Friends don't let friends move to Portland.

When I left town, I just got on the freeway.

No lingering, nostalgic drive through town.- And risk hitting one of the do-nothing layabouts badgering me for money?
It was an amazingly easy city to leave.

The pothead work ethic was one thing. But the thing I moved to PDX for: the hoped-for middle-class comfort zone- seems to have entirely disappeared from the US.

There were plenty of people driving the usual snooty nameplate cars. Does your self-image really need that car so much that you can't pay your employees a decent wage? You sad person.

There were plenty of people pushing their belongings in shopping carts, or riding Tri-Met without tickets. There were plenty of plump, tattooed white men in their 20's, butts pasted onto the sidewalks around Pioneer Square, insulting me as I walked by on my 15 minute break. Jobless, on the dole and proud of it, asking me for money.

A beautiful city, with so much precious, clean water it runs freely from drinking fountains throughout downtown. Made unlivable by stoner career bums.

Where was the *working* middle- class? Nowhere that I could find them. Maybe if I hadn't of been constantly, frantically trying to find a full-time job that paid more than 10 dollars an hour, I would have had more time to seek things out.

Shame on both of these groups. You've ruined my America- the one where all one has to do to get a job at a good wage with health insurance, is go in and work hard for the company. With that, one could live in a neighborhood with other hard-working people, who enjoy their lives and the city they create, free of harassment. To have a sidewalk cafe dinner without being bothered for money, by someone perfectly capable of getting their own.

I wish I'd gotten a picture of the well-fed under-25 white guy who sneeringly pushed up his sleeve and held his hand out to me as I exited a store. The inside of his arm. from elbow to wrist, was tattooed with "Beer Money," the arrow below it pointing to his palm. I felt afraid of the rage I felt, the strong urge to lash out at him physically. A vision danced through my mind: my bent head spitting into his palm.

What a waste of my time that 11 months in Portland was. Must be a good climate for growing pot.

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Bad movie, anyone?

Can't go home again- the popcorn feel of the originals is missing from this CGI wonderland.

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My American Life here

I find this amazing:

I can work for a company that employs thousands- but only part time.
I can want to work, and be denied work. Not because of any failing of mine, but simply because they don't want to pay health insurance. Twenty-five people work as little as four hours a day at part time jobs that would be good, full-time jobs for ten. It's a kind of hazing that everyone who has attained full-time status already went through. It's considered normal. For a retail company whose net worth is in the billions. Whose profits are unfathomable. And growing. Of course they're successful. They use American ingenuity and people in a two-tier, have and have not that profits off America's structure by stealing from Americans.
No sick days. No vacation. No health insurance.
-Wanna buy an extended warranty with that purchase?-

Does this sound like what you've heard about Starbucks? People that work there tell me SB pays health insurance to workers scheduled for as little as 20 hours a week. Sounds great, until you learn the work schedules are then maxed out at 19.75 hours.

My quality of life is reduced to begging for work every day, every week at a company that employs me. Funny how there's no time for fun or creative endeavors. Funny how I never have time to write. Funny how exhausted I am, without consecutive days off. A schedule that can have me working at 9AM one day or until 10PM the next.

-No, I'm not on commission. Yeah, I would be rich if I was on commission. Ha, ha, yeah funny!-

On my lunch "hour"-sometimes only a half hour, it varies!- I walk outside and am confronted by people with their hands out, begging. One guy even had "Beer Money" tattooed down the arm that ended in the outstretched hand.
This city's ability to allow this and look the other way is astounding. Where is the tipping point for this week's beggar to become next week's thief?

I was in a local store where the staff were menaced by someone high on drugs. They were trying to bodily keep the person out as the person slammed themself repeatedly into the glass door, trying to break it. Blood streaked down the miraculously unbroken pane as three of the stores' staff pulled on the handle and kept the criminal from getting in. Another staff member called the cops. In vain.

It's dangerous to shop in freestanding PDX stores. When called, the cops don't come. I was in there a couple weeks later and found out they'd had to stop a cop car in the street to get someone to come help. It's made me rethink my personal safety in a freestanding store.

A mall gives the illusion of safety. You may be personally safer than this beleagured streetside store. See the mall cop? That person is not going to stop a criminal, I'm told. They're there to police the sheep. Not the wolves.

the whole world looked to this country, this experiment in democracy. I can't get back the pride I once had in telling people I was American. Now I'm just another financier in open terrorism and murder of people in their own beds/homes/cities. How many bombs have I paid for this year?

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Me Lurve Pitchfork.tv: The Thermals

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Colin Powell's Curveball

Whatever happened to Colin Powell? I know he's smarter than this.

"Operation Curveball", according to Spiegel- and a  man still being hidden in Southern Germany.
A code name like that, and the world still took the bait?

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Sweet Child of Mine Comments

There's pages and pages of Comments for this GNR classic

This one's my favorite.
Initially funny, but not on second thought, were postings like, "dude, I'm 12 and this is my dad's favorite song we always crank it in the car." Apparently Guitar Hero has picked up a new brace of fans for Mr Saul Hudson.
Also chill-inducing were apparently real comments such as, "Great band. Who's the guy in the hat?"

Then there was this culture vulture:


(Velvet Revolver's "Contraband" is just as good, IMHO. )

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Jeff's SXSW Press Kit

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A Moon at Saturn- NASA/JPL Blog

Did you know NASA has blogs? UPDATE: I don't know of a way to communicate with the scientists, but the JPL website gives tour and lecture dates, as well as a page on how you can submit your ideas for research.

Chronicle of a mission happening right now.
Um, everyone is female? Where are the men?
Scientists don't write in exclamation points. And they don't describe their dinner to a world waiting to see the results of a mission's photographs.
Or has that changed too?

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Bitstrips.com

Oh, Good. Because there weren't enough interesting things on teh Interwebs before this lil piece of addiction came out.

PS You heard about this, right?

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Bringing the Sexy- But How?

Malcolm Gladwell's book, "The Tipping Point" put him on my short list of men who, for me, have got it going on.

He joins fellow members Clive Owen and Stanley Tucci, men whose singular wit, intelligence and charms are also known to many in the world. A recent airing of This American Life included audio from a speaking engagement Gladwell had had in New York.
Wonderful story, wonderfully told by him.
Here's the thing.
He said he'd been hired by a newspaper, but didn't have any real credentials. Sat at a desk for six weeks not knowing what to do. Six weeks? It wasn't an internship, either. My question: What magic bubble do some people live in where life is this easy? I've had temp jobs where he wouldn't have lasted half a day.
I'm awfully tired of the salt mines. The dark and the smell never changes. I'd love some time in the sun, but working hard with the idea I'll then get promoted isn't the ticket out I'd thought they were.

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