There Will Be Pie

One of my favorite holiday memories is from Thanksgiving 1995, the year I lived in Sequim, Washington...


“God I hate this shit. Look at it, where is the charm? Where’s the artistry?” My father watches the television in disgust as a giant Sonic the Hedgehog balloon floats through New York City.

“There you go, you see that? That’s what I like, good ‘ol Charlie Brown. See the difference girls?”

The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade continues on TV, but my father has returned his attention to the bird in the oven.
“Christ, it’s just burning up! There’s no juice in these damn Butterball birds!” The turkey was donated to our family by the Seventh Day Adventist Church of Port Angeles, whom my father had lied to four months ago, convincing them that we were avid “Adventists” in order to milk them for freebies. He’d already burned bridges with the Catholics and Protestants, but he considered the Adventists to be his kind of people-- after all, even they knew Sunday is a perfect day for sleeping in. He was able to use his health problems as an excuse to not have to attend the Saturday services, but assured them he practiced the faith at home.

Missing Link

For a school assignment a few months ago I was told to write a profile on a stranger. I interviewed Nick, a long time skate buddy of my friend Jeff. Multiple times throughout the evening he caught me writing down his conversations in my notebook, and would stop mid sentence to ask me if he "sounded like an idiot." While many of the quotes I got from him were somewhat ludicrous and perfect for poking fun at him, it was a feigned ignorance on his part. Beneath his purposefully "dude-ish" surface he was actually one of the more brilliant people I've had the pleasure of interviewing in my life, along with his quick-witted girlfriend. Thanks Nick and Erin, you guys are amazing.

Missing Link: Girlfriend's, Weiner Dogs, and the Hidden Side of Nicholas Hyde

The door opens and Nick is standing there in gray sweats and a U of O sweatshirt with his hood pulled over his head, black leather slippers, and a can of cheap beer in one hand, but in his other arm he is cradling a little Weiner dog dressed in a faux fur purple zebra striped button coat. Our common thread Jeff—Nick’s skate buddy, my coworker-- gives out introductions, then Nick introduces his small pal: Link. “Girlfriend’s dog?” I ask, eying the blonde girl behind him in the kitchen. “No, he’s mine.”

Through the Eyes of a Cupcake

I once was voted "Most Likely to Succeed". Yep, 14 of my 24 fellow 8th graders at Cornville Elementary School thought that I, Devan Cook, was gonna be somebody. My teachers believed in me, too. Well, most of them. Mrs. Nelson, my kindergarten teacher, called up my mother one time to express concern about my learning abilities. She thought that I might need to be sent to the school where "special" kids go, as I was having difficulty cutting with scissors. This was when Mrs. Nelson learned I was left handed, unlike the pair she had tried to shove into my non-dominant paw.
Kindergarten teachers aside, the opinion was unanimous: I was gonna be the biggest claim to fame Cornville School had since Deborah Walley (best known for playing Gidget in the film Gidget Goes Hawaiian) directed our Christmas play.

The Tragic Gardens (the story of a stripper named Hope)

My whole life I’d never had any desire whatsoever to go to a strip club, and I told my friends’ this on many occasions. I said the whole thing just seemed very depressing. But one year on my birthday they absolutely insisted. They said the fact that I was turning 22 and hadn’t been to one before was "tragic." Nevertheless, it was my birthday, which meant I would never get what I wanted, so we ended up at a small club called Magic Gardens at 5:45 in the afternoon.

Portland has the highest number of strip clubs per capita in the world*, so it is known for having some of the most unique establishments, such as Acropolis where one can order a fine steak dinner while taking in the performance, and the Dancing Bare which has an illuminated sign with a picture of a bear crossed out, and a naked lady circled next to it, so as to avoid any confusion. Magic Gardens’ “thing” is that it boasts an impressive jukebox and the strippers get to pick their songs off it before they dance. My friends like to go there because instead of your typical “Cherry Pie” and “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” the strippers are more likely to choose some underground 80’s tracks or Pavement.