summer where are you

sun burns fireworks river kooks the I-5 south the 84 east the warm dusk hour growing things badminton backyard ramps thunderstorms july in the mountains new parks old parks campin’ out seven hour sessions swimming off the sweat a Sparks and a sunny afternoon …

it was the first day of spring yesterday, blah blah blah. summer, where are you?

March things...

Harvey Milk: A Wonderful Man

Noot Coulon: A Wonderful Dog

Hello. It's been raining here, that weird spring weather where the sun's sending steam off the wet pavement one second and then suddenly everything's geting drenched all over again. Oh, and sometimes the sun and the rain at the same time—which everyone knows leads to rainbows. Speaking of which, breakfast at Gravy on St. Paddy's Day morning—an hour of my life impeccably spent. The waitresses were all dressed in green and they were playing the Pogues over the radio. "Fairytale of Newyork" ... love that shit. A scramble with sundried tomatoes and swiss. Hot coffee. Hangman on the back of a napkin. And then a little walk in the drizzle down Mississippi to look at the spring chicks just hatched at Pistil's Nursery, white lights on strings hanging in all the shop windows along the way. Let's see, besides that, been typing. Been watching movies. Been hanging out with Noot. Been getting to know my new camera with varying degrees of success.

Friday afternoon waste of time

Been listening to a Van Morrison Meets Bob Dylan bootleg. “Crazy Love” getting played over and over again, and oh yeah, “Foreign Window"—"Saw you from a foreign window, you were trying to find your way back home …" 

Been waking up to sunshine. Been eating fresh grapefruit. Been remembering to breathe. 

Utah for beginners...

Flying to the land of Mormons and 3.2 beer to get sun burnt and yelled at by Ski Patrol might not sound like a great idea to everyone, but it’s part of my job and if I didn’t do my job then I wouldn’t be me. So I went to Utah for an extended weekend to watch a snowboard contest and drive a rental Hyundai around the Greater Salt Lake Area. It was winter, it was spring, then it was winter again. I logged in lots of quality Pat Bridges time, I slept like a female king in a king sized bed, I went to a dive bar and a fancy restaurant. I did a method, I did a stalefish, I got tired fast and realized that I am getting worse at snowboarding.

Now I’m back in Portland, it’s hailing out and I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life. Does that happen to you?

Don't worry—the Flying Tomato was there.

We went to a sushi restaurant called the Blind Dog and I'm still in awe of their dog collage.

Bridges and The Dingo. Pat finally found a sushi restaurant with mac and cheese on the menu.

Drank white wine at Hadar's house in SLC before she took us out to a fancy warehouse party and a scummy/hip bar.

Laura has great furniture, what can I say?

Evan, decompressing after our white-knuckled climb up the fire escape for a glimpse at the city skyline from the warehouse roof.

Here I am, hanging out in the art-deco bathroom at the Twilite Lounge. 

It is what it is—a bear with wings and a tutu.

valentine’s day so what

The thing about Valentine’s Day is that normal people don’t even really celebrate it. You’re either over the disgusting consumerism that's developed or you’re over love—or both. And anyway, it often does more harm than good. Doesn’t some impressive amount of breakups occur in close proximity to Valentine’s Day? Shit, who needs the pressure? Still, there’s something I can almost put my finger on that’s sort of nice about this holiday. Like, the hardest heart can’t help but melt in the face of a handmade Valentine from a four year old (see above construction-paper heart that arrived in the mail from nephew Patrick).

Anyway, although I was easily able to ignore V-Day this year due to being overseas (phew), I did, upon my return home, receive two of the most heartbreakingly awesome little tokens of Valentine-ness. And all I’m saying is that I didn’t hate it.

Look, a sweet little recycled Valentine from 1935 scored at an antique store for 50 cents. Ahwwwwww...