The city of Portland, years back, decided to revive this part of the city by gussying up the street signs. To each, they added the header, "Avenue of Roses." The attempt to spruce up the joint didn't work. Everyone's still got an 82nd horror story. Me? I was accosted at a bus stop by what may well have been a transgendered prostitute at one in the morning in January. But I digress.

Milepost 5 is the name of a new artist community that has sprang up on – you guessed it – northeast 82nd Avenue. That's right, near the Max station and the Taco Time, right next to the frighteningly named Hawker's Locker. The community resides in two large buildings; one looks almost like a greenhouse with its huge windows, and the other is a giant brick monolith that suggests, “mental institution.” The first houses a bunch of cheap condos (How cheap? See the interview for more), while the creepy peripheral building (which used to be a nursing home – eek!) contains the "artist rooms," which are walk-in galleries that its members individually curate.

After entering the bricker, I stumbled upon a hallway assembled entirely out of cardboard boxes. It was long, and walking through it, I had to duck twice. At the halfway point, I got an overwhelming premonition that I didn't belong there. I hadn't felt that way since the time I wandered into the basement of Hippo Hardware. I turned around and left the corrugated canopy on the double. I decided then to go to where I had seen people walking earlier.

On this, the art area's opening week, the festivities were going to be kicked off with performances by several local bands. Reasoning that the Lord had no place in art, MP5 had gutted the chapel, arguably the creepiest part of the former nursing home. Afterward, the pews could be found strewn about in the courtyard in a pattern that seemed to be purely accidental. The altar was replaced by a pretty serious lighting rig, so one can expect to see many more shows here in the future.

As for the art itself, the sheer number of pieces was overwhelming and somewhat daunting. It took stamina to check out every single room, each with new art to offer, in a facility that used to house hundreds of old folks. Lucky for you, the reader, the Rearguard exists to save you some time.

A few rooms stood above the rest. Some offered mechanical contraptions such as a "meditation machine," a gyrating column of light and translucent fabric that welcomed viewers to strap on a pair of headphones and meditate. One room brought old cartoons to life with a bedroom scene that was entirely upside-down: a bed, dresser, even a nightstand with an ashtray and a glass of water were held in suspended animation. Another room held an array of hand-built, childlike visions of monstrous sci-fi supercomputers, very reminiscent of Calvin and Hobbes’ “transmogrifier” machine. Yet another room featured a BB gun shooting gallery where the patron was invited to load up and take shots at some of the world's worst celebrities.

When I was ready to leave, I stopped by the room where visitors were instructed to draw something, hang it on the wall, and then to take someone else's drawing. I did. I wanted to leave my mark in the place after taking it in as a whole. I had seen every last bit of art that Milepost 5, and ultimately, 82nd Avenue had to offer. 122nd is the next 82nd. I'm calling it.