Grace Jones gets painted by Keith Haring — both are May babies, and creatures from a better planet who’ve blessed us with a spell here on Earth. Happy birthday.

Grace Jones gets painted by Keith Haring — both are May babies, and creatures from a better planet who’ve blessed us with a spell here on Earth. Happy birthday.


Antoine Dominique “Fats” Domino, Jr. was delivered this day 85 years prior in New Orleans’ Lower Ninth Ward by his grandmother, a practicing midwife. He’s since survived decades in the music industry, Hurricane Katrina and even a few cameos on Treme. Fats is a living legend and we feel lucky to breathe the same oxygen. Hats off, Fats.

Antoine Dominique “Fats” Domino, Jr. was delivered this day 85 years prior in New Orleans’ Lower Ninth Ward by his grandmother, a practicing midwife. He’s since survived decades in the music industry, Hurricane Katrina and even a few cameos on Treme. Fats is a living legend and we feel lucky to breathe the same oxygen. Hats off, Fats.


There are songs in the oeuvre of Nina Simone with the power to paralyze. It’s prudent to use some caution, plan ahead, before you listen. Just press play like this was some airy ‘entertainment’ and they can render you useless for the day. The rapturous redemption of My Sweet Lord could evoke the Ecstasy of Saint Theresa in the most diehard of agnostics. There’s that part on the studio version of What More Can I Say? when in the throes of a devastating falsetto she messes up a line, but thank heavens kept the take. And then the battle cry at the denouement of Four Women, a brutal invocation in song of four hundred years through the lives of four Black women — “My name is… Peaches.” The very incongruity of it, the unlikeliness that those four words could possess such power, only amplify its thunder. The song ends. And just try to go about your day after that one. “My name is Peaches,” like a lightning bolt through your spine, and you’re left to pick up the pieces. How to tend to the minutiae of a day after that one? But when the lights go out tonight, especially tonight, we’ll listen. Happy 80th birthday, High Priestess.

There are songs in the oeuvre of Nina Simone with the power to paralyze. It’s prudent to use some caution, plan ahead, before you listen. Just press play like this was some airy ‘entertainment’ and they can render you useless for the day. The rapturous redemption of My Sweet Lord could evoke the Ecstasy of Saint Theresa in the most diehard of agnostics. There’s that part on the studio version of What More Can I Say? when in the throes of a devastating falsetto she messes up a line, but thank heavens kept the take. And then the battle cry at the denouement of Four Women, a brutal invocation in song of four hundred years through the lives of four Black women — “My name is… Peaches.” The very incongruity of it, the unlikeliness that those four words could possess such power, only amplify its thunder. The song ends. And just try to go about your day after that one. “My name is Peaches,” like a lightning bolt through your spine, and you’re left to pick up the pieces. How to tend to the minutiae of a day after that one? But when the lights go out tonight, especially tonight, we’ll listen. Happy 80th birthday, High Priestess.








In honor of Ace Hotel Portland’s 6th birthday, which also happens to be the State of Oregon’s 154th birthday, we gathered up a few of our favorite old Portland buildings — some of which are now extinct. Last but not least, one building we were able to hang on to: the Clyde Hotel, now your friendly local Ace Hotel Portland, and Gloria’s too.

All photos via Dead Memories Portland except for the Clyde Hotel which is by Chris Clay

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In honor of Ace Hotel Portland’s 6th birthday, which also happens to be the State of Oregon’s 154th birthday, we gathered up a few of our favorite old Portland buildings — some of which are now extinct. Last but not least, one building we were able to hang on to: the Clyde Hotel, now your friendly local Ace Hotel Portland, and Gloria’s too.


All photos via Dead Memories Portland except for the Clyde Hotel which is by Chris Clay









William S. Burroughs with people. Happy birthday, Mr. Burroughs.

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William S. Burroughs with people. Happy birthday, Mr. Burroughs.


Today is our blog’s third birthday. And here, a retrospective of friends, family, strangers, idols, elves, angels, freaks, geeks and leaders of the new world in our photobooths, coast to coast, over the last few years.

Today is our blog’s third birthday. And here, a retrospective of friends, family, strangers, idols, elves, angels, freaks, geeks and leaders of the new world in our photobooths, coast to coast, over the last few years.


Behold Joan — today is her birthday. Here she is with Bob working something out. Take her lead and quick, for you only have a few days left to rewrite the Happy Birthday song, and history, in her honor. WFMU and the Free Music Archive are receiving entries through January 13 to topple this unsingable atrocity from the throne as a way to wish the Creative Commons a happy tenth and free us all from the tyranny of the copyright police (who charge a cool $10k for the song to appear in films and television). Please get Mooging, strumming and humming and show us what you’ve got. If you win, your brand new version of this underwhelming wart on American culture will be preserved forever in the cultural amber that is the Creative Commons. And you’ll get three cheers from the countless indie filmmakers who’ve had to cough up insane fees to do a cake scene. While, yes, this is a mild entry on the scale of injustices, who says your approach to the latter can’t be holistic? Once you’re world famous you can use your prominent stature to solve climate change and institute competitive origami as the standard global method of conflict resolution. Tally ho!

Behold Joan — today is her birthday. Here she is with Bob working something out. Take her lead and quick, for you only have a few days left to rewrite the Happy Birthday song, and history, in her honor. WFMU and the Free Music Archive are receiving entries through January 13 to topple this unsingable atrocity from the throne as a way to wish the Creative Commons a happy tenth and free us all from the tyranny of the copyright police (who charge a cool $10k for the song to appear in films and television). Please get Mooging, strumming and humming and show us what you’ve got. If you win, your brand new version of this underwhelming wart on American culture will be preserved forever in the cultural amber that is the Creative Commons. And you’ll get three cheers from the countless indie filmmakers who’ve had to cough up insane fees to do a cake scene. While, yes, this is a mild entry on the scale of injustices, who says your approach to the latter can’t be holistic? Once you’re world famous you can use your prominent stature to solve climate change and institute competitive origami as the standard global method of conflict resolution. Tally ho!


Happy birthday, Zora.

Happy birthday, Zora.


Happy birthday, Marina, goddess of engagement.

Happy birthday, Marina, goddess of engagement.


Let it go. Let it happen, let it happen.


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