I have been toying with the idea of continuing this blog even though my travels have finally come to a close. My wife thinks it's a good idea and, after these many years together, one thing has remained constant and true above all other things: she is much smarter than I am.
Sooo yeah... Here I am again. With more to tell, apparently. Newer and improved. B.L.O.G. v 2.0-and-a-half. Let's see where we are now, yes?
We are... unhomed. I know that's not really a word. The red dotted line that sits underneath that word while I type this- silently mocking me like the Big Brother of the editing world, haunting me so that I might never stray towards the Carrollesque- tells me so. But, unfortunately, that's the most appropriate word I can think of to describe my current situation.
We're staying with some friends while we hunt the elusive prey known as (pause for dramatic effect) ... the Perfect Apartment. The Perfect Apartment is a wily beast. It sits just over the horizon from the last domicile you looked at. Its haunting melody tugs at you while you are at an apartment and taking that moment to decide whether or not you could a) stand to live there and/or b) fit all your stuff into it. It's a mean bitch. And it doesn't take dogs.
Meanwhile, Lupe and I have had a wondrous reception from everyone. Last week was Lupe's [edited due to content] birthday! Wow, I can't believe she's [edited due to content] now. Time sure does fly. Why, just 8 years ago, she was only [edited due to content. Has this joke been stretched far enough yet?]. Needless to say, we had a great time. Some of you were there, so you know. Others weren't and that's okay, too. We'll just remember that when your birthday comes around. Mayyyyybe we'll be washing our hair that night. Just sayin'.
No, but seriously folks. We've been trying to re-acclimate ourselves to normal life. Lupe's gone back to work. We've been shopping for new clothes as we have already burned most of our travel threads in effigy. I went and visited the Stumptown Comics Fest today and saw some familiar faces which is always nice... and a reminder of just how small Portland really is.
I love this city though. It's gained a few warts since I last saw her but some things stay familiar and the same. Breakfast at Jam on Hawthorne or Genie's on Division is still orgasm inducing. Cyclists still can't drive for a damn. Hippies still smell like patchouli. The West Hillers still can't parallel park their over-sized Lexus SUVs on any given side street in southeast (no matter how hard they try). Hipsters still dress like idiots and think they're being ironic. These things are as common as ever. But there was this moment today where I marveled at my little burg while I sipped an ice cold beverage on the corner of Hawthorne and 37th, across the street from the Bagdad Theatre. While the wife was scouring Buffalo Exchange for a new dress, I read "The Agony and the Ecstasy": a great book I picked up at Powell's Books for 5 bucks, used. Over the top edge of the book's yellowing paper, I watched my neighborhood. I watched tattooed punk kids trying to score change for beer. I watched pretentious newcomers from California pose in front of Starbucks, irritated at the homeless guy playing bad saxophone further down the street from their reverie. I watched teens from the local high school interviewing the gay fashionistas outside Red Light for a paper they were doing in English. Skaters sat around on their boards, smoking cigarettes and checking out tattooed girls in tattered jean shorts. Some earthy granola girl was singing under her breath as she passed me, raising her voice only once, briefly, as she spun around in her hemp dress, iPod headphones disappearing beneath a mass of blond dreadlocks and hemp jewelry. A former G.I. dressed himself in an American Flag and yelled at passers-by to end the War. The sun was shining even though it had rained earlier. It feels good to know that the weird is still alive and well and living in Portland.
Who knows... Maybe I'm not so unhomed after all.
-d@n
25 April 2010
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