Favorites 9.29.15
Blood Moons: Lucky for me, the moon rises right outside my front door. On Sunday night, it arrived a deep, dusty red. In a time before social media, what we did was simply look at the lunar eclipse—some of us wondering about its dark celestial mysteries. Now, we can take pictures with our iPhones! (P.S. I borrowed this pic from my friend Kurt. I doubt it was taken with an iPhone. And for the record I deem astronomical happenings to be plenty worthy of a tap or two.)
Toasted sage: I didn't know that you could chop and cook sage until it was crisp and then sprinkle it on such things as squash and spaghetti to add fragrance and crunch. I mean, did you?
No roommates: I had roommates all summer and the last of ’em just left. Now the house is super quiet and warm with fall light. I love having the place filled with people, laughter, etc.—but then eventually it's so nice to be totally all by yourself.
Backyards of Portland: Perfect for the kind of fall days when you want skate and be with friends but make very little effort and deal with zero skatepark undesirables.
Hey California
I didn't like living in California and never wanted to be a "Californian." It was nothing personal. I just felt super strangled by the huge population and all that SoCal showmanship. Also, get this—I didn't like the fucking weather!
When I first moved to Portland, it was scummy—scummy with a heart of gold. Regular-ass people lived here! And hippies. And some rockers. I'm okay with all of these things.
Anyway, this is just a long-winded way of saying that I saw 2 things recently that made me stop and take note, made me really comprehend what we've all been thinking: Portland is becoming California.
1. The ABOVE photo of the Palmer glacier (or lack thereof) via KGW reporter Rod Hill's Facebook page. I guess it doesn't rain here anymore? And dang, remember when we used to snowboard on Mt. Hood in the summertime?!
2. THIS article reporting that a Bay Area investment company bought the Towne Storage building and kicked out all the renters. Later, Burnside! I mean it's only a matter of time ...
Complaining is whatever, and I try not to do it. "I miss the old blah blah blah ..." Also, memory lane can be tricky. I'm sure there were plenty of hate-able things about Portland a decade ago. However, I think it's okay to allow some room for nostalgia and to note that, despite there being no real inherent badness to change, if the things you moved here for aren't here anymore, then maybe it's time to make a change of your own?
Like, where's that next-next spot? I'm gonna be doing some thinking about this ...
This Time Last Year
This September isn't last September. It's different in ways and better in ways. For some reason, though, I found myself looking through photos from last September. It was nice seeing all the faces and the places and the way the light was soft and gold, angular, like it is today.
This is the old Bracewell mini ramp. It wasn't much to look at, but I loved it dearly.
Watched one of my bests get married in the old fashioned way—outside in the fresh air in front of a bunch of good people under the high-country Colorado sun. During their vows, a wind whispering of fall set the aspen leaves a'clicking. Hooray for love!
On the way to the wedding, stopped off in Denver to see nephew Pat and Rocket the puppy—who gnawed on my knuckle with pin-sharp baby teeth.
Hiked up Eagle Creek Trail for the first time: Heat. Haze. Big roving rain clouds. Trails carved out of cliffsides. Waterfalls that drop loudly into deep, green pools.
Used the rest of my garden tomatoes to make a galette. Kinda like a pie, but messier and lazier and in my mind more delicious. Rolling pinned the crust, threw great foodstuffs in the center, and then wrapped it up like a lil baby. It was the oven, really, that did all the work.
3 Things
Mini Ramp ism: As mentioned elsewhere, we tore down Bracewell's dilapidated mini ramp and built a fresh one. It took way more work and time than any of us imagined—but hey, all the best things take both work and time.
New Built To Spill Album: Thinking about this band takes me straight back to an era of corduroy pants and black studded belts, when I cared deeply about such things as indie-rock record labels. I haven't followed BTS since Keep It Like A Secret, and in general, it's tough to return to a band you were very emotionally tied to in the past. The music's too mixed up with memories—you just can't be objective about it. If I had to pick, though, Doug Martsch would prob be one of my favorite guitar players ever, and so I'm gonna give this a listen and see if it goes. I haven't formed any opinions yet, have you?
Vegetable starts: There's a romance to growing your own food. Sadly, maybe—it should be normal, not novel. But fuck—everyone can't live in cabins and chop wood all day. Anyhow, way back in February, I sprinkled some tomato and cucumber seeds in empty tin cans and sat em in a sunny window. Stems pierced the soil, broad leaves unfurled. A few months later, I just plopped the little plants in the ground. See ya in August, guys!
4 Years, Today
According to the Humane Society, Lefty turned 4 today. As you know, he's my number one. Here are a few things you might not know.
I grew up with dogs but didn't really want one. Lance, my former mister, convinced me to meet the 8-week-old mutt, and I mean anyone faced with a fuzzball of this caliber does not drive home puppy-less. Lance wanted the dog, yeah, but all these years later, look whose dog it is!!
His name has nothing to do with dexterity. We named him after Lefty of Pancho And Lefty fame, who, I've been reminded, was a snitch. The name was also kinda inspired by that Lefty's Prayer drink at the Bye And Bye—a dark elixir of beat juice and tequila that sent me spinning a few months before we got Lefty.
The dog is spoiled but he's not pampered. He doesn't get hair cuts. I don't really buy him toys. And he doesn't go to the vet—he's a farm dog and when shit comes up we sort it out at home. He's a fucking wild animal!
Lefty IS spoiled, though, ’cause he gets to spend almost every waking minute with me. Codependent? Yeah. But dogs are the best company on earth—I like him better than most humans—and I've never understood why you'd get a dog and just leave him at home. They're born to be your wingman, to walk behind you on the trail, to chase you at the skatepark, to lay at your feet while you work, to bark at that stranger in the dark, to guard the house at night while you sleep.
