medium-small feet kills my vintage shoe luck), and they had some beautiful insect art by Claire Siepser up and a great band playing (I will someday provide the name of this band, but not today).

How to Pick Up Portland Girls

No, I have not jumped from the Good Ship Hetero. But I don't have any advice on picking up Portland boys and I am, above all other things, an observer. As an observer, I feel like I have witnessed my fair share of courtship in the wild and I feel like I can provide some really valuable pointers here. This is obviously not a comprehensive list, I imagine this to be an ongoing thing. I am compiling data. It's science.

Brooding and back from abroad: Yeah, this book that I'm reading is not an English book. It's actually a book written in Spanish. Yes. Yes, I read things in Spanish. I used to be a single-language person like yourself but then I went abroad. As in, I roamed another country on my motorcycle and used sign language and broken English to gather food, alcohol, and vague directions to tourist attractions. Yes, it was an amazing life-changing experience. My favorite memory? Oh, I don't know. There were so many. It was so wonderful and foreign. Why did I bring this book into a bar on a Friday night? Well, that's pretty obvious. To pick up girls.

Jukebox hero: What you choose on the jukebox is critical to the type of female you want to attract. If you are looking for slightly crazy and willing to shotgun a beer with you, then by all means play Holy Diver. If you are looking for classy with a slightly better record collection than yourself, I would go with some soul or perhaps something bluesy, Sam Cooke or The Animals. No Collective Soul or Live unless you are looking to reel in someone from Beaverton.

Moneybags: Seriously. Buy the lady a drink. I know this doesn't happen because everyone is unemployed and worse than that: cheap, but buying someone a drink is a nice thing to do and it means you get to talk to your victim for at least five minutes or so. Buying said drink may illicit a confused response but this is only because the lady in question has not had a drink purchased for her the entire time she has lived in Portland. In fact, the five minute rule probably doesn't even apply here. I wouldn't be surprised if she stayed by your side all night in the hopes of having yet another drink purchased for her. She would probably go home with you on principal. I don't know, I haven't seen it in practice because drink-buying chivalry is dead in this town.

New to Me

Whoa. Split Pea Vintage. Despite the American Apparel stylings (how awkwardly can I lean against this table? No, really, I'm super comfortable. Yes. Yes, I'm wearing mouse ears) this site has some gems. I just got a one-of-a-kind rabbit-paneled cotton jacket off here for a paltry sum. I'm usually not a fan of paying other people to find me cool clothing, but things are actually reasonable here and this jacket really was a gem. You'll see. And it's based in Canada. Canadians are so nice.

Neighborhood Favorites

I live in the King neighborhood in northeast Portland. I love it. It's quiet and there are harness hitches on the curbs, walking distance everything, MLK grime and noise a few blocks away for when I feel like riding the bus, Irving Park, Mississippi and Alberta shops and restaurants, and there is a great liquor store on Fremont and MLK with the bottles behind bars and these sassy older ladies that have no problem giving you a little friendly shit as you make your purchase.

Here is the synopsis from Wikipedia: King straddles Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard from Ainsworth Street to Fremont and is at one end of the Alberta Arts District, a commercial district where locally owned shops, galleries, and cafes have brought new life. Once predominantly black, the neighborhood has rapidly gentrified since the 1990s and attracted more young residents. Previously an area of high crime rates related to gang activity, poverty, and the crack epidemic of the 1980-1990s, King and other inner northeast neighborhoods have attracted buyers who could not afford housing in predominantly white areas.

Here are a few things I treasure in the neighborhood.

The view from my window.

Best creepy daycare sign ever.

I don't know the story behind these little plaster people. I do know that Huy and I were skating around one evening and we found them and were standing there laughing and a lady came out and was like, You gotta dollar? No? Well, pay up or keep on pushing.

The Fashion of Sasquatch

Okay, so I didn't do a great job with this. I had these grandiose schemes of taking a bunch of photos of people and jotting down their names and their favorite fruit or something but instead I frolicked around with loved ones, danced far too much, and didn't bring my camera charger.

I can tell you that headbands, face paint and feathers were huge. Seriously. The face paint thing was especially pervasive and probably the most awkward. It's one thing to add a little face flair to your howling wolf shirt, your jorts, your Sperrys and all those crazy pendants. In fact, it's kind of expected. But topping off your polo shirt-khaki pants-river sandals combo is a whole different ballgame. There was a lot of neon, a lot of capes, a lot of gold lame. See example below.


There were a lot of short-shorts. Apparently they are a right, not a privilege. I would say that the majority of people wearing short-shorts were female, but there were a lot of men who did not wish to be denied the caress of the breeze upon their thighs.


There was a lot of general spectacle. Sasquatch days are long days and most dress for function and comfort. However, a lot of people treat Sasquatch like an extended costume party. Like this guy. Note the face paint.


However, for every almost naked person (worst example was the girl storming around in a brown bikini and white athletic socks and running shoes) there was someone keeping things modest. Like the charming mom-butt ladies that set up in front of us for Camera Obscura. We were sitting, they were standing, we were laughing, they were toe tapping in oblivion.


Yes, those are homemade legwarmers held up by rubber bands. I don't know. But for every poor decision, there was someone running around looking adorable.


I wish I had more photos like that, but let's be honest, bad choices are funnier.