Reservoir Dogs in Yellow Vests

I saw something on my way to work this morning that I found very funny. There’s construction all around downtown Portland, so you see people wearing hard hats and yellow safety vests a lot. Walking down the sidewalk near work, what do I see walking toward me but the reincarnation of the lead characters in Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs. In this case there happened to be four, not five, but the fifth came trailing along a bit after the rest. They were walking side by side down the street toward me. I couldn’t help it. I thought of the movie and just grinned as they walked past. They weren’t even strutting or doing anything in slow-motion, and I noticed once I was closer that they were most likely engineers or something like that rather than construction workers. They were wearing business-casual clothing and just looked like geeks, so they must have been engineers. And one had glasses. Their pocket-protectors were conspicuously absent.

The Unafraid Child

I went for a bike ride yesterday. Turned out to be rather nice, and longer than I had anticipated. I was really spent afterward and there is sure to be some soreness in the next day or so, but it was well worth it. I don’t ride as much as I used to and I’m not nearly as fit. I used to race on an amateur level–even won a few races. Now I don’t get out nearly often enough to develop a good aerobic base, but I still enjoy it.

My normal “long” ride around here is to loop out around the airport. It ends up being about two hours or less and nearly 30 miles. This time I decided to reverse it, heading out through SE Portland first to the path that runs along I-205, bumped into another cyclist and chatted for a few minutes before he veered off to go over the bridge into Washington and I stayed straight, decided to go to my friend’s house in N. Portland to see if he wanted to get some coffee and a snack then I planned to continue on to St. Johns. He wasn’t home but his dad was, so I talked to him for a few minutes then went in search of a snack and a shot of espresso.

By this time, I was somewhat delusional. I’m not sure what my riding time was, but I’d been out for at least two hours and ridden 30 miles already. I probably had low blood sugar because I’d held off having a snack the last little bit of my ride in hopes that I would get something with my friend. I wandered around the neighborhood after I left his house looking for a place he’d mentioned, but I couldn’t find it or else went past it without noticing. Finally, I decided to head back east to the Albina Press.

When I got there I stumbled in digging for sweaty dollar bills in my jersey pockets; I came up with a whole $3 and tried to do the math. My addled brain considered espresso a priority, so I got a double and some little chocolate candy thing. It came to $3.15. I apologized, mumbled something about making it a single and the guy generously took my money and said they’d give me a double. He even gave some change back which I promptly, sheepishly, put into the tip jar.

None of this matters. What was truly remarkable about the whole thing and led to this posting was the little girl sitting out front when I rode up. She was by herself and I never saw an adult that looked like her parent or anything. She was wearing a black dress with little pink flowers on it and a wide, white lacey collar-frock thing. It was the kind of dress little girls sometimes wear, but usually only on days when they are going to church and then only if they are from poor families, grew up in the 80s or are from Utah or Idaho.

I don’t know how old she was, but it couldn’t have been more than 10 and it was probably more like eight. She had brown hair, bangs cut short in the front and a kind of bob with the rest of it. She seemed to look right at me when I rode up, or more like right through me. She was totally absorbed in what she was doing, seemingly oblivious to my presence or anyone else’s, yet totally attuned to what was going on around her. I can’t explain it. What she was doing was singing. Unabashedly.

She wasn’t singing like most little girls do. She wasn’t quiet about it, or cute or shy. No, she was belting it out. And it wasn’t in English. I have no idea what it was, but it sounded vaguely Romanian or something like that. The song she sang sounded like a folk song that might be passed down from generation to generation, or something mourners might wail at a funeral. It had a certain weight and sadness to it, and she broadcast it as loud as she could for all to hear. She had a strong voice, not especially beautiful, but she could carry a tune.

I leaned my bike up against a tree in front of the shop so I could see it while I was inside (I didn’t have a lock) and went in. I think I was embarrassed for her since she obviously wasn’t. While I was inside, a couple of hippies on bikes came by with a guitar strapped to the back of one and came by to talk to the little girl. When I went back out she was gone.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how some people put themselves out there to be scrutinized by the whole world, without fear or worries about what others think. I’m sometimes afraid to dance in public because I’m too self conscious, even if the music is moving me and I want to. I’ve learned to reign in my emotions and my personality, to tone it all down for the general public. There’s a fear inside of me that the girl sitting in front of the Albina Press yesterday didn’t have. I don’t know if it’s because she was a child or if she’s just one of those people that radiates their true being without being scared or concerned about what others think. It’s almost as if there was a light shining inside her that I had to shield my eyes from. My soul is darker, less pure than hers, and it’s difficult to look directly into such brilliance. It was a strange experience.

Dot Your I’s and Cross Your T’s This Way

Corporate America is so similar to the bureaucratic bullshit that goes on in government–that I experienced first-hand in the Army–it’s laughable. I was out of my cube for a few minutes this morning only to return and find two huge asses facing me as I walked in. Around here, it’s known as the ******** spread (company name withheld to protect the innocent and keep me from losing my job before my resignation date).

So there were two women in my cube with one of my files opened up on the desk. It turns out that the address on paperwork A was slightly different than that on paperwork B. Your honor, I was aware of the difference–namely that the address on each item was identical, including the zip code and spelling, save the town name. I made a decision to use the name from item A, surmising that, due to rapid growth in the metropolitan area both addresses suggested the items were from, the precise location had been incorporated into a new or different town and the name on item B was printed before the change whereas the town name on item A was handwritten immediately before the paperwork was submitted. And does it really fucking matter that much?

Evidently, it does. One of the mooners made a copy of item A to go with the sheaf of papers I’d already given her and to show the reason I’d chosen A over B. A little bit later, I finally got around to checking my voice mail and found that I had a semi-terse sounding message from wide-ass #1 about the issue. It just brought to light how anal we can become in this little micro-civilization and how things that are so small become the focus of our daily routine.

This is something I need to remember, and perhaps all of us need to take a step back from what we’re doing sometimes and assess what is really important and how much we’re letting these trifling things add up and rule our day. (That’s funny–it made me think of the phrase, rue the day. Kinda goes along with my earlier Thought of the day.)

Thought of the day

I like this.

8.22.07 (updated)

UPDATED:

Er, so what’s going on? I’m moving, I signed up for classes at PSU, the Wilco concert is tonight, I’ve been drinking lots of coffee and . . . I’m having a baby! I’m part of this experimental project at OHSU where they’re going to plant an egg inside of a select group of effeminate men and inject hormones in the hope of bringing out more female qualities and then waiting to see what happens. It’s very exciting!

Okay, I made that last bit up, but the rest is true. I’m moving to a house in NE Portland that has been split in half, upstairs-downstairs. According to some date I found on-line, the house was built in 1905. The upstairs renter has his own entrance and I’ll be sharing the downstairs with this cool guy that reminds me of my old roommate in Utah who was from South Africa, probably just because he looks sort of similar and also takes sleeping pills.

The place – I don’t know what to call it (an apartment? house? flat?) – has hardwood floors, high ceilings and tile in the kitchen. One of the best things about it is the kitchen. It has plenty of space to work in which is a delight coming from the space I’m used to. The bedroom I’m moving into is supposed 15’ x 17’. Whatever the dimensions, it’s big. Two closets, hardwood floors, high ceilings; I think it’s painted blue. I’m excited about it. I’ll be near more funky places to eat out and a couple of good grocery stores (funny the things that are important to you when you’re older, trying to be healthy and only have a bike for transportation).

In registering for classes at Portland State, I signed up for the first Honors Program course, Studies in Western Culture, as well as Principles of Economics (Micro) and Intro Philosophy. I would really like to get into the creative writing class, but it’s full. I’ll have to try and sign up for it earlier next term. If all goes well, I will continue taking courses in the Honors Program for my general studies and get into that writing class next term. I’d also like to explore political science and psychology a little more (I took courses at USU), and I’m seriously thinking about getting into science, maybe physics or chemistry. I worry that my skills in mathematics are so rusty that I would have to take some classes over before I could really get the sciences. I guess time will tell.

Portland has been nice. I’ve been out a few times with friends: Kennedy School (McMenamins), the Horse Brass Pub, saw the awesome Red Bull Illume exhibit, did the Bridge Pedal (maybe the most dangerous ride I’ve ever done) and more. Each event deserves it’s own entry in my quasi-journal/blog, but honestly, who has the time? If only I could do and write all the time instead of having to work and perform other administrative life tasks like laundry and dishes. Blech! Seriously, who needs it?

Before I started writing this, I went to get a cappuccino at Stumptown where the line was long, so I ended up going over to Half & Half. I haven’t been there in a while. The first few times I went, it seemed like a charming little independent coffee shop that had a Synesso, and the coffee I had then was good, too. But I’ve had a couple less than stellar experiences and today was the same. I don’t know if it’s the coffee they’re using or just their preparation of it, but something is off. My taste buds found it disagreeable, anyway. Sort of tasted like the Courier Coffee guy has a unique blend that could be really good, but something wasn’t quite right.

Well, I’m running out of little tidbits. There’s more I could say about how I’m doing, my emotional state, my beliefs; but maybe this isn’t the place or the time. That will be another post, another time.

* * *

The Wilco concert was excellent. It’s the first time I’ve seen them and I really enjoyed it. Missed the opening act thanks to my continuing habit of forgetting tickets, but we made it back to the apartment for the tickets, decided to take a break and have a nip of Scotch (Chris) and a beer (me). No worries, made it back in plenty o’ time for Jeff Tweedy & Co. They played a good mix of stuff of the newest album, Sky Blue Sky, as well as songs from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and A Ghost is Born, plus some that I hadn’t heard that could either be from older albums or something unreleased. Dunno. They played for a full two hours including three encores.

Mr. Tweedy had a couple of funny comments including a story about getting busted while out hiking in the area and using his Crackberry. Seems he was accused of not being able to really get away. He also asked the audience about halfway through the show if they weren’t high enough yet, and said it had to be the highest audience ever. It’s true, there was a lot of weed going around.

I’m going to try to keep this blog from becoming my personal journal. I’ve got another place for that, so I’ll try to stick to stuff that is more interesting and less blather.

On a roll

Fucking incredible. That’s the only way to describe how I feel right now. There’s just so much. I love Portland. I love coffee. Stumptown is an incredible place. It all makes my heart swell when I let go of the usual restraints we each place on ourselves and just experience life. So much so that I had to come and write it down right away.

I nearly cried on the bus because of it. I might still. I’m missing the dogs, but it’s okay. I just saw this guy on the bus with his seeing-eye dog, and it made me think of the monkeys. That and the awesome mix of people on the bus, the diversity, although I realize it’s still a fairly white town and the diversity I notice is mainly among freaks and geeks.

The event at Stumptown was cool. I’m glad I had some company in the form of Christian and his boyfriend/lover, but I stayed for a while after they left and just watched the scene, drank my beer and read a magazine. And I was okay with that. I’m feeling more okay with just being myself, letting it be, not having to be a rockstar all the time or being uber-responsible and smart, but keeping things in check and not going nuts or getting upset at myself for my flaws.

Back to Stumptown: I got there a little after the event began at 6:30, but not much was happening yet. There were a bunch of French presses steeping with coffee to put in airpots and one of the baristas was dialing in the single origin Honduras coffee on the Mistral. Eventually, Christian showed up and we got some coffee. I had a taste of each of the micro-lots they had in the airpots and had a couple of shots of the Lot #3 coffee from this farm, Finca El Puente. (They say, “Espresso shots of Honduras Micro Lot [Matilde] have flavors of sage, evergreen, lemon zest, caramel and pumpkin pie.” They roasted this batch specifically for espresso as opposed to the normal roast they sell in their cafes.) The shots were in-fucking-credible. I wish I could do this at home or work at Stumptown.

So I had some coffee, and then I got a glass of Delirium Tremens on tap in a nice glass with pink elephants on the side. Yum! Later, after the short presentation by one of the guys from Stumptown familiar with the farm and the husband and wife that run the farm, I had some more coffee and then got a bottle (in a glass) of Aventinus. Yum x2! One of my favorite beers in a cool place, watching people and browsing Dwell magazine. How can life get better than this?

Oh yeah, I’m rocking out to Wilco on the bus ride home (still am). I’m going to be in the Honors program at PSU. I’m going to see Spoon next month and will probably get the wristband for Music Fest NW so I can see a show every night for four nights. Suddenly, I’m a social animal. Okay, not quite! But this is an incredible place and I’m doing what I can to take advantage of it.

From the pages of my Moleskine . . .

I was flipping through my Moleskine notebook this morning, and a few things I’ve written before made me smile.

“Must remember Dewar’s is nasty scotch, doesn’t deserve a big S.”

“I want to be Hunter S. Thompson.”

“Fucking kid behind me is killing me, little stubby legs jamming into the back of my fully upright airplane seat. Goddamn mothers that don’t control their children (or seem to care). He “talks” and says, “Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” on repeat, tells her the same shit over and over because she’s tuned out, but the rest of us have to deal with it.”

“Do I have a chip on my shoulder because of my upbringing/education/class status, or does my down-to-earth nature let me see through the BS? This concerns art, opinion, liberal arts and learning. I sometimes look down on education and people with learning, but at the same time I speak the virtues of school. Am I no better than other farm-boys with poor education and low intelligence? Maybe I’m the next evolution, like the first ape that walked upright.”

“I got a window seat. Luckily, the fat guy chose the aisle so the chubby girl sitting next to me isn’t overcrowding and spilling over. I detest fat people. When they started getting ready to serve snacks and the fasten seatbelt light went out, he put his tray down and leaned heavily on it with one elbow while resting his head on his hand. Too tired to take it, I guess, though I don’t know what it is. Girl next to me with the pink iPod has a twitchy finger and shuffles through her music constantly. It’s like she’s communicating with God on that thing.”

“Dewar’s does the trick, even if it is the rat-piss of scotch and smells like tequila. Happy day.”

“Overheard in the break room near the vending machines: ‘I don’t want my money back. I want my Doritos!’“

“People I hate: . . . other people for [being] willing to accept a lifetime of service to a corporate entity and all of the sniveling, groveling subservience and political correctness that entails. I have to get out of here!”

Ch, ch, ch, ch, changes

“…turn and face the strain.” I think that’s how the song goes. I mostly wanted to use that title. Don’t have much to say. A lot has happened recently, and life continues to change. My ex-girlfriend visited and I accepted that she doesn’t want to be with me anymore, for whatever reason. It doesn’t matter. I also lost the two best dogs I’ve ever known. That’s been kind of hard, but I’m trying to move on. I’m focusing on finding a new place to live and getting ready to go back to school.

I’ve seen a counselor a couple of times because I was pretty depressed, but I’m feeling much better. I’m also trying to stop drinking very much or very often. I’m trying to figure out what to do with my life while realizing that I don’t have to have everything figured out at once. I got perhaps the best compliment ever about my writing today, but I’ll save that for later. Mostly wanted to check in and update my sidebar. I’ll try to work on something better soon.