Elegy to Michael Jackson, Portland Style

My plan was to go to a friend of a friend's house in North Portland off of Alberta Street for the infamous Last Thursday Art Walk. I was planning on biking up there and had scoped out the route on my rather ragged bike map. It would be a long ride, but I've been escorting my parents for the past week and a half, and I'm sick of driving. I'd ride.

Just before I went to yoga (I needed some decompression time after the said week of solid parentals), I checked online to follow the scandalous account of the SC governor on the NY Times. This morning was the headline that Farrah Fawcett had died, which wasn't a shocker, as I'd read about her struggle with cancer; however, the new headline was neither SC Governor nor was it Charlie's Angel: Michael Jackson was rushed to the hospital. I did a bit of facebooking and came back to it, now the King of Pop was dead. Woah.

Is this true? Regardless of his Wacko Jacko Bizarro world, MJ is still freaking amazing. He makes everyone want to rock out. He's the last cultural icon that rocked so many people's worlds.

My little cousin posted something on facebook about "lamenting our culture that focuses on the deaths of celebrities and not the betrayal of a leader." My first inclination was to respond and say "what are you talking about???"; hardly anyone outside SC care about a SC governor's peccadilloes: THIS IS THE KING OF POP! Then I realized she was born in the 90's and didn't really comprehend the enormity of the situation.

Anyways, I continued reading the news bulletins on NYT, and I saw that Portland, OR., was having a bike memorial starting at the Steel Bridge and continuing onto Alberta. MY EXACT ROUTE. You know I boogalooed to get down there.





Wow, what a ride. There were not that many people, but it was an awesome sensation to pick up with a bunch of strangers and rock out to MJ blasting from some ghetto bike speakers (pictured in the park photo). I rocked out all the way from Steel Bridge to Alberta and 20th. I was headed to 26th. We stopped right in the middle of Last Thursday mayhem and had an impromptu dance party to "ABC" and "Beat it." I swear I better be in the news, because I stuck to the bike speaker like MJ grabs his hoo-hoo.

Wow. Just amazing. I totally am in love Portland and love being here! We took over multiple lanes of traffic, and people just stopped and honked and danced and "EEee-heeed" along with us. Great, great town.

La paese di vino con miei genitori

If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. That's what they say out here, and that's what we did. There were big scurrying clouds and bouts of sun this morning when I went to pick my parents up at their hotel on the water front. A little drizzle, a little sun.

Highway 99W is just a mess going into the Willamette Valley off of I-5. It's just an urban sprawl nightmare. My father confirmed my own suspicions about drives: bad drivers are everywhere. He used to complain that people in SC couldn't drive, and I tended to agree with him. But people in Oregon can't drive either, and he just said, "Bad drivers are everywhere." So true. Pokey drivers in the left lane, talking on their cellphones; people not pulling over and stopping for emergency vehicles; people who don't use a turn signal; people who speed up and brake as if their car won't function in non gas/brake mode.

We finally got past the bumper to bumper traffic of 99W and turned up to my favorite winery, White Rose. We sampled 4 pinots there, all of which I enjoyed. We talked to a very knowledgeable gal, who informed me that one could go into the wine business without much formal education or credentials. She just said that you need to be curious, read a lot, and ask questions. These are all things I do very well. My second life as wine connoisseur may be taking off.

The second place we went to was Sokol Blosser, which I had never been to before and enjoyed quite a bit. We sampled 6 wines: Pinot Gris, Pinot Rose, White Blend, Pinot Noir, a pinot blend, and finally a white/muscat desert wine. I liked them all, and we ended up buying the Rose and Pinot Noir for further investigation. I also found a new wine term for "Talk to me Vino": steely backbone. Niiiiice.

We sat out on the deck in the sunshine and more or less had the place to ourselves until about the third tasting. Then a group, most likely from Texas showed up. They were loud and brought a child with them, which only slightly damaged my serenity. We could look out over the country and see rain showers sprinkling intermittently between the sun breaks, and the panorama was amazing.

We left and headed for lunch. Our first choice was a place called "Tina's," which I think Mac, Kat and I wanted to stop at a few years ago. Just like that occasion, Tina's was closed so we opted for Dundee Bistro, which is overpriced and less cozy. Oh well. I had the pizza and a 15 dollar glass of wine. Redonkulous.

We decided to take another route to get us back on I-5 quicker and thereby avoiding the mess of 99W. 219 South ended up being a fantastic choice, as we cruised through farmyards and over the Willamette River. We did get stuck in bumper to bumper traffic back into Portland, but I think that's because it was rush hour, raining, on a Friday afternoon. It seems the clouds that skirted us in the valley got stuck on the West Hills, and it was just dumping rain. Not very pleasant to be stuck in traffic, but I'm enjoying the weather now that I'm safely back in my snug little apartment. I also got news that I will be moving into my condo a week and a few days from today! Hooray!

Parents in town

Just about to head up to the wine country with the folks. I finished up my last day of work yesterday and celebrated at Press Club (incidentally the place where I celebrated getting a job!) and then Pok-Pok. The Thai food there is extraordinary and surprising. We had prawns, game hen, fish soup, and calamari. All pretty delicious. Good beer and I had a bourbon: something Craig. Pretty delicious.

I'll post some pictures of wine country and the like.

Northwest kind of day

I had an early Friday night: just a few happy hour drinks with Fay, and then I went to bed around 10:00. The next day I was going for a bike ride up to Sara's in St. Johns and then onward to Sauvie Island for the strawberry picking. Kat, Brooke and Gene were an addition to Sara and me. I biked the 12 miles to Sara's house and still got there first! I won the grand prize of the first cup of joe and smug satisfaction at beating the wussies who had to drive their bikes up. Ha!

Sara had a truckload of mulch headed her way around 1, and we left the house around 9. It was a nice peddle over the St. John's Bridge, which is a poetic feat in engineering. I know from teaching the youth, that the engineer who designed SJB lost the bid for the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. When he claimed that the TNB was destined to fail, everyone poo-pooed him as sour grapes. That must have been some serious SMUG SATISFACTION when Galloping Gertie finally twisted into oblivion. But I digress. Kat was on her wheels, which she calls "Blanch Deveroux" because her bike is not exactly the speediest. After that trip, she's decided to look into the road bike variety.

Once we got to Sauvie Island Farms, we parked the bikes and started picking. It was the same farm I went to with Amber shortly after I moved to Portland, I think in August. This day was warm but misty. Definitely the quintessential PNW day. The days that are endless blue skies are slightly surreal, and their beauty is almost alienating. This kind of day is embracing and serene.




Except for the annoying children, it ended up being a pretty swell day. PNW children may be more annoying than any other variety. And by children, I of course mean parents. Ugh. There was one couple had babies attached to backs and a general little brood running around. Super granola. One girl was running across the rows of strawberries right next to me. Really? All of these fields and people, and you have to be next to me? I guess I'll have to accept the fact that children like me, and I, sort of, like them.

.I was more into the day for the bike ride than the produce procuring, but I did get about 2 lbs of strawberries, spinach, and a lettuce mix. I didn't know it grew like that: all different colors and textures growing out of one head of lettuce. I also got a bunch of peonies, which were spectacularly beautiful. I just wanted to face plant into them.
After about two hours, it was time to peddle homeward. Dr. Gene got a little macho, and I couldn't let him outstrip all of us, an especially not my Bella Bicicletta. I got a nice ride in based on pure ego competition.

Once we got back to Sara's, it was beer and lunch time: Nachos, weiners, and Session lager. Pretty soon the massive pile of steaming (literally) mulch arrived and we got down to business. Cue Gene's song: "Black Gold." We got quite a nice work out, and I had a nice buzz for the ride home. I'd like everyone to notice the pictures: even though I can ride almost 50 miles, part of it sprinting, I still have a beer gut. Geez. What do I have to do, starve myself or give up drinking? Either of those options seem like a fate worse than death. I guess I'll keep my spare tire. Not pretty though. I need one of the black bars across my midsection. Wish I could photo shop that in there.

On that note, I immediately bike home, showered, and went to the grocery store for delish Saturday night dinner with Fay. It was her decision to officially nix the strawberries to go with home made whipped cream, in her words "like eating a stick of butter." Very wise Fay, very wise. I'll post those pics in a bit. I'm already running a bit late for an ACE Charter School Family dinner. I made potato salad to Ro-Ro's recipe. Show em how we do it in the dirty South.

I'm feeling extreme frustration

There are 2 more days of students, and most of them won't show up the last two days. Friday is a workday and next week is a full 5 days of curriculum planning. My parents are coming into town on the same day as my ostensible closing date on my first home. I've been invited over to a match's house for dinner this week. I should (terrible word) be feeling extreme satisfaction.

I called my agent today after playing email tag with Escrow people. There were questions about the process and the like. I was feeling like everything was falling into place: I was going to be able to move into the condo this weekend, prior to the parents arriving, and I would have rallied the Portland troops to lend a hand (greased by booze and tomato pie, of course). The one niggling concern was that there was no sign of the present tenants moving out, so I asked said agent about this. He'd get back to me. Ich. I still feel the aftershocks of disappointment. The seller had only given the 30 day notice a week ago (when the earnest money was turned over). ARRRGH! Now my time line is all kinds of wampus. Must close and move before the July 4th weekend and my subsequent 2 week stay in Kalamath Falls. That's all there is to it.

I feel like I've been chugging along since I was visiting last April for an apartment, quit my job, started packing, drove cross country, found a job, kept the job, etc. I've only just found out in the past 2 weeks that our school is not doing so hot. No schools are doing too hot. The economy is in the tank, and it certainly isn't a good time for the design-build industry. Well, we don't have the number of students that we wanted, so our day dream of hiring an architecture teacher is kaput. The nightmare of a 20% salary decrease is far more imminent. Our staff briefing today after the Monday board meeting yesterday revealed that 10% is a more accurate number. Not a great time to be making the biggest purchase of my life. Even if it is 50k below asking price.

In the deepest recesses of my soul, I still have the naive belief that all things will work out for the best.

Hmmm.

Saturday Night Dinners

Oddly enough, this is one of the few weekends that Fay and I have not gotten together and cooked up a storm.  Her future in-laws are in town, and I had a date (woot! woot!).  I think it only fitting that I dedicate a post to Saturday Night Dinner.

What is a Saturday Night Dinner, you might be asking?  Let me illuminate those in the dark.  SND is a special time to celebrate not working and enjoying all the the true joys of life: friendship, wine, and good food.  Boy oh boy do we do some friending, drinking and eating.  Here's a sampling of our dishes:  Beef Bourguignon, Sicilian Tuna, Seared Sea Scallops in balsamic and white wine, Strawberry, arugula bruschetta, grilled Goat cheese, pear, prosciutto, That awesome soup Fay made.  I'll have to add more details about the menus later.

I joined the Wall Street Journal (hoody hoody hoody snooty) Wine Club and received a crate of wine with different selections--about four times, I think.  That started us on a trajectory of wine speak, which ultimately lead to our future NPR show: "Talk to Me Vino."  It's sort of a take off of Car Talk, but instead we're going to be a couple of chumps talking wine.  Some of our favorite wine descriptions: slippery, faded denim, burned Fiat car tires, cat pee, wet mop, steam off of hot rocks (sauna), etc.  We have also  been clued in on the idea of describing the wine in terms of what color it makes you think of when it's in your mouth.  I thought that was cool.  One was green light through crystal chandelier.  

Almost the End

Just four more days of students.  I can hardly believe it.  On one hand, it feels like this school year has been an endless morass, a Sisyphean task.  On the other hand, I'm amazed at what I've accomplished in such a short amount of time: packing and moving 4,000 lbs. of possessions; completing the transcontinental journey; getting a job before the economy completely collapsed; helping build a school unlike any other, and thereby changing the face of American education as we know it--I exaggerate not; navigating the waters of the housing market and match.com--not sure which is dicier.  I do know that I'm ready for the bookend of this year.

West Coast Critters

So, I have to admit that I've been feeling a bit smug about the West Coast lately.  I'll spare you the irritating details but on one account.  I couldn't help noticing the lack of crunchy, leggy, flying, tentacular critters in my apartment and in general.  My main joy: NO BEHEMOTH COCKROACHES. There are no spiders lurking in the most sacred of places: underneath the toilet paper, on your pillow, or in your high heel shoes.  There are no scurrying roaches fleeing to the nether corners of your kitchen when you come home after a night of carousing.

After this morning, I would gladly accept wee little cockroaches back into my life.  As I awoke this morning, to another humidity-free, sunshiney day, I rose, yawned and proceeded to the bathroom.  Keep in mind that I did not yet have my contacts in, and so all was a nebulous blur.  I pulled back the shower curtain to raise the blinds and allow that beautiful sun to enter.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark spot on my otherwise white porcelain tub.  I always checked for enormous spiders or camel crickets in Charlotte and Athens, but out here? In this bug-free world? Well, I would put my glasses on just to be sure.  Oh horrors!  Oh disgust! Oh utter revulsion.  My god, what was that thing????!!!!!!  I won't even describe it, so it won't haunt your nightmares as it now is going to haunt mine.  Too many legs to count; which end was it's head?  I don't know, but then there was an epic battle between it and me.  I wielded that retractable shower-head like a deadly weapon.  That thing held on with all its multitudinous legs.  The reservoir drained before its clutches finally slipped.  It still remains in the metal drain in my tub.  I'm afraid to touch it.  Whiskey might be required.

shell-shocked,

Erin

A New Regime?

So, I've been inspired by a young, sweet, college graduate to start blogging, not about my first, great European adventure, but about the adventure that is life! Since I've moved out to Portland, Oregon, I've been pretty terrible at staying in touch, which is not like me.  I like keep my fingers on the pulse of the lives of  my compatriots in life. 

"Joy in spite of everything!" -Tom Robbins

Now, I know that many folks I invite into this may not read it or engage in it all.  I'm not even certain I'll post anything, but I'm going to try.  I've always hacked around the idea of being a writer, but I don't practice enough to get any good at it.  So I'll see if technology will help me become an author, and maybe help me stay in touch, too.  

I admire my dad for putting on his author's cap and writing little stories about life on the Toogoodoo (That's the Butler Plantation (BP) for those of ya'll who don't know).  I'd like to write some stories about the Pacific Northwest.  I just so happen to live in the South East quadrant of Portland, so now you get my title for the blog.  A little double entendre, see.  

Here goes nothing.