Keep Portland Weird!

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

I read in the Sunday LA Time last week that Portland, Oregon is the most eccentric city in the land. I only know you there and already I'm convinced they're right.

11:34 PM

Sam left me that comment the other day. SAM...the one who has an unhealthy obsession with goats, but is a delightful volcano builder. We have a volcano up here, you know. Anyway, at first I was all, 'whatevs'. I mean, if you've ever been to LA, you'd know that people STILL rollerblade mostly naked there. And yet Portland is the eccentric one? Harumph.

But then I thought about it some more. I thought about the Volvo with the "Buy Local" sticker on it...the NAU store with their "environmental" clothing being sold for hundreds in the haughty Pearl District, the guy crossing the street that one time wearing Danskos and a cowboy hat. And then I went to Powell's to look for a book that the website said was there but it wasn't (god I hate that fucking labyrinth) and there was a car parked outside with this sticker upon it...it looked a little like this:

photo courtesy of portlandground.com

You have to muck through the visual assault that IS this person's anti-war stance, but I'm fairly certain you'll find it there in the lower right corner. Those bumper stickers are everywhere here. They sell them at Music Millenium (local High Fidelityesque music store) and you can't really count to 10 without seeing one stuck somewhere. And I guess I can see why. This can be a wacky place. I just didn't realize it was any more or less wacky than any other place (hello, New Orleans). Though the Zoo Bombers do instill some civic pride. Those crazy fuckers are cool.

After some masterful googling, I found the article Sam was referring to. Here it is. Read it if you must. And by "must" I mean are considering a jaunt to the grand Northwest or you have nothing better to do and your life is empty. But let me just warn you here...any of you fuckers consider a move that results in jacking up the house prices (Californians...I'm fucking talking to you) that are already threatening to keep me a renter til I've lost all my own natural teeth, I will tear your balls off. Even if you don't sport the man berries, I'll get them installed and then tear them off.
(current Californians that are already here and are personal and accepted acquaintances of mine may disregard disclaimer)

I will say this about the article. This is far from my favorite city in the world, but it's got some kick ass shit about it and NONE of it was mentioned in that article. He didn't even venture to the East side (S.E. RULES). So if you DO read his ramblings and think 'huh, Portland sounds like some place I'd like to visit'...read on before calling your travel agent.

There is only one decent guide to Portland out there in literary land. It is Fugitives and Refugees by Chuck Palahniuk. Not only is it the best guide there is to Portland, with the exception of the inclusion of the 24-Hour Church of Elvis, which is no longer there...it's written by the author of Fight Club...which rocks my socks off. But don't try to fucking find it at Powell's.


Word.

**update**: It is sheep that Sam is strangely drawn to in a literary sense...sheep. It is also very obvious that I am in some serious need of coffee. Which makes it all the more tragic that I don't drink coffee.

Three (Well...Fourish) Things Of Note

We took a break from loading the car for a moment to have a Rolling Rock on the front porch. It was 80 degrees yesterday and there were people to watch. Oregonians dressing for warm weather are often humorous to behold. Anyway, I glanced to the right of me and noticed a oldish Volvo station wagon parked nearby. And I cracked up. For, like, a full minute. There was a bumper sticker over the insignia that said "Buy Local". I know.

We didn't get home until 9ish, but not before stopping to buy a take 'n bake pizza (taco pizza, hello 8th grade). We got busy putting up curtains and the like so when it was done we realized there was suddenly nothing to eat it on. I opened up the dishwasher filled with dirty dishes and took out two plates. Hand washed them. And set the table (2 TV trays). What's the point of this vignette? Remember how excited I was about the dishwasher? Still hand washing. Blurgh.

Thirdly (yes, it is a word, suck it)...I may or may not have told you all long ago that I had broken up with the Belmont bus line number 15. Well...today I had to swallow my cud and make niceys. I live directly on the line now...and I hadn't moved my bike yet. So until I do...the bus I must take. But I don't have to like it. Maybe couple's counseling.

We had a debate the other day(ages ago), here in the office about what playing Voldemort will do to Ralph Fiennes' hotness. I maintain that any future fantasizing will be hindered by his lack of nose. For those who live in caves and don't know who he is...see below:

hot

not hot

A coworker came up with this...he thinks it will help. I give you...Mixed hotness.

You be the judge.

Trimet

Ahh, the wonderful world of public transport. Supposedly each bus is keeping 245 cars off the road or some such nonsense. I don't buy it...too many people are afraid of the crazies to deal with public transport. And too many people like their small man complex SUVs to even want to have to TRY to deal with public transport...high gas prices be damned. I saw a guy on the local news once that said, "Hey, as long as I can afford the gas, why shouldn't I get to drive as big a car as I want?". That guy is missing the bigger picture, and probably a good portion of the average person's brain mass designated to the use of common sense. Selfish American.

However, for all my self-righteous brouhaha, I got really angry at the public transit system this morning. Almost enough to go get my non-fuel effiecient, non-emissions tested, hippie Volvo and drive it the mile and a half into the city and use my lunch money for parking. But I didn't. Why this urge to move to the dark side? Oh god, I just made a Star Wars reference. The freaking bus left me. Was I late to the bus stop? No. Was I hiding behind a tree? No. Was the bus driver just an asshole. YES. So he passes me and stops at a red light. I figure, I can make it, and try to run to the next stop before the light changes. Right before I get there the light changes and the asshole roars off. Where the hell does he have to be? Is it urgent that he get to the end of his route so that he can turn around and come back in time to pass all his other stops early to screw over the afternoon riders? Is this what shall be forever known as bus driver's glee? The definition being the act of bus stop assholishness?

Now with all the drama going on in the world currently, do I have any right to be so TO'd? Oh god, a Napoleon Dynamite reference. The answer my friends, is yes, I flippin' do. Why is that? Because I'm taking nasty ass public transport with the crazies and the smellies, and the seats covered in questionable substances and the old lady with the rolling cart and the white dreadlocks so high I'm convinced there are birds nesting somewhere within. She must ride the bus 20 times in a day, back and forth aross the bridge, and she's ruining my life! Displacement? Maybe.