I should clarify that I am not yet cool enough to Twitter. The texts started hitting my backyard barbeque around nine, their pattern of arrival arranging my friends and I along a hipness ranking system. (Katelyn got two, and got hers first, for those of you who are keeping score) Midnight free show? Sick. Pioneer Square, Portland's living room? Nice. Dave Chappelle? I'm listening...
So like all good scenesters, we go, and I'm not shocked to find the Square packed to the gills in skaters, stoners and the rest of Portland's wacky twenty-something rainbow. There's people sitting on top of Starbucks, wedged up in high places. But there's no Dave Chappelle. There's also no sound system set up. Curious...
He turns up an hour late and we're stoked. But for a rabid audience of about 3,000, this
is what we had to hear him through. An adorable little amp on it's lonesome.
So what I ended up hearing, on his occasional forays to my side of the stage, was this:
"...the police want us to disperse..."
"...I thought I'd come through Portland..."
"...just want to make sure everyone is safe. Get home SAFE..."
I laughed like a hyena at every line. White people love Dave Chappelle.
Eventually three brave, pasty souls started stripping on the roof of the Starbucks. It was the entertainment highlight of the night. Even Dave was staring. It was something the entire crowd could share in:
For the record, the motives behind the "event" were cool. I guess Dave just posted up in front of Chipotle and 24 Fitness (corporate much, Dave?) and started telling randoms to come watch him tell jokes at Pioneer Square at midnight. He was totally event permitless and was shocked at the response, which indicates to me that he's been living under a rock for the past ten years.
Cause let's face it Dave. White people love you. And Twitter. Let us celebrate the age of "social media networking," shall we?
Celebrating you and yours,
CD
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