FOJ

We're hot off the holiday weekend—which happened to be really hot. Tis okay, the Fourth of July is supposed to be hot. It's the natural order of things.

Friday, went to the river—an excellent little beach/swimming-hole combo fringed by a set of rapids on either side that you can ride down on, say, a tube. There, we all swam and tanned until we were impossibly crisp from the heat. The dog fetched, like, a million sticks. Or one stick about a million times.

Saturday, skated Mini West Linn—an excellent little park where we could all skate or sit happily in the relative cool under a deciduous tree canopy. Later, there was a BBQ function at Derek's house, where I grilled and ate a giant mushroom and then drank too much whiskey as the neighbors' renegade rez-bought mortars lit up the sky all around us.

Sunday, well, Sunday was a day for rest.

Ben blew up a watermelon, and George got the shot.

Party people.

Swamp thing.

The Summer Scene

I am trying to take it slow and maintain a respect for the summer. All its bounty. It came on so hot and fast—my lawn already cooked into a hay-colored patch (a development usually reserved for later in July)—that I'm kinda worried I might get sick of it?

For instance, my stomach didn't want BBQ food on Saturday night after having feasted on it Friday night, too. Another veggie burger, blahhh. Instead, I ate PB&J before riding my bike to the Q. And Sunday? We couldn't muster the energy to go swimming after having roasted at the river all day on Saturday. Instead, we just skated and sweat in the heat and humidity and then lazily sipped beer and booze on a patio under swollen thunder clouds.

Every night, apocalyptic sunsets blow up the sky. Fires are burning to the North. 100 degrees is in the forecast for multiple days this week. Is it the end of the world? Aw, well, Armageddon ain't so bad, I suppose ...

Sun-dappled trails into swimming holes, etc. 

Lefty likes to catch a cuddle wherever he can. 

This is how you hydrate. Right????

Go Skateboarding Day, It Happened!

Yesterday was many things (Father's Day, the summer solstice, etc) but it was, first and foremost, Go Skateboarding Day. An official holiday? I guess. But for us it was just a good excuse—another reason to spend all day doing this one fun thing we all like to do. So ...

*Met the squad for breakfast at Genie's. Everyone showed up at different times and put in complicated orders and the waitress rolled her eyes the whole time but she was a fundamentally kind soul who didn't give us any shit and got us buzzed on that stiff Portland coffee.

*Hiked Mt. Tabor and bombed it with the wild kids. Some got chucked by pine cones or cracks, others were claimed by speed wobbles. No one didn't have fun.

*Pushed 65 blocks toward the river through Portland's East Side. Lurked in front of Shrunken Head. Skated the parking lot at Evo. Collected a sunburn (from the sun) and some free merch (from Kevin at Evo—thanks man!).

*Crossed Burnside Bridge in search of street pizza. Mid-day tequila shots all around! Skated through traffic. Laughed and yelled. Acted disorderly. Posted up on the river bank to rest our legs and make fun of each other.

*Pushed uphill to NW 13th street—muscles on fire, lungs at capacity—to a kinda skate block party going on in front of Tilt. Saw a ton of faces, some old, some new, all smiling. Skated more. Laughed a lot more. Watched the sun set and the sky turn purple.

Such a good day. Love all of these people. Love this town. Happy Go Skate Day!

Thursday Things

Work projects finally calmed down around here. My head's above water. My mornings can linger. At lunch the other day, I took the dog on a long walk in Forest Park. It was hot as F out in the sun, but not in there—in there it was all cool shadow and green light.

While walking, I listened to the Marc Maron WTF where he interviews Mike Watt from the Minute Men and found that shit to be inspiring—thoughts about growin' up punk, thoughts about music and what people want it to be and what it really is, thoughts about middle age, thoughts about loss and death. Mike Watt is a natural story teller with poetry of voice and vision. The dude is, was, and will always be a wizard.

Been missing my favorite mini ramp lately. As you may know, Bracewell (owner of said ramp) and his chick had their baybay (YAYYY!), and although procreation and the miracle of life etc etc trump skateboarding (or at least that's what they tell me), a girl still can't help but be missin' all those leisurely backyard sessions with beers and all the buds.

A River Day

I didn't go to the river last weekend AKA the "hot weekend" (I was entertaining out of towners) but instead waited until this past weekend, which wasn't as sweltering but adequately toasty mind you, to hike into a secluded beach and spend a few hours tanning and swimming.

The dog, though, he's already been in the water this summer—it wasn't, like, his first time. You wouldn't have known it by watching him, though, running around madly, a real Tasmanian river devil, barking and splashing in everyone's faces. His pal Igby—the same. Together, they drove us all crazy, stomping over the clean towels, kicking sand on both people and food, always shaking off gallons of cold water on the most comfortable person—the one who'd really settled into their towel and was almost, almost asleep.

That's the thing about dogs! Always doing dog things. You can't not be happy when you see how happy they are, though. Lefty's a water dog through and through—he was made for river days, and it just somehow wouldn't be right to deny him.

Sunburns, sandy feet, etc.