The unofficial caretaker of Portland's oldest and largest pioneer cemetery is a young guy named Frank Schaefer whose hair is bleached blond, whose nose sports a thin silver ring nose and whose license plate reads "SHRIEK". That license plate, by the way, is attached to the back of a vintage hearse whose backseats are currently full of zombie baby mannequins.

"People are afraid of cemeteries because they're full of death, but look, there's trees in bloom. There's birds and bees," says Schaefer, gesturing the the red and yellow leaves covering Southeast Portland's Lone Fir Cemetery on a crisp Saturday morning. Though Schaefer spends his free time poring over files stuffed with death records and newspaper clippings, this morning he turned up at Lone Fir to lead a dress rehearsal for the graveyard's busiest night of the year: Halloween. Nealy 1,000 Portlanders lined up outside Lone Fir's chain link fence last Halloween to take the bloody-but-educational Tour of Untimely Departures. This year, Schaefer's thinking big. Instead of just one tour, two tours will head in opposite directions, each stopping at a mix of historically-relevant and satisfyingly gory graves. Lone Fir houses the bones of some of Portland's most well-known founders, as well as dozens of unmarked graves whose residents who remain nameless both in death and in the history books.

"It's pretty gnarly to hear the story. There were apparently body parts all over the docks," says Schaefer, stopping at the grave of the creators of Lone Fir, James and Elizabeth Stephens. The couple, who ran ferry service across the Willamette back in the 1830s and 40s, owned a giant eastside farm (stretching from the river to SE 28th and Stark to Division) and turned a few acres into the graveyard after the tragic steamboat accident Schaefer described. The couple stare out at cemetery-goers from their tombstone, facing the tall fir tree for which the cemetery is named. The back of their stone is carved with a poetic but chilling paragraph: "Here we lie by consent after 57 years, 2 months and 2 days sojourning through life awaiting nature's immature laws to return us back to the elements of the universe of which we were composed."

• Frank Schaefer and the founders of Lone Fir.

Nearby, a white stone obelisk rises to honor Dr. Hawthorne, who ran an insane asylum on the site of the current southeast Lucky Lab back in the 1800s. Though he was renowned for taking good care of his patients, according to Schaefer, who combed newspaper archives for information about the doctor, the patients' families did not always give them too much thought. When families would not claim their bodies, Hawthorne buried 132 of his patients in the cemetery on his own dime. No one knows exactly where the 132 forgotten souls are buried, but Schaefer believes some were entombed in what's known as "Block 14"—the southeast corner of the cemetery where the unmarked graves of Chinese railroad workers also lie.

So did you know that tomorrow marks exactly 38 years and 11 months since someone set off a bomb in Portland City Hall? True!

Here's how Wikipedia tells the tale:

In the early morning hours of November 21, 1970, a dynamite fueled bomb exploded underneath the portico, doing $170,000 in damage. Though no one was injured, windows were blown out, the Council Chamber (located above the blast) was damaged, all of the columns of the portico were damaged and replaced, and the Liberty Bell replica was a complete loss. A new bell was purchased for $8,000 and later moved to Terry Schrunk Plaza. No one was ever arrested or claimed responsibility for the bombing.

The city archives even has this crazy photo of the so-called "Liberty Bell Bombing."

• City Hall Under Attack!

And 38 years and 11 months later, the bomber is still out there. No arrests were ever made, despite spying and investigation by a secret police squad. Who could it be?!

OMG. What's the weirdest part of this updated Oregonian story about the Portland stabber (that we briefly mentioned in Good Morning News a couple of days ago):

• 1. That it is about Mr. Fite stabbing his ex-girlfriend's betta fish, DeLorean, in a jealous rage?


• 2. That he told police "If she can't have me, then she can't have the fish?"
  
• 3. That the ex-girlfriend didn't show up for his court hearing, but requested that the man pay for a memorial tattoo of the fish?


• 4. That The Oregonian calls him a "hipster" in the headline?

Have we finally found the definition of "hipster?" Does it mean "fish-stabber?"

Fite's attorney said that stabbing the fish was “a very low point” in his client’s life, and that Fite is "absolutely mortified and ashamed about what he did to the fish."

This was a very low point, but not the lowest. Rumor has it that Jeremy Fite once dated a marine biologist and karate-chopped a shark when she broke up with him. Fish beware!

(Thanks to Natasha Stoudt for the link)

Tomorrow marks the grand opening of another shopping option that addresses These Tough Times, the Foster Indy Mart at 7916 SE Foster Rd. The "community based shopping" experience is meant to connect shoppers with great value on goods and services while generating income for its un- or under-employed vendors. Looks worth checking out:

When North Carolinian Ben Aubin moved to the West Coast last summer and bought a short schoolbus for $1000 off Craiglist, his plan was to park the bus in Portland and turn it into his home. But when he got to our town and found out it's illegal to park the bus on public streets for days at a time... well, then he was stuck with a bus. Just after Labor Day he got a new idea: turn the bus into Portland's first free store. Now the free store is up and running in a food cart lot on SE 11th and Clay and because the bus gets six miles a gallon, it's probably staying there for the time being. But what remains to be seen is whether Aubin can actually make a living running the entirely-free operation.

"I really wanted to see what kind of free culture existed. Back in North Carolina, I was living what is called the 'freegan lifestyle,'" says Aubin, explaining why he decided to head west six months ago. "I've never seen a city where there's so many things for free, all these freeboxes out on the street." Aubin hopes that people will stop by the colorfully-painted shortbus to drop off items and pick up whatever they want, too.

• Creepy dolls? Red lampshade? Yours for free!

"Many businesses feel that because it's a free business, then our clientele would be low income people who wouldn't patronize them anyway," says Aubin, who estimates he needs about $4000 a month to pay rent on the Free Store's parking spot and keep its fleet of messengers in business. Right now, five bike messengers are delivering for the store, two of them as their only job. Aubin is also asking people to become "Rainmakers" who donate $10 to the store each month. Since the store opened a month ago, 15 people have signed up as Rainmakers. "The free stores I've heard of running on nonprofit models don't last more than six months," says Aubin.

The small bus is packed with an eclectic mix of items. Women's clothes line one wall and assorted dishes cover a table in back, right next to a large and mysterious machine apparently used to enlarge small images. Next to a bookshelf containing worn copies of John Grisham and Twilight, a VHS rack holds a Madonna's Immaculate Collection, The Best of Elmo and a video about Yiddish. Aubin picks over all donations and sends the items he thinks won't "sell" over to Goodwill.

• Harry the hot dog vending propert manager (left) and former Freegan Ben Aubin outside the Free Store.

The property manager, a man named Harry who sells hot dogs from his stand next to the bus, is surprisingly enthusiastic about the store. "This cat is actually giving away stuff for free! And I'm talking about good stuff!" says Harry, who invited the free store to rent part of the lot despite some initial skepticism, "People think if it's free, you're gonna get poor people coming by. But no! You get all kinds of people."

Between 20-50 have stopped by the store every day so far, 90 percent of them women, according to Aubin. This Saturday the store is hosting a grand opening party, with Ninkasi kegs and DJs from 7-11pm at its home on SE 11th and Clay. Check out the free store website to request items for yourself.

That's right, no fresh hamburgers in the Coliseum. There's no venting system to the area outside the bowl, so that means no heating, A/C or set-ups to cook food. I learned this and nine other curious facts when I tagged along on the Rose Quarter Development citizen advisory group tour of the historic building yesterday morning:

• Mayoral spokesman Roy Kaufmann covets the MC's fountain.

Photosynthesis has a new best friend.

• McDonald's wrappers, now denser than ever

Funding for the garbage cans of tomorrow comes mostly from private businesses, but also quasi-public groups like the Oregon Zoo and Portland General Electric.

From the most recent press release:
"The Portland Business Alliance facilitates the donation of BigBelly units to the City of Portland. Once the units are installed, the city maintains them. The units will help [the] city cut back on trash pickup and prevent overflow of waste. These effects also lead to better air quality for the city; if all trash cans were converted to BigBelly units, the city could reduce CO2 emissions by at least 25,000 pounds per year."

As far as I can tell, there's nothing stopping an individual from sponsoring one either. All it takes is a donation of $3,975 (tax deductible, of course). Plus, you get to adorn the can with the logo of a non-profit of choice, your favorite generic Portland streetscape, and your very own personal icon! I mean, can you think of a better place than the side of a trash can to proudly display your company name??!! I sure can't.

If you are eager to incorporate futuristic waste-condensation into your daily routine, the press release also lists the locations of the newest garbage-stomping receptacles. 15 more are slated for November installation.

With an email from CoffeehouseNW barista Tim Roth. Personally I don't see what Roth's problem is. We paid for our double-tall-mochalattos. We should have gotten them exactly the way we wanted them and the barista should have known. We shouldn't have to talk to him. Also, what's wrong with writing a friendly note? After all, that's the Portland standard.

I was just at the Verizon Wireless store downtown, which I find to be a depressing place because it's where I learn the cold, hard facts about the embarrassing number of text messages I send (319, somehow, in August). But as I was waiting for my turn at the counter, numbly reading the backs of Blackberry boxes, in walked none other than Mr. Balloons!

"Hi Steve," said the Verizon clerk.
"You can call me Mr. Balloons!" said Mr. Balloons. He had a large black bag full of thin balloons and a large black cape and large black top hat. Mr. Balloons, like us mortals, had to pay his cell phone bill. But unlike us, he could twist balloon animals while he waited. He's offered up balloon animals to the children at various outdoor festivals around town this summer. Maybe you've seen him.

• This is one of the best photos I've ever taken.

"What the kind of balloon do people want most?" I asked.
"Swords. Everybody wants a sword," said Mr. Balloons, twisting me an orange flower.
"What's the most popular animal?" I asked.
"Dragons. Dragons are a three balloon deal. They're big," said Mr. Balloons. "But I don't do them except for tips. Not unless the person tips $5 or more."
"I understand that, using three balloons must cost you more," I affirmed.
"How did you know I use three balloons?" asked Mr. Balloons, suspiciously.
"You just said it," I replied.
"Hm..." replied Mr. Balloons. He started twisting a poodle on a leash for the Verizon clerk.

"Thanks," said the Verizon clerk, handing the small pink poodle off to the manager. "Take this poodle on a leash for a walk."
"I'll need to bring along a plastic bag," joked the manager. THANKS MR. BALLOONS!!

Another day, another unexpected celebrity death. Yesterday at 2PM, the Prince of the Zoo fell to his death, perhaps after a heart attack or stroke. I thought the Prince of the Zoo was Metro Chair David Bragdon, but, no, an in-depth Oregonian feature reveals it was a chimpanzee named Charlie.

• Charlie during happier times.

As an infant, Charlie was nearly killed as part of the bushmeat trade in Africa. He came to the United States as a pet and was given to the zoo in May of 1972.

Dave Thomas, senior primate keeper at the zoo and one of Charlie's original caretakers, described the charismatic 39-year-old, 160-pound chimp as the "Prince of the Zoo," a title bestowed on him by zoo veterinarian Mitch Finnegan.

"We thought we'd have another 20 years," Thomas said. "It's the end of an era, and the zoo will never be the same. We have to go on though — to provide care and support for our remaining females: Delilah, Leah, Coco and Chloe."

Finally, something to celebrate at TriMet! After 12 months of cutting bus lines, axing buses from Fareless Square and raising ticket prices, TriMet staffers and transit bigwigs alike got totally drunk downtown last night to celebrate a major success: the opening of the Green Line MAX to Clackamas.

The minute I walked in the door of TriMet's posh party (held at The Original: A Dinerant), someone handed me a strand of mardi gras beads attached to a flashing green pendant reading, "Green Means Go." Before I could even get the prize necklace over my head, a woman with a Columbia River Crossing nametag merrily recommended I try the a "Green Dragon" martini. Obviously, this was going to be a party like no other.

It wasn't just me and the CRC staff mending bridges over martinis last night. The Green Line has been more than 30 years in the making and its completion is cause for backslapping among transportation groups that don't always get along. ODOT, PDOT, CRC, BTA, FTA, people were mixing at the party regardless of acronym.

The Green Dragon, the bartender informed me, was cucumber infused vodka with mint and something something else I couldn't hear because over the music. But I had spotted Mayor Sam Adams sipping one and because it was an open bar, I tried one, too. Drinking the strong not-quite-enjoyable concoction I turned to talk to TriMet spokeswoman Mary Fetsch and the Bicycle Transportation Alliance's Michelle Poyourow, but a waitress whisked by with another strange offer. "Foie gras fig newton?" she asked, lowering her tray of sliced figs on gray duck liver patties.

By the time the celebratory speechmaking was over and Fetsch was starting to get her groove on, dancing around the Dineraunt, I was starting to seriously question whether the TriMet staffers would be alert, awake and enthusiastic for the 8:30 AM Green Line opening celebration at Clackamas Town Center.

• Mary Fetsch and Michelle Poyourow flash the green.