Happy Lefty Birthday
I'm not sure that a pet's birthday warrants celebration? But it's a time marker. And like all time markers, it just means the world goes ’round.
Then again, I'm not sure I'd classify Lefty as a "pet." Not like a hamster is a pet. He's more like a confidante. One who concerns himself with my doings at all times and who, best of all, sends me constant love beams without an ounce of guile. He's always on my team—sometimes he's the only one, but, it's enough, you know, sometimes.
Anyway, I've already talked at length about my thoughts on canines and the happy friendship they supply. No real need to delve further. Maybe just a salute—perhaps with a celebratory pigs ear and a handsome new collar—to 3 years in the life of Lefty.
Thursday morning scenery.
Snow bonanza this past February. Joy!
Posing next to his exquisite portrait by Brent Wick.
Family trip to Yosemite, 2012.
Pizza State Of The Union
Oh hi! I know I haven't been around here much. This is because I spent last week sailing on a sea of sneezing—every waking moment devoted to mucus management. New life development: I'M ALLERGIC TO SPRING.
On another note entirely, recent happenings have me thinking heavily about pizza. The source of its power. My relationship to it. Et cetera.
If you're a Portlander, then you know that "pizza as art" is kinda having a moment right now (see below). But I'm just talking pizza as sustenance here—a nearly perfect food that's at its best when you're gut is so empty it's about to digest itself. Hot, crunchy but also soft, comforting, a modest food of the common man.
Basically, pizza rules because it's fucking easy and good. I'm sad about trends in my town toward overly fancy pizza with trumped-up prices and ingredients. Ovens fired with special woods. Drizzles with oils of truffle. Farm-to-table sausage toppings. And so on.
This trend—it's driving me to only make pizza at home now, a decree I already passed on breakfast years ago cuz I can make a WAYYY better chive and cheese scramble than I could EVER get for $9 after waiting in line for an hour eating out. Similarly, I can grab a ball of dough for 2 bux at Trader Joe's and in no time have an entire steaming pie!
Anyway, at a certain point, everyone's gotta ask themselves, "What does pizza mean to me?"
For every hot slice topped with simple cheese or whatever else is on hand (I'm not opposed to a pile of fresh arugula, but please, no potatoes—potatoes don't belong on pizza), it's the easy comfort of your surroundings and the kindness and love of the people you are with that makes it all GOOD.
Okay, I'm done now.
Pizza-hawk tattoo, courtesy of Screedler.
Subversive pizza art, courtesy of Dave Banks.
Pizza-skull sticker for Daddies Board Shop, courtesy of Screedler.
Waking at Night
Waking at Night
by Jack Gilbert
The blue river is grey at morning
and evening. There is twilight
at dawn and dusk. I lie in the dark
wondering if this quiet in me now
is a beginning or an end.
Spring To Do List
1. Keep my seedlings alive until it's time to stuff them in the ground. The sitch is tenuous—a touch of mildew, mold, or blight and it's all over.
2. Adventure more. South? North? I care not.
3. Eat sandwiches and beer in the sun in the park.
4. Skate all the razor scooter parks while the children are still locked away in school.
5. Procure a butter dish. A small thing, sure—except I eat toast in no small amount and want, or actually NEED velvety room-temp butter to spread on said toast. You can't just have a stick of butter wrapped in its original wax paper sitting on the counter, though. That's crazy talk.
6. Take longer walks neath the flowered drooping trees.
Yard Birds
As you may know, Portland's a beaut for many reasons. One reason in particular—its bangin' backyard skate scene. I'm talking backyard bowls, quarter pipes, curbs, mini ramps ... especially mini ramps. They're my favorite. Try out a new one? I'm always down. Mini ramps tested in the name of science!
See, people here appreciate the value of a backyard. Come summer, life happens in the backyard. And ain't it sweet that that even means skateboarding?
Think about it: No precious hours wasted in the car on a rare sunny day. No waging war with skatepark undesirables. Just friends and skateboard-orientated fun. You leave a happening like that feeling dog tired and happy. Maybe sunburnt. You got to see all your pals. You got to snack on shit and drink shit and talk shit. You got to skate until exhaustion!
Simple folk like myself could not ask for more.
Hudson's on the 4th of July. Sun-dappled yard, dogs, food, and friends—quintessential summer stuff!
A new backyard bowl over at Chris's house—a kind of giant garden sculpture. Magnificent use of space, non?
Bracewell residence training facility. Many miles logged here.
A tiny skatepark, in a backyard, right off Hawthorne. Ain't this city grand??!!