An Odd Lot

We are an odd lot, I must say. Fairly pleasant, but odd. We are a conglomeration of so many strange sorts that its hard to put a finger on it sometimes. Bohemians. Alternatives. Grunge. High-tech polo shirt wearers with little names on the breast. Long-haired hippies, both current trendy ones and those leftover from the Vietnam era. We smoke pot. Plenty of us live on the streets either by choice or by default. More than our fair share are overweight, drive mini vans and park in spots reserved for the handicapped. We are filled with lesbians and gays on nearly every street. We drive Subarus and hybrids and Smart Cars. And beat up pickup trucks too. Our east and west suburbs shop at Wal Mart while our inner city urban group snubs their noses at chain stores whatsoever (and that includes me). We are activists and are not afraid to say "No" to government or big business. We are boarders and skaters and used-clothing advocates and we carry our own grocery bags to the store for use. Oh, and one more thing....

We are checked out. Oblivious. Out of it. We ride bikes in traffic when we should not and expect that motor vehicles will actually pay attention and see us -- we demand our bike rights! We pay no attention to bicycle riders when we should be -- by god, they get enough attention! We push oversized strollers right down the middle of sidewalks and expect others to clear out of our way. We take our dogs to places when we should not because we don't think or care. Children are allowed to play wherever they want -- certainly they must be given a voice at age six months...right? We sit at four-way intersections....waiting, waiting, waiting....while everybody tries to be nice and let the other guy go. Meanwhile, nobody goes and traffic builds up. "No, you go....seriously, you go first...." Turn right on a red light after stopping first? Maybe. If we remember that it's okay to do. As for left-hand turns, we wait WAY back behind the line....instead of pulling out into the intersection to the actual point of the turn.....scared, waiting, nervous, not paying any attention. And then the light turns red and its time for our turn and......nothing happens. Nobody gets to go. And I honk my horn, because I have one and I like to use it. It sort of jars people. It sometimes gets me the finger. But most of the time I see the head in the car in front of me sort of glance around, in the mirror maybe, like "Are you talking to me?" We don't get it. It's like we're high on crack or something. Like LSD was our best friend in the 1960s. Our sense of our surroundings has been dulled. We just aren't aware. Maybe its all of the rain and gray skies. Who knows.

I followed a mother on her bicycle the other night. She in the middle of the road with her child on the back of the bike. Looking around, at people, at gardens and homes. And me....directly behind her, with cars piled up behind me. And she is not the exception to the rule.

You've just got to love Portland. Eclectic. Strange. Slow. Weird. We've got it all. We're slow...but we've got it all.

The Old Hood

You may remember our Old 'Hood. And really not so far from where we are now. There's a very old pub that sits along Sandy Boulevard, the old US Highway 30 that used to bring traffic into/out of Portland. It used to be called the Sandy Jug. It's now Pirate's Cove. But, no matter, that. They have a reader board sign out front that sports some of the craziest things around. Here's what's up now:


The "No Soul Necessary" is only funny because of this week's new acquisition ... speaking of the Kia Soul. I'm not sure if I should stop in for the beer, girls, or bar staff.

Saucy Pirate Wenches

Another of the many interesting readings on the reader board at Pirate's Cove along Sandy Boulevard in Northeast Portland. It's in our former neighborhood but we still pass by frequently. Last Christmas? "No Fruitcakes, Please." I wasn't sure if I should go in or not.

The Old Man and the Boy

The boy didn't really know how old he was. Maybe mid 60s or so. He was dirty....really dirty. But the first thing the boy noticed about him was the limp. From a block away he could see that neither foot was working quite right and that the man was limping pretty badly. His trousers were too short. Way too short. And he was headed up the hill with a box. A pretty good sized pink box with a lid on it. One foot would drag and then the other with his arms wrapped as far around the box as he could get them. The boy glanced out his car window as he passed the man trying to get a better glimpse. The boy had learned his lessons several times in his life by not helping people when he thought he should have. This time would be different. He spun his car around a few hundred feet past the man and headed back. He pulled alongside the man in a mud puddle and lowered the window of his expensive car fitted out with all of life's fineries...leather, Bluetooth and all the rest. It didn't really fit into this neighborhood so well. "So, how far ya goin'?", the boy yelled over to the man. "Oh, not far...just up to Albertson's with these cans." "Cause I was thinkin'," the boy continued," that if you were heading a long way down the road that maybe you'd like a ride." "Well, that'd be pretty good, I guess," the old man muttered. The boy had a hard time seeing into the man's eyes. The man's glasses were thick and scratched like an old 45 that had been played way too much. One earpiece was missing.

The old man stepped into the mud puddle and then right onto the expensive floor mats of the car. The boy doubted the man had been in such a comfortable car in quite some time but doubted that the man gave it even a second thought. The big pink box of aluminum cans rested squarely on the old man's lap. Filled with mostly completely empty Hamm's beer cans -- some of the cans leaked out stale leftover beer onto the car seat. "I just got out of the hospital," the old man continued....."Fell on my head and like to have split it open." "Wow, that sounds pretty bad," the boy said. "Yeah, I got out this morning," said the man. They passed through a busy five-way intersection bantering back and forth about not much of anything. "You can just drop me right here at Albertson's," the man said as he pointed his filthy dirty finger at the grocery store. The boy steered the car to the side of the road and the man opened his door and got out. "Thanks for the ride," the man said. "Hey, yeah, no problem...have a good day," the boy said trying to get a look into the man's face.

The door closed on the car and the man shifted the box in his arms to get a better grip. He never did look at the boy in the face -- always keeping his stare out the opposite window and into the late winter afternoon. The boy reached into the back seat and grabbed a rag to wipe off the stream of old beer that was running down the leather seat of the car.

39 MPG Anyone ??

Anybody else care to join the "Upper 30's MPG Club"? You'll recall that I asked you all about this a while back. And it's finally happened. These are very difficult to find cars. This one came onto the car lot at 11:30am and was ours by 3pm. Wild! It's beautiful and an excellent ride. Plus, the Hybrid technology is very cutting edge -- really teaches the driver how to accelerate, coast, brake to achieve the best MPG....you can actually see what your slightest movements on the accelerator pedal are doing to your MPG. So, the tank should get us around 550-600 miles instead of the 225-250 we were getting. Plus, it's emissions are far less. It's all over and tucked nicely into our parking garage.

Today is our old neighborhood's block party. It's rained a little over night and not overly warm, but tolerable (sounds like most of the year here in Oregon, quite frankly). We're taking the tortellini pasta I talked about the other day (only this time I'm turning it into a cold salad). Plus, we're taking a yummy, horribly easy, and horribly white trash dessert -- just put two bags of your choice of frozen fruit in a greased baking dish and add a box of your favorite cake mix to the top, dry with no water. Bake 350 for about 45 minutes (depends on the water content in the fruit you've used). I'm using chocolate fudge cake mix with one bag of dark cherries and one bag of peaches. We're expecting close to 75 people....maybe a few more than last year.

Wishing you all happy returns and a great weekend. From Portland, I send you happy Hybrid dreams!

Festivals Abound in the 'Hood

I swear, living this new condominium lifestyle has led to nothing but visitors, good times, coffee and lunch out, meeting new neighbors, and festivals. Yesterday was no exception. Our neighborhood hosted its annual Fremont Fest 2008. Every store was open and giving away free gifts, holding drawings, tons of good food, and people, kids, and dogs everywhere. There was a parade which included maybe 200-300 kiddies dressed up like Sponge Bob or Hello Kitty along with pets which clearly didn't admire their tin-foil wings that had been added to their backs for effect. Oh, and the Clydesdale horses gave free rides up and down the street all day long -- which scared the hell out of Mason. It was a fantastic way to welcome us to the Beaumont Wilshire-Fremont area and confirmed to us that we've made a great decision to live in this neighborhood.

After that, we headed back to our old 'hood since we'd been grandfathered in to our former neighbor's annual Rib Fest whereby eight individuals bring their homemade ribs. They are judged and the winner given a throne upon which to sit for the upcoming year. I made my white bean and charred onion salad along with Oregon blackberry shortcake. And of course since there were ribs and meat involved, the evening wouldn't have been complete without plenty of Hehehe jokes surrounding the rubbing of one's meat -- including the obligatory t-shirts. Oh, and did I mention the handsome good-friend-and-bartender making Key Lime Martinis? I swear, these are some of the nicest friends ever to keep us involved in spite of the fact that we ditched their street for another. Next week, we go back to the same great former street for the second annual block party.

How Many Boxes??

So, today's the day....I pick up the keys and FOB (the little deal to get me in and out of the building) at 2pm from the building's developer and then get set to get the place cleaned up for tomorrow morning's move. So, exactly how many moving boxes does it take to move from a 2,200 square foot home on three levels to an 876 square foot condominium on one level? Tell me your answer in the comments. The winner will get a big old sloppy wet virtual kiss from me. Today is our last day in our home that we love so much. Our neighbors garnished our time here with coconut sorbet, white wine from Spain, and dark chocolate last night on the back patio. Sweet memories. Off to work now.....San Jose and back home by 11:00am. Gotta run.

Shakespeare and His Wet Dreams in Utah

Just when I didn't think it could get any better, Pirate's Cove has gone and done it again....well they're getting ready to, at least. You see, this is a local dive bar -- been there forever sort of place. It's two blocks from our current house (we're out of here next Friday the 18th) and I've blogged a few times about such naughtiness as Panty Auctions and Polish Dogs, Boys and their Biscuits, and Lap Dances and Fruitcakes, and other twisted gimmicks they splay across their reader board on very busy Sandy Boulevard in Portland. And this week's sign reminds me of a warm summer night in Vernal, Utah, many many years in the distant past (thankfully). A friend from my church youth group and I had driven to his parent's home, about 650 miles from Boise to Vernal, Utah, to pick up a motorcycle and drive it back home....me on the back end of this motorbike. So, we arrive in Vernal, exchange pleasantries, enjoy dinner, and my buddy and I bed down for the night in his parent's living room on the sleeper sofa hide-a-bed. Now, believe me, nothing happened. But morning time arrives, the sun's first rays are splitting open the giant window in the living room where we are, and I see his mom in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Somewhere in the middle of this scenario, I feel a strange sensation....a sort of wetness and stickiness. And I know you know what I'm talking about so don't play innocent with me, dear readers. Yup, I'd been dreaming. Wet dreaming, apparently. And I'm in my most fancy of underwear -- bright shiny polyester orange briefs that wouldn't absorb a damned thing. I was soaked and so were the sheets. I remember laying there, and laying there, and laying there...contemplating, wondering, waiting for her to disappear. I remember wadding those things up and stuffing them in the very bottom of my overnight bag. So, I'm thinking that maybe I'll go audition up at the Pirate's Cove for a part in this summer's Shakespeare Festival. I wonder what part I could play? After all, I do have a little bit of experience.

Our New Home

I know it's been a little quiet since I posted about the old girl being gone. We've had a myriad of projects that we're working through at the buyer's request -- involving electricians, the City of Portland, drain cleaning services, furnace people, and all of the rest. In addition, we're selling off much of our personal furniture and belongings. There simply won't be room in 881 square feet. Actually, moving day will be rather easy....nothing to haul, quite frankly. The appraisal has been done on our current house; the results are not in quite yet but we don't expect any problems. Our loan documents on the new condominium will actually be ready this coming week, far earlier than we can actually move in. Our buyer here wants to close on Friday the 11th. So, best guess is a move around the 15th. We're moving to a beautiful, brand new condominium in the Beaumont Village area of Portland, along Fremont Street. It's an okay size, but the single bedroom is very small. It features bamboo hardwood floors, slab granite in the kitchen and bath, tile floors in the bath, fantastic GE Profile stainless steel appliances (far more expensive than I'd go out and buy for myself....plus a gas range, something I've never had before). It has 10x10 patio, on the top floor of the building, gas fireplace, air conditioning, underground secured parking, and the coolest windows ever....the European kind that open in several directions -- normally plus lean in from the top to provide a little airflow if desired. The living room has a little Mount Hood view (until the trees grow up or, more often, on those many days in Portland when you can't see a thing!). So, that's it...the update. Today, we have a funeral for a good friend -- a contagious spirit full of giggles and laughter, she was. Stolen from us at age 52 by pancreatic cancer. Ugh. Oh, and that plus it's going to be in the upper 90s here today. And that, my friends, is precisely why I require central air conditioning. (And, I must add, these pictures don't do a thing for the beauty of this place, unfortunately....oh, and one more thing, our unit is on the upper right top floor of the building, in the middle....come and visit, will you?....oh, that is if you don't mind sleeping bags on the floor.)

Panty Auction or Polish Dog??

You'll recall that I've blogged about Pirate's Cove a time or two. And, now, this. A panty auction or Polish dog. I can't decide which I'd rather imbibe in. But strange things have happened to my panties in the past, that's for sure. Maybe I'd make a little more money if I put them up for auction.

Rhubarb and Champagne In the Garden

There's nothing quite like a warm homemade rhubarb crisp with its early summer tartness alongside a glass of sparkling sweet champagne. The Compound said they'd be here at 7:30 last evening -- and they were, complete with the best of gifts straight from the oven. The beginning-of-summer sky set the scene perfectly as we sat on our back patio to toast our going away watching the contrails of airplanes headed north high overhead. They are the greatest friends and neighbors....you'll recall one of my more wild posts about them here. Thanks you guys....we love you all to death. And no matter how far down the road we move, it'll never be that far.

Reagan, Dog Pee, and Naked Neighbors

I seldom dream. Not that I remember, anyway. You'll recall that I had some wild dreams during our coming down off of Ambien addiction. And our sleep habits as of late have been quite erratic because of the new family member. But last night was one of the funniest.

I was over at our neighbor's place, two doors up the street....The Compound, as they like to call it. It looked nothing like their house in my dream, of course. Their living room was a giant hot tub, more like a small pool with warm, bubbly water. I was naked in the pool along with our little doggie and T (our neighbor guy). Behind me down the stairs came P, other neighbor dude, naked and jumped in the pool with us. His jumping in scared the dog so much that he started peeing (the dog, not P). The dog pee hit the ceiling and damned near came splattering down on -- you'll never guess who -- Nancy Reagan! She was at the other end of the room, dressed to the nines, and cooking us all breakfast. So, T starts to cry....he's totally verklempt with the fact that Nancy is still able to look so good and cook so well. But, oh no, T can't cry by himself....his wife L comes down the stairs to see what's happening and starts crying too. It was quite a night, I must say. They'll probably never let me into The Compound again...and I don't blame them.

Bits and Bobs for Friday

You'll notice a brand new "Call Me" Button on the upper left-hand corner of my site. Try it out. It'll direct the call to me! Leave a message for me. Looking forward to hearing from you!

Our holiday was fantastic. Seattle first. And Vancouver, BC, next. We met numerous new bloggers, whom I now affectionately call friends. We kept finding ourselves at just the right place at just the right time. New experiences, beautiful weather, met folks from all over the world, and stayed in some very nice places. Oh, and the obligatory shopping too. I can't think of a better way to spend my 21st birthday. All of your emails, ecards, comments, and phone calls meant the world to me....thank you!

We're home now and back with our little baby, Mason. He's quite a handful. He spent the week with our neighbors J&A. We half expected to find him tied to our front door when we returned. But they persevered. And now he's back with us. They spoiled him rotten and let him sleep with them in their bed each night. We've got a handful of spoil on our hands now. And this potty training thing is a little dicey. And what about him whining and such when we leave, even for a few minutes. How am I supposed to go back to work? It's a full-time job here.

The weather is amazing, nearly springtime like. Daffodils are coming up nicely....and I even saw one in bloom yesterday. Here's hoping that you'll find yourselves happy, hopeful, and content in this, the last week of February.

Biscuits and Civil Unions...An Unlikely Union

I'd like mine with honey and butter, please. And maybe just a bit of raspberry freezer jam. The biscuits, that is. Of course it wouldn't be the female dancers at Pirate's Cove and I can't imagine that it would be the male bartenders. You'll recall that I've written about this neighborhood icon in past a time or two. I can't help but think that it'd be fantastic as a place for our neighbors to gather for coffee. But, instead, we've got a strip club complete with (apparently) the best biscuits in town. Oh, and one of their most recent claims to fame has something to do with Maxim Magazine. Their sign read "Thanks Maxim Magazine" for the last month or so. God only knows what that could possibly mean. But what I'm really waiting for is the scene where all of the boys come with their biscuits to the yard. Stay tuned.

Portland Residents: This Wednesday, January 30, will mark a giant planned vigil in front of the U.S. District Courthouse in downtown Portland. If you're in the area, be there or be square: Wednesday at 5:30pm at SW 3rd and Madison. Details are here from Basic Rights Oregon. This will serve as a time to unite, stand up, and be counted in anticipation of Judge Michael Mossman's decision on the state of Civil Unions in the state of Oregon. Mossman will render his decision next Friday, February 1. With New Mexico and even Salt Lake City joining the ranks of providing equal rights and benefits to their citizens, it is most definitely time for Oregon to jump into the year 2008 with a giant leap of equal rights for all. Come on, Mossman....do it right!

Getting Leid With Big Tears

If you're bored this coming Sunday, you're invited to get leid. Not sure if there's a charge for it or not (but a $20 on the nightstand is always a sign of good gesture). I've already blogged about this place near our house. Seems they are nothing but full of creative ability when it comes to their reader board verbiage. And, hey, if you're not into getting leid, don't worry -- I'm sure there will be something else offered soon. I'll let you know. I'm just plain old happy that they aren't homophobic or selective when it comes to who gets leid.

Is it so wrong to still get all choked up with huge, heavy tears in my eyes, at this? Like a baby, I am. Crew member Barbara Morgan is from my home state of Idaho. A teacher there -- in the small, beautiful lake town of McCall. She was the substitute astronaut for the Challenger mission in 1986. And now, she's orbiting the earth. Go ahead, call me a girly girl if you must.

Our Neighborhood -- Home of Lap Dances and Fruitcakes

Pirate's Cove was known for years as The Sandy Jug. It's two blocks from our house. Really, it doesn't get much better than this. I mean, it's a phallic symbol and a strip club....all in one. Looks like a big old jug. Last week, the sign said something about them having little corn doggies on their menu. (Now, there's a reason to stop in.) It's the same sign that said "No Fruitcakes, Please" at Christmas. And here we are. Right in the middle of it. Gay as the fruitcakes are. I'm still trying to figure out the sign. It's like their phones have been ringing off of the hook with people wondering if they are still a strip club or not -- so they decided to tell everyone driving by so that, maybe, the phones will stop ringing. A few months back, they were advertising for "Dancers Wanted....Call Jody." Now, wouldn't you like to have that job? Anybody up for a visit? You can park at our place and walk up to "The Jug" (the former name and what everyone knows it by) from here. Who knows what you'll come home with. Maybe a corn doggie, a fruitcake, or a lap dance.

It's Got to be the Morning After

My eyes itch, they're hardly completely open, and I've just put on another pot of coffee. That feeling of being up past my normal bedtime, blood alcohol content higher than when the festivities started, and a decent amount of smoke and haze from Chinese-made fireworks in my eyes and lungs. (Be back in a minute...the coffee is done....and I need it bad!)

Hot dogs, turkey dogs, hamburgers, steak, garden burgers, pork tenderloin, sesame noodle salad, garbanzo bean salad, fresh tomatoes with mozzarella, pasta salad, homemade baked beans, English trifle, chips and salsa....it's no wonder things are a little iffy inside today. Man, it was good. Delicious. Our neighbors came over, and a few more good friends. You can see all of the pics here.

And, now, the aftermath. I've got lawn chairs to wash down (oops, Rolling Rock), noodles to scrape off of the table outside, and a dirty street full of spent fireworks to sweep up. I'm thinking about traipsing out to the nude beach today for a little quiet time. And another good friend wants to have a beer with us tonight after he's off work. The party continues. Oh, and hey, by the way....it is, like, really THAT wrong to have warm apple pie and cold French (hi there Nik) vanilla ice cream for breakfast? I hope not.

Isn't the morning after something else? (I hope they left the $$$ in payment on the bedstand before they left.)

I've arranged to work another trip to Orlando next week and looks like some of the awesome guys in Orlando will be able to join us for dinner once again. If you're in the area, let us know....we'd love company for dinner on Friday, 13 July.....and this weekend will find me in Anchorage and Kodiak, Alaska....actually really looking forward to that. .

Deliciously Frittered Away Time That Feeds The Soul

How do I accurately explain the warmth and wonderfulness of our neighborhood (is "wonderfulness" a word??). It's been raining unbelievable amounts for a few weeks now. We've had 8.7 inches since October 1--many places around us are up to more than 20 inches in that same time frame. Windshield wiper blades scrape back and forth in near constant motion, intersections are flooded with water trying its best to make it down the drains but being blocked by inches-deep colorful leaves that plug up the street drains. I rarely mind the rain....in fact it bring a sense of comfort and solitude sometimes....but plenty of folks around here survive on anti-depressants and need their time away in the sun during the winter. Friday afternoon was one of those gray, wet days (and the good news is that winter isn't officially even here yet!).

The phone rings, it's our fantastic neighbors calling (you know, the kind of neighbors where you get to use the back door instead of the front): "Hey, what are you guys doing tonight? It's so rainy and dreary....would you like to come over for dinner?"

Me: "Definitely, we'll be there." (Go ahead, twist my arm.) So, the husband and me were more than happy to scratch our tentative plans to go see "Conventioneers."

Out comes a bottle of deliciously yummy French red wine (given to us by the Lufthansa flight attendant crew last fall on our European adventure); a couple of fresh-out-of-the-oven homemade chicken pot pies filled with potatoes, broccoli, carrots, onion; a very cool salad with apples, greens, and an awesome dressing; creamy hot polenta baked with garlic, cheese and other goodies buried deep inside; followed by warm apple crisp with whole crunchy cinnamon sticks straight out of the oven. Oh, and did I mention the aromatic hot fresh tea? I mean, the whole evening was exactly the reason we love living right here. The comforting sense of being in a neighborhood, the warmth of sharing the end of a busy week in the home of good friends. To know that it's pouring gray wet rain outside (and that it's going to continue for many months to come) and, yet, you're inside around an old, incredibly heavy, farm table with nine very cool people...sharing, listening, interrupting, laughing, being crazy, talking politics, work, food, meeting a very nice gay couple for the first time. You know what I mean.....it's something about the safety of community, of belonging, inclusivity, of not having to dress up or put on your pretty going-out face (which is getting harder and harder to accomplish), of being able to ask questions or make comments without being judged or accused.....so totally filled with acceptance, warmth, caring, a net of security. I couldn't have crafted a better time. And we didn't have to travel to some far-flung corner of the globe. It was right here in our neighborhood, with its beautiful tree-lined streets and tons of brightly-colored leaves on the soaked ground while the wind blew and the cold rains fell. It was "deliciously frittered away time that fed the soul." We were more than taken care of, more than wrapped up in a blanket on a cold day, more than chicken soup when you're sick. Much more.