Sara Roth

Sometimes my job takes me to interesting places that I wouldn't otherwise go. I've been rock climbing, sat in a futuristic Japanese circulation machine and endured a traditional Native American sweat lodge. And a few weeks ago, I found myself in full stage makeup and underwear, surrounded by a dozen women, being photographed while lying on the roof of a purple muscle car.
Now, I'm not normally someone who would do this, but when I was offered the opportunity to participate in a “boudoir photography” session, I couldn't pass it up. It's the old Playboy excuse – now I'll be able to show my grandkids that I wasn't always a wrinkled curmudgeon.

Customers stopping into Pakit Liquidators this past weekend, hoping to quietly pick up a replacement door handle or storm window, got a surprise. Giant metal and, well, trash sculptures were displayed along Pakit's lawn and a purple hearse topped with a black ambulance siren welcomed customers and visitors. Inside Pakit, the near-eastside liquidator and all purpose secondhand/junk store, people of all ages and artistic abilities picked through piles of Pakit's inventory. But instead of a storm window, they were looking to find the perfect “finger” for a garbage gargoyle, or a wrench that best suggested a trumpet player's forearm.

Some athletes spend months or years training for one day of glory. In preparation for the Vancouver Olympics, skier Lindsey Vonn trained six to eight hours a day, six days a week, engaging in a mix of hardcore cardio and weight training.
My day of glory arrives this Friday, when I will join hundreds of brave souls as we jump into the icy waters of the Deschutes in the name of Special Olympics Oregon. Luckily, I am already in excellent physical condition. I can run nearly 3 miles without stopping, do a handstand for at least two seconds before falling over, and just last week, I ate half of a foot-long salami in one sitting. However, I have a weakness. Call it my Kryptonite. I loathe being cold.

One of the reasons I moved to Central Oregon from New York City was to incorporate nature into my life. I had come to terms with the fact that Central Park, Prospect Park and Washington Square Park (especially Washington Square Park) were not considered actual nature. So in that vein, I've decided to take on any opportunity to get outside and experience all of the unique outdoor activities available here.
Last week, I was invited to a traditional Native American sweat lodge that a friend built on his property east of Bend. Let me say that this is not something I would have ever done back East. I tried Bikram Yoga a few times and figured that was about as hot as I could handle (110 degrees, or hot as balls). However, two days prior had been The Source Weekly's holiday Christmas party and, needless to say, I needed to cleanse my body of some toxins.

One of the reasons I started snowboarding was that the clothes were way cooler. Growing up skiing with my dad in the early '90s, I witnessed an embarrassing number of ski-related fashion mishaps. My father would routinely rock the acid-washed jeans/suspenders/neon jacket/cowboy hat combo. Since most of the other skiers on the slopes seemed to follow in his fashion footsteps, I came to terms with the fact that there was no hope for me. Especially when I was forced to wear one of those fleece hats with streaming tassels on top, which served no purpose other than to whip me in the face when I turned.
Skiers seem to embrace bad fashion. It's like there's some kind of magic in the neon and mirror sunglasses. While snowboarding clothes have evolved with the times, going from baggy hip-hop wear to more hipster-inspired duds, ski fashion has lagged behind. Skiers singlehandedly introduced the world to neon and they've been having a tough time letting it die.

The first time I encountered the anonymous graffiti artist named Banksy was last summer in my then neighborhood of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He had graffitied a two-story-high piece on the side of a brick building, depicting a man using a remote control to force a giraffe to paint the word “VANDAL.” This piece, like so many of Banksys' and other famous graffiti artists' pieces, became a source of neighborhood pride. The image still remains today.
Here in Central Oregon, graffiti often evokes a much different reaction from the community. Graffiti artists are seen as nuisances as well as, well, vandals. Indeed, graffiti causes thousands of dollars of damage to public property every year in Bend. The most popular targets are rail cars, bridges and public buildings.