Overall, it was a terribly entertaining evening. The show for Richard Cheese was out at the New Phoenix Casino in La Center, Washington. For those of you not familiar with the Portland Metro Area, it’s about a half hour north and not really close enough to be considered a suburb. Denise and I arrived to discover the casino was filled to capacity, there was a line outside the front door of people waiting for entry, and it was *really* cold out.

We waited for a while. Lots of jokes about Dick Cheese being able to sell out a free show at a tiny casino in the middle of nowhere. Denise gave me a quarter to go to the front of the line to see if there was any chance of getting in. No definitive answer. Another quarter to check the side door to see if we could get in that way. The door was locked, but I ran into a couple of management guys and tried to persuade them to let us in. No dice, although I got an extra quarter for my efforts.

One of the gals waiting in line with us talked with the casino host who had come out to survey the line of waiting people and convinced him to let her inside to the restaurant so she could order something (and hopefully hear the show). He asked how many people were in her party, and four of us chimed in to say that we were with her and her date. We were immediately escorted inside against the loud protests of the poor schmucks who didn’t speak up quickly enough. From inside the restaurant, we watched the numbers thin outside as some bailed and a few folks at the front of the line were let in. Eventually they let everyone in, but we were grateful that we got to wait indoors for the show to start.

All of us picked up drinks in the restaurant then scooted out into the crowded lounge. We wound up in a less populated area near the security desk and the side entrance. This was fortunate because a police officer came in and started ranting to casino security that he wanted to have all of the cars moved from the street behind the casino where the police station is located or he was going to start towing. My car was parked there, so I headed out to move my vehicle, relocating it to a safer spot near the post office and city hall. SMALL town — happy I was able to move the car before it got towed.

Upon my return the show was about to start. Denise and I found a spot with an excellent view while Richard worked the crowd and serenaded us with lounge renditions of everything from Baby Got Back to Down With The Sickness. Absolutely hysterical in a very twisted sort of way. The gal who got us in the door was a fixture in the groupie section in front of the stage. RC made a shameless plug for his CD, Tuxicity, offering it for $15 to the general public and $13 to any women who wanted to sleep with him after the show. RC began circulating one signup sheet for his mailing list, and a second sheet for women willing to sleep with him.

At this point I must digress and explain how I wound up at the show in the first place. About a year ago I was looking in Google for a specific quotation attributed to Chris Isaak when I came across a holiday letter from Mark Jonathan Davis, also known as Richard Cheese. In the August highlight Mark offers to tell the joke Chris Isaak told at lunch during the shoot of the Please music video where Mark was working as an extra. Intrigued, I dropped him a line asking about the joke. This led to a random email flirtation that stretched out over several months and included a suggestion by Mark that Chris should play at our wedding since we’re both such huge fans. He never told me the joke. I wound up on the mailing list for Lounge Against the Machine and when the tour date near Portland was announced I decided it would be fun to go.

Fast forward to tonight’s show… When the sheet for women who wanted to sleep with him was going around, I asked for it to be passed to me. (Yes, this garnered a collection of surprised stares.) I scribbled on it, “Are you finally going to tell me that Chris Isaak joke?”, signed my initials, and sent it on. It amused me to watch people read it as it circulated through the audience, although I doubted it would get back to Mark.

As RC he definitely knows how to schmooze, and is completely unapologetic about asking women to sleep with him. At the end of the set he sang The Monster Mash as a nod to all of those who had shown up in costume before announcing he was going to sing one last song and head backstage for a hand job. Smarmy is his middle name.

After the show the crowd gathered to get their swag signed while a gal wearing a low cut top distributed bumper stickers for the radio personality who hosted the show. I sidled up next to Mark and whispered in his ear, “Are you finally going to tell me that Chris Isaak joke?” This stopped him dead in his tracks, and he turned to me with a hearty “Hi!” and a grin of recognition. I scored an autographed CD and a photo with Richard  before Denise and I headed home, not bothering to detour through the Red Lion, room 506.

Postscript: I had no idea at the time that I had inadvertently attended a Rick Emerson Listener Party. My future husband, Aaron, was also at the same party, although we did not meet until several months later. A radio staff photographer snapped a picture where he was in the foreground and I was in the background. This photo is unfortunately lost to history.

Sock monkeys. Stairway with a handrail constructed of crutches. Globes lining the staircase. A workshop to drool over. Charming cats. A well hung wood carving guarding the front door. Knicknacks, collectibles, fabulous photographs, and fabled artwork everywhere you look, all with a story behind it.
Welcome to the House of Mary Catherine.
MC and I used to work down the hall from each other at the Chip. In short, we’ve seen the pits of hell together. Her artwork is incredible, and her ability to copy edit a happy hour menu at twenty paces is legendary.
The infamous “palace” has been featured on Oregon Artbeat and in the Portland Tribune, as well as an article scheduled for this winter in Budget Living Magazine. MC needed some help with her computer, and I jumped at the invitation for lunch and a tour in exchange for some tutoring.
The house exceeded all of my expectations for kitchiness and camp, and my photos don’t even begin to do it justice.