fall is my favorite
it’s always so exciting. one day a cool breeze floats through the window, carrying the smell of a single sun dried leaf, and you just know - fall is coming. on the weekends, a faint whistle from the nearby park where tiny football players are running around for their mommies and daddies who sip warm drinks on cold benches. the trees start to turn from green to brown and, in oregon, the grass starts to turn from brown to green with the first rain of the season. it’s comforting to zip up a light jacket, throw on a blanket, some thick socks. the night comes sooner, lending to the smattering of spooky plastic crap adorning store fronts. less lawn mowers, more leaf blowers. less barbeque, more stew. fewer berries, more squash. not the flashy, in your face, extreme fun, hot pink of summer. it’s fall, it’s orange and brown and cool and lovely. and it’s my favorite.
working is hard
the weekend always comes fast, and it’s never as bad as i imagine from my bed in the morning, but i’m just wondering - is there another option? may i select Not To Work as a choice for my adult life? that sounds nice. i’ll take the money too.
‘it is not that i object to the work, mind you; i like work: it fascinates me. i can sit and look at it for hours.’
-jerome k. jerome
electric surgeon
recently i lost a close friend. it’s okay, but thanks for your sympathy. his name was ipod. we were introduced in early 2004 when an unexpected financial windfall allowed us to meet at rosedale mall. we were fast friends. i had an extensive library i was dying to share, he was empty and looking to be musically massaged. soon we were inseperable. we hung out on the bus, in the car, even at work with the aid of a fancy gadget called an fm transmitter. he challenged me to come up with new and exciting playlists, i knew he could turn a dark day into a holiday.
we traveled across the country together. he made a 2000 mile journey in a giant yellow moving van more than bearable, he made it memorable. at my new and oh-so-monotonous job, he gave me an excuse to pretend not to listen to the small town weekend plans of my coworkers. when i got a new and better job, we celebrated together by playing our favorite songs out loud for all the world to hear.
and then, one very gloomy day, ipod stuttered and stopped. i shook him and called his name, and eventually all he showed me was a frowny ipod face (i’m not kidding, there was actually a sad ipod on the screen). i feel guilty because of how quickly i began searching for a replacement. but serendipitous financial windfalls were nowhere to be found. i cried. i cursed his name. i pounded at his face, willing him to awaken from his traitorous sleep. nothing.
and then, like a ray of sunshine through the wintry portland skies. a savior appeared. ‘replace your ipod battery for 12.95 - tools included’. faced with the $300 alternative, i put my heart on the line, online. and tonight, tonight, my friends, i performed surgery on my most loyal companion. armed with tiny, folded instructions replete with “good luck”s and “GENTLY”s, and a post-happy hour blood alcohol boost, i solemnly cracked my friend open, dislocated all lifelines, and gave ipod the new heart he so deserved. we’re together again, and we couldn’t be happier.
adult content
it’s my website, and i won’t apologize. however, the answer is - yes, i’m a little uncomfortable with this.
tonight is the first meeting of my very first book club and i haven’t finished the book. partly it’s because it feels too much like homework, and partly because i really don’t care for the book. it’s a non-fiction discussion of the modern feminist movement and the girls gone wild effect, which the author insists is erasing all the hard work of our fore-mothers in womens’ lib. i’ve been to college. and i felt like i gleaned the content of the book from the introduction, and haven’t allowed myself much guilt over not finishing. it’s the type of argument that cfould go around and around insircles until we are finally exactly halfway between hugging and strangling each other.
anyway, to make up for being unprepared, and to aid discussion, on my lunch break i went out to buy a playboy magazine. i decided not to rehearse an explanation for my purchase, confident that the cashiers at the local, sprawling in-mall book store would be trained to be very discreet about customer purchases. when i discovered the place card indicating that all ’sophisticates’ are located behind the cash registers, i was delighted at the irony.
i asked for both playboy and playgirl, both for the sake of book club discussion, and so as not to convey any personal preference for either brand of lascivious pulp. as the man behind the counter, roughly my age and with appropriately hip mutton chops, bent down to fill my request, he said, ‘we don’t have the girl.’ it was already a little more involved than i had hoped , but i wasn’t embarrassed yet, so i said, ‘uh, do you have anything else with…’ and he kindly finished my sentence with, ‘guys?’ yes, please. they didn’t. so i bought two of the girl kind. and then, shockingly, the man asked why. i couldn’t believe it. aren’t we all supposed to unflinchingly accept, and simultaneously ignore, each other’s apparent vices? you’re not supposed to ask, are you? and, since you did, does that mean i don’t look like someone who would enjoy this type of literature? do i want to look like that person? i’m confused. i boringly told him the truth, the inertia of the moment vanished, and i became just a girl with an opaque bag.
lions and tigers and bears…
at one point, when i was surrounded by giraffes and elephants and zebras and wildebeasts in the heart of africa, i vowed that i would never again visit a zoo. but while such a unique experience as an african safari cannot be compared to an american zoo, i have decided that there is still a place for the zoo in my heart. i love watching the otter swim around, playfully, on his back. and the underwater dance of two sea lions. and the afternoon nap of the musk ox. and even the frustrated bellowing of a hungry penguin. so much can be learned by watching animals; much also, by watching the people who watch the animals. there are the children who stare in silent wonder. the father with the impromptu biology lesson. the mother, more concerned about staging the perfect family christmas photo than the exotic creatures in front of her. the school children hurrying past the informational plaques to make it to the monkeys. and the quiet middle-aged gentleman, contentedly observing from a distance, perhaps a writer. the zoo is an american staple; and one of my favorite adventures.
mcminnville
today, claire and i went to a small town southwest of portland, surrounded by lush forest and artisan vineyards, called mcminnville. we wanted to go someplace relatively close, but far enough out of the city to feel like an adventure. if it weren’t for our giant, iced coffee drinks, the drive out would have been hard to take. highway 99W, in it’s heyday was surely a convenient route through many of the old mill towns south of the city; but it has suffered the familiar fate of other american suburban highways, each town only distinguishable by a new cluster of fast food and super retail chains.
about 30 miles south of portland, minutes before it would start raining a slow, constant oregon rain, we made a quick u-turn at a little roadside shop advertising ‘curios’ and ’sale on here.’ I heard the proprietor call it a second-hand shop, which is probably the best way to put it, but i might have said antique shop. the air was colder inside than out, the lighting was poor, and the walls and shelves were crammed so full of old things that my eyes almost didn’t know what to do. a man came in while we were shuffling around, and began talking to the shop owner. one of the men had recently dropped off some junk at the county dump, and the other was praising him for it, saying that many people nowadays just leave their crap on the side of the road. ‘this new generation of kids has no respect.’ ‘yeah, and it’s only gonna get worse.’ and i protested with something like, ’some of us are still good’. as i was paying for my little souvenir, the burly old gentleman commented on its patina, and gave me change out of his very own wallet.
mcminnville is charming enough. it’s got a great main street lined with boutiques and restaurants. most of the buildings were built in the late 1800s and have quite a bit of charm. we hung out long enough to make a few purchases and pick up a map of the area. did you know that the spruce goose lives in oregon? i didn’t. but it does. it rests in a huge hangar at the evergreen aviation museum just outside of mcminnville. we decided not to pay the entrance fee to the museum because there was so much to see outside of it. there were 7 or 8 smaller planes parked around the perimeter, and tucked into a grove of impossibly tall oregon trees was a collection of military tanks. i don’t know if i’ve ever been that close to a real tank before, but it was a heavy experience, regardless.
back in town, we stopped at a local brew pub for lunch. the food was good, if somewhat unremarkable. but claire was extremely exicited to discover that she loves beets. we sampled the house pinot noir, as obligated, and agreed that it was pretty good for a glass of wine. on the way out we stopped at a city park near the library, with a great playground and nice old light posts. we walked along the mossy, ferny, ravine-y paths, and decided that it had been a damn good day.
it is lamentable that, to be a good patriot, one has to become the enemy of the rest of mankind
-voltaire
finding janet
Last Saturday’s adventure was car shopping. It may not seem to qualify, until you consider that car lots are completely foreign territory to most of us. It’s not just the endless rows of shiny, homeless cars, packed in like a petrified traffic jam. The people are what makes the place totally alien. The argument could go around in circles forever, but I had to make myself believe that the people I spoke to were lying to me; that it’s all a scam and numbers don’t mean anything until you go inside, and all the cars are sparkly on the outside and crap on the inside. Seriously, isn’t that what we’re taught to think? The first place we went was pretty terrible. The salesman and I almost couldn’t walk between the cars to get to the one that was supposed to be ‘exactly what you’re looking for’ and $12,000 more than I clearly stated I would spend. I told my new, smarmy friend that I believed I could find the car I was looking for at the price I could pay and I had plenty of time so I wasn’t going to stop looking until I found it. He nodded in feigned understanding and kept showing me cars that I didn’t want and couldn’t pay for, insisting that the sticker price didn’t mean anything. Finally, he lured me into an awful room with low ceilings and cold tables half-filled with people getting hassled. “This feels like death,” I told him. I wanted to run, but he kept talking and shoving papers at me, filled with blanks for information about me that the IRS doesn’t even know. He told me that they need to know who’s driving their cars before they could put me in for a test drive. Finally, I told him I had been drinking and was not prepared to test drive anything. Thanks though, really.
Eventually, we ended up at the Honda dealership, and it all went down just like a fairy tale. A woman named Janet had come in to have her oil changed; she loved her car and always had it serviced at the dealership. While she was waiting, she decided to check out a newer model. She fell in love, and then I did. I got to talk to her for a minute, the guys helping us chuckled as we talked about how the color looks in the sun versus the usual Portland cloud cover. It took her a half an hour to say goodbye, and by then, I was ready to say hello. I decided that good deals go fast, and that’s why I couldn’t find anything that matched my list of requirements. They gave me a good price, and kept the car to give it a full service, polish and detail. They sold me a 4 year warrantee that covers everything, and gave me a copy of the carfax, which was pristine. And tonight, I get to go pick her up. My new car, Janet.
saturday adventures
i don’t resolute. that is, i don’t make promises that i can’t keep. and yet, i made the decision that 2007 is going to be a good year, and i’m determined to make it so. in the spirit of self-improvement, therefore, i started a routine of adventuring. not the life-risking kind of adventures, but the kind that broaden my world; open my eyes to something previously undiscovered. each saturday, depending on the weather, financial and other obligations, and my mood, i set out to experience something new. so far, i’ve visited a museum, two parks, a new city, and a new library.
today, i bought a map of washington and headed across the river to vancouver. i’ve driven through plenty, but i decided it’s too close not to explore. i chose the biggest thing on the map - lake vancouver. and it is big. i went there. it was windy and cold, but the sun was setting beautifully, casting long shadows and soft light. with a view of mount hood and mount st. helens, thick forests and deep waters, it was an adventure in the neighborly familiar. i checked vancouver off my list of adventures, as it’s no longer uncharted, but i hope to spend more time there.
next week’s adventure: unknown
our lady of sorrows: spaghetti dinner cancelled
there are three inches of snow on the ground in portland, and it’s utter chaos. the oregon department of transportation just announced that cars are required to have chains to travel on metro freeways. i’m from minnesota and i’ve never touched a set of tire chains. on tv, we watched a home video, taken from the roof of an apartment building, that showed a single car crash into 15 different stationary objects, traveling in a spiral before sliding backward for an entire block into a fire truck. among the school closings running across the bottom of the television screen was this announcement - our lady of sorrows: spaghetti dinner cancelled.
i’m going to be a notary public
the state of oregon now requires that potential notaries public take a three hour online tutorial before applying. they haven’t safeguarded it against savvy applicants, however, and it seems that as long as you’re logged in, the time keeps ticking, so it’s possible to minimize the frame for three hours and pay attention only as long as it takes to complete the open ‘book’ exam. i am, however, worthy of the office and would never ever cheat. it was a little interesting, nothing more, but here are a few of gems:
notaries are nice.
- A notary public must be a person of good moral character. “Good moral character” means character other than that which reflects moral turpitude and conduct which would cause a reasonable person to have substantial doubts about an individual’s honesty, fairness and respect for the rights of others and for the laws of the state and the nation. To be relevant to deciding whether a person is of “good moral character,” conduct of questionable good moral character must be rationally connected to the applicant’s fitness to be a notary public.
lord xenu will do, tom cruise.
- The notary must require that the signer personally appear, verbally or affirmatively swear to the oath, and sign before the notary. An oath is a solemn pledge of truthfulness to a Supreme Being; an affirmation is a solemn personal pledge of honor that something is true. Both carry the penalty of perjury of forsworn.
power through translation. the latin title ‘notario publico’ comes with a light saber.
- A person may not use the term “notario publico” or any equivalent non-English term, in any business card, advertisement, notice, sign or in any other manner that misrepresents the authority of a notary public.
fall, leaves, fall
fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
lengthen night and shorten day;
every leaf speaks bliss to me
fluttering from the autumn tree.
i shall smile when wreaths of snow
blossom where the rose should grow;
i shall sing when night’s decay
ushers in a drearier day.
-emily jane bronte
it’s america
oregon city, oregon
the end of the oregon trail
ten miles from the city, and years away from modern
bustling at 7 a.m. and quiet after dark
main street is still lined with shops, and the faded paint
on the side of brick walls
still reflects the apostrophe’d name of the business that’s still inside
Maudley’s, MacAnerny’s, Henderson’s
furniture, fine jewelry, habberdashery
the air that spills onto the streets from the vents of these shops
smells like a great-grandmother’s basement
it’s a town full of good, hard-working, god-fearing folks
folks who are suspicious of tofu, who embrace a potluck with fervor
and shake hands at the local church
or legion
they love their country and their freedom, and babies
strawberry scented candles
and gun permits
it’s a place for sensible shoes and home perms, statues of angels
ford trucks, and collections of any kind
it’s oregon city, oregon
the end of the oregon trail
pluto, we barely knew ye
it’s very sad. the international astronomical union (the club with the coolest name ever) decided today to demote fair pluto from regular planet status to dwarf planet - immediately rendering millions of fourth grade science projects defective. they said it didn’t dominate it’s orbit and it’s just not quite big enough or cool enough to be part of the planetary nonet anymore. apparently, if pluto is a planet, so are dozens of other giant, unimpressively named astronomical bodies, and there simply aren’t enough chairs in the lounge for all those new club members. so, i salute you, pluto. you were a good planet. i liked saying your name, and please don’t let being a dwarf make you any less proud of who you are.
a strangely engagement
a man wakes up from a fitful sleep and notices that his arms are wrapped around a large vase with a gold crackle finish and a lingering smell of copper pennies. although a rational man, usually in full command of all his faculties, sure as wednesday follows tuesday, he speaks into the empty air of his bedroom, saying ‘i don’t remember dancing with this vase’.
it’s the weather what keeps me away
it’s not that i have nothing to say. i do, really. but i have been experiencing some pretty serious computer aversion of late. it’s summertime, of course, and portland has offered up a fairly convincing case for not remaining indoors for too long. we had a heat wave, severe enough that the air conditioning was stuck on high for days at a time. but even then, the ocean offers some reprieve in the evening hours, allowing restful sleep. now, we have managed to send all of that triple digit heat back east, sorry minnesota, but you are better equipped by blood, no? currently, we’ve been topping out somewhere around 80 during the day, with cool breezes and fantastically crisp evenings. and under those circumstances, enduring the bluish glow of a screen for too long really does feel like a crime. and so, i am off to drink my fruity cocktail in the back yard. aloha, sailors. aloha.
sgriob
the itchiness of the upper lip just before taking a sip of whiskey
fathers are not superheroes
you were a good dad
you raised me to be proud, strong, curious and kind
because of you i am creative
because of you i am not afraid of the obstacles that land in my path
yet, you are human,
and, though so many of us wish to believe otherwise,
fathers are not superheroes
you have caused enormous pain
but you have turned around
to face the consequence of your choices - as a man
and for that i still admire you
and i still love you
and you will always be my daddy
it’s not you, it’s me
listen, twin cities. i know we’ve been together a long time. at first, it was 18 years straight, we broke up for six, and now we’ve been together for the past three years. and mostly, you’ve been great. but for right now, i just need to keep my options open. i hope you understand.
i’ve been struggling for several days now on how to say this, and now it’s long overdue. so i am writing and i’m just going to keep writing until it’s all been said. please don’t interrupt.
i quit my job, it was a good job. i had more responsibility than i probably deserve at this point in my life, but i think i managed ok. but, i quit anyway. i packed up an astonishing amount of junk from my apartment, not getting rid of nearly enough because i’m a sentimental and foolish artist-type and can see redeeming qualities in a used kleenex if you give me a minute. with the help of my most devoted fans (thanks trixie and bub), and some hired college muscle, i moved into a spacious 16-foot moving truck along with my good friend claire.
claire has two cats. i have one. that makes three. three cats, two young and easily distracted female drivers, a 16-foot truck stuffed to the gills with (mostly) useless crap, and, just to make it interesting, a car trailer, dangling behind, carrying my beloved and ancient ford tempo.
don’t worry - we’re fine. i know, it’s hard to believe, but we actually made it all 2400 miles without serious incident. save for a couple of close calls with unaccomodating truckers, we were mostly comfortable; five of us, all in the cab of wanda, the giant yellow truck. we left the st. paul on my birthday, memorial day, the 29th, and arrived just three days and $700 worth of regular unleaded later at our new home in portland.
we took lots of pictures, mostly through the passenger-side window as the windshield was plastered with bug goo and we were on the road for at least 12 hours each day and couldn’t possibly have stopped at each charming prairie or fantastically decrepit barn. still, we got some good shots. click on ‘more photos’ to experience the great american west.
and now, we’re here. and, i have to admit, it feels like home. it’s been three years since i lived here. three mostly good years that also included the most heartbreaking and trying moments of my life. i’m looking forward to some time with the rain, the mountains and the ocean to revive my optimism and boost my spirit.
i love you, minnesota, i really do. but for now, let’s just be friends.
deathly
now that I’ve met you, would you object to never seeing each other again?
cause I can’t afford to climb aboard you.
no one’s got that much ego to spend.
-aimee mann