Artist Dan Perjovschi

As photographed by Andrew Baron
Wonderful work on his Flickr gallery

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The Walk Home Teaches Me

I've been walking home from work the last couple of days.

It's lovely out of course; winter Portland weather. Dark, so I can admire the downtown cityscape and then, the reflections above the shiny river. I house-shop, picking one and then another house to be my ultimate residence. Vanity, or comfort? I grin at my flip-flops. There's just enough variety in the drizzle to make me picture the variations in the clouds above. I love this climate. I love the smells of the soil, cuddled in its new blanket of leaves, a solstice gift from the trees above. The smell of bark and cedar, juniper and holly. Perfect.

The bus was taking me through this route, too fast. The drivers at night are philosophers, given to commentary on the world that whirls past our fishbowl view, in a way the daytime drivers seem uninterested in. (In LA, the busses have signs saying Don't Talk to the Driver.) As charmed and warmed by these encounters as I've been, I still like the speed that Home comes to me when I walk.

It's infinitely preferable to being alone in my car, at least for commuting. In LA, I'd informally polled people on whether they would take mass transit or not. Most would reply that it's impractical for their route, hours, etc. I could tell most had not even considered it. The more honest ones would say, "I need my alone time."

For me, that "alone time" had a large percentage of literal screaming and sobbing. Funny how the "need" to do that diminishes on mass transit and disappears when I walk. Coincidence?

I loathe commuting. It's boring, wasteful and bourgeois. It teaches people to not care about the problems that pass by one's gaze. Whereas, if one's "commute" is one's own neighborhood, one stays engaged. Why is that garbage sitting there? Why is that building being neglected? Why are their so many homeless people gathering in that area? It's different when it's your neighborhood. And oddly, I noticed that the longer a person's commute was, the more limited a conversationalist they seemed to be. Coincidence?

People tell me that I'll really enjoy the days getting longer and the fantastic spring bloom that overtakes Portland. I respond that it's pretty great now.

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End of the Year Omelette

Whilst cooking what turned out to be a perfect omelette for my dinner, I had a thought

The omelette was magnificent- free range eggs, spinach, brown rice with toasted sesame seeds, fresh-ground black pepper and cinnamon, with slivers of pepper jack and sharp cheddar. Photogenic in the pan. I paused to admire it, and thought of the journey the ingredients had each taken to reach this point. The benevolence of strangers in wanting me to have these gorgeous things to eat. How blessed I was to have them.
Life took on a glow at that point.
--
It feels good to finally "get it."
PS the photo I've used is owned by this New Zealand website

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YouTube Is My Life

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Santa Loves Portland

All the Best children live in Portland. With the possible exception of the little boy who pulled Santa's beard, right before this little girl came up.
See? It was real, because Santa is real.
And you better not have made Santa mad, or we won't get any presents.

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A White Christmas in Camelot

This enchanting town doesn't miss a trick.

I was writing away on my resident slice of Mac magic, and got up for more coffee to see- SNOW! Fat snowflakes falling, a white Christmas. I haven't been in a place with snow in years. I love that it snowed on Christmas. I also love that it didn't stick! : >

Here's a pic I took of my little Rudolph. I was going to write a whole story about "Giant Rudolph Takes Over City, Vows Revenge for Childhood Bullying" or some such. But I saw some other things like that, notably a dub of the "Scrubs" people to the Charlie Brown Christmas Special" and it made me sad, And angry. I'd thought it was going to be a homage. So, I'll put this on here to confess that yeah, I thought I was real clever, too. But I'm not writing the rest of what I was going to write. Besides, I watched all my Christmas Specials again this year. That Rudolph is already got some bizarre subtext to it! But I love it (the restored version with the extra songs) and enjoyed it.

Hope you had a happy and joyous day.

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' "Loft Ceilings! Stone Surfaces Throughout! " ' Pop-Tarts, History and the "Spendy" Home

Know why those European castles are abandoned and crumbling? How come Nic Cage was able to buy one?
They're colder than *crap* to live in.
So, why are we rebuilding them?



Fred Flintstone made that whole all-stone construction thing looks good, didn't he? Seems like all a man needs is to throw on a pelt in a cave of his own? Well, darling Fred was a shill who sold out to anyone who'd offer and here's the proof. Smoking!


That bare floor of yours is a heat-sucking Vampire. You were safe in bed. The Floor Vampire planted the thought of a delicious, crispy-fruity toasted Pop-Tart in your head. To have it, you must venture into the flagstone-floored kitchen, and this thought has made you cry. The Floor Vampire was lying in wait for you to venture out, and now, it has you. Feel it drain the life from your body as you pray in vain for the Pop-Tart to toast. You may make it back to bed with the Pop-Tarts, but you will have to crawl. Your former feet will be frozen to the floor.

Even before there were Pop-Tarts to lust after, people would throw hides and rushes down on those floors in self-defense. Wasn't this why we invented lineoleum? And moved to the city, selling the stone houses to idiotic American actors?

So OK, it's a stone floor. Why not fire up the heat? This works great. Below the loft ceiling, temperatures are snuggly-warm- - far, far above your head. The floor, as they say, remains unchanged. The resulting heating bill will enslave you.

Maybe a quick sandwich in your super-fab all-stainless steel kitchen? The peanut-buttered knife left in the shiny sink, makes the sink Rust. Feh. This is why our Creator gave us the miracle of Porcelain.

I predict the next design revolution takes us back to the easy-to-live-in 60's ranch houses, with wipe-clean countertops, porcelain sinks and linoleum floors- as a condo. Throw some thick, 70's wall-to-wall carpet in the den. Gimmie something heatable and livable. With Energy Star appliances, of course.

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This Boycott Hurts Me a Great Deal

I adore this brilliant show. I watch the clock for the time I can see each new episode. Yet I've never seen it on TV. I don't even own a TV.

I've probably watched each of the Season One shows online 5 times each. Except for the Isabella Rossellini/ Paul Ruebens episode, which I've seen easily 15 times. Ads and all, advertisers.

But I am not watching any more online broadcasts until the writers and other guilds get paid for it. I'm talking to you, advertisers. Ad agencies. Why are you putting up with this strike? Having the nets refund your money is nothing compared to losing eyeballs in your key demographics. You can't get this fourth quarter back. Explain to the execs at your lucrative car account, how your unseen media campaign is selling their cars for them-? Maybe you want to encourage your obsolescence as the move to product placement increases? (The people at Snapple are geniuses. They've gone from bathroom break facilitators to snarky, self-referential "In" crowd members.)

Tell the AMPTP to get the lead out or your industry will die.

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Thank You to Nancy at Sprint

It's counter to everything that is said about cellular service.

But not only have I gotten great customer service in the five years I've been with them, last Friday Nancy at Sprint did me a tremendous kindness. Thank you, dear heart.
-I tried to call you back and they said it wasn't possible to find you.

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Peacock Lane

A longtime resident has already clued me in to Peacock Lane. It's definitely on my Go See List (this image is from their website)

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When Getting Lost is Better than the Original Plan

Someone emailed me a newsletter describing an art event with an address on SE Grand. I tried to find it and didn't. None of the shopkeepers I talked to in that area knew what I was talking about. Whatevs, then.

But I did get to meet Richard at Shoppeople. His card says 416 SE Oak, and Google says this coffeeshop is 422 SE Grand. Guess that's because they have all that art production space- do check out their website for the story.


This is a lovely and cool place well worth getting lost to find. Coffee, comfy chairs for serious lounging and art for sale all around the room.




Big windows for people-watching as they have the corner store. Funny and nice mix of music playing at the perfect level for solo listening or to talk over without shouting. Winner.


I'm having a refreshing latte while owner Richard commiserates with me on being lost. And their boffo iMac I'm typing this on is a wayback machine with a hockey puck mouse. Yesterday's technology today!

PS All the parking immediately around this cool area is one hour or half hour (!). I can't get anything done in a half hour. But go a couple blocks east and south nearer the auto repair shops and it's 2-hour.

Update 2: I never did find that other event.

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Movie Date for One Doubles in Size

There's magic at the movies, if you can just believe...

Saw "Romance and Cigarettes" last night at Cinema 21. I hadn't seen anything written on it, so went in blind. Then I had to adjust myself to what I was seeing. Now I need to know if that's really Susan Sarandon singing the Janis Joplin cover, and I'm reminded that going on a date with Eddie Izzard is on my "To Do" list.

Anna was behind the ticket window last night.











After I succumbed to her sales pitch and was buying the requisite large buttered popcorn for one, Anna told me a story.

Seems there's a man who also frequents the Cinema alone, of that New York type. Anna radiates a gentle kindness and humor, so when she was imitating him it was like watching a ballerina with a jackhammer.

The guy likes to ask (demand?) of her if he's going to meet any women there, to which she replies that you never know. So when he actually made his love connection, it played out right in front of her. He was doing his schtick, bantering with another woman "who was just as loud and obnoxious as him," and it ended with the two going out the door for coffee. Or began, depending on how you look for it.

I asked if they'd been back in as a couple, and Anna said not yet that she'd seen. We can only hope.

I like this story. Something similiar once happened to me.

I ran down the aisle of my hometown movie theatre literally as the lights were dimming on a packed house for the premiere of "ET." A miracle seat on the aisle was open next to a handsome young guy who was there, as it turned out, alone. The movie was enchanting. The handsome guy's murmured asides were witty and made me laugh. By the time the movie ended, I felt like we were already friends.

He was an EMT in the Coast Guard, one of those guys that goes out in the chopper on those hairy Search and Rescues, when people on fishing boats are injured and the ship's in trouble. Adrenaline junky. He took me for a ride on his motorcycle and we started one of those "Mr/Ms Right" romances. It ended when we both left, I to start college and him to become a heart specialist and marry a nice Jewish girl but the point is just like Anna says, you never know.
That's why I buy the large popcorn.

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A Bicycle for Christmas

I'm getting into the holiday spirit this evening. Got me thinking about a (true!) story of mine from a few years ago...

I was working at a hugely awful place and the one bright spot was a woman who I'd see for a couple hours every day, as our shifts overlapped. She had this lovely kind heart. She also read and loved my romantic comedy feature film script (then freshly written) and was a big supporter long before anyone else was on board.

Her son was about 9 or 10 years old and the sweetest kid. They didn't have much money left over after all the bills were paid and I got this sneaky idea I was going to buy the boy a bike for Christmas. I scoped out a rough and tough boy's bike at Toys R Us and they had some excellent stuff to go with it, like cool screw-on air valve covers that were skull and crossbones, and a "real" license plate stamped with the boy's name. I was really having fun getting this bike and wheeling it to the cash register. Everyone around me was grinning at me and catching the vibe. I told a couple people what I was doing. We had a pretty jolly checkout line.

I had the bike at home for a couple of days and got all the stuff put on it. Just as an off the cuff idea, I then made a big card out of construction paper and wrote a poem to the boy from Santa. In the poem, I wrote (taking dictation from Santa, of course) that Santa was so impressed with what a good boy this child had been and how proud his mother was of him- you know, in that vein. Wish I could remember it as the rhyming was pretty tight and I was happy with it. I tricked it all out with silvery ink and glittery things and signed it "Santa."

None of this was known to my friend. On Christmas Eve, I put on my Santa hat and drove over to her apt, then phoned her from the street to come down alone. She did and I told her I was working for Santa, then popped the hatch and pulled the bike out of my car. She burst into tears and gave me a big hug, which was pretty great and very moving. I gave her the card and she went sobbing and wheeling it back to her apt.

I thought she'd have to give it to the boy right then, but she told me later that she'd managed to get back inside and hide it out on their balcony and then he got it Christmas Day.

Here comes the best part of this story. Get out your hankies.

The best part of the present, in her son's opinion?

The card to him from Santa. She said he marveled at it. Carried it around all day and kept looking at it.
--
It's not often that I get to be great, seems like. Most of the time when I check in at the Church of the Bathroom Mirror, I'm reminded that I know I could do better and yet I choose not to give things that little extra push. That's a flincher moment. So, it's nice when Santa has work for me and I do the job right. Gives me hope.

Hope you are enjoying your Christmas shopping this year.

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Is This Your Snowbank?

Perfectly cold out tonight. I'm watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on DVD. And Santa Claus is Coming to Town. I own em all and just got the box out today.

I got the Grinch and of course Charlie Brown.
So funny all the years melt away when I watch these stories and I'm a little kid in my flannel feetie pajamas in front of my grandparent's TV. My brother and I waited all day for the magical broadcast.
Now it seems magical to own these and be able to watch them whenever I want.

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Geeks, a Treehouse and Alex's Great Story

A Treehouse and cavorting geeks were in abundance at the Innotech-hosted Brain party. If you saw it on Upcoming you should've been there. Zowee. Thank you, Innotech!

The event was held in the very cool Backspace Cafe, it of the mostly famous treehouse and game rooms that I'd wanted to see after reading about it on another PDX blog. I met several great people at the event, most notably Web Designer and Technical Writer Dan. Once we started talking about the Matrix, my plans to network and get some business cards were not looking doable. Things really went to hell when we got onto the Animatrix, and I didn't even get to the part where I confess my love of Shinichiro Watanabe... I love talking to clever people. I took Dan's picture but my camera flash scotched it. Hopefully, there will be another opportunity!

Other people were clearly not who they appeared to be. There was Jonathan, with the tiger hiding under his shirt.












Behind the bar was Alex, who told me how he'd come to live in Portland.

Alex's description of Florida culture had the same dreary cast of castoffs as Los Angeles: self-elected Kings of Consumerville living far beyond their means; breathing in perfectly innocent air and rendering it useless. Alex told me it was clearly time for the journey Away to commence, but to Where? Deciding was done with a coin toss. I was so impressed by this that I forgot to write down where the other city was. Might have been Albuquerque. As we know, Portland won out. He told me he'd only been here about two weeks, when he "felt like someone had given him a present."
I can second that, while wishing I'd put it so enchantingly myself.

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"More" Telephone oh *Yeah*

I've been playing the beejeezus out of this 2-Disc album since buying it at EM last week. But Telephone's "More" has got me completely hooked. Y'know how a playing a song brings back the image of wherever you were when you first heard it? "More" sounds like taking the nighttime I-5 South past this lovely spit-shined city, zooming past the skyscrapers like George expletive-deleted Jetson.

It reminds me of early Cars without ripping that sound off. And I love the way it's shaped; again reminds me of the Cars and how Ric Ocasek seemed pushed back in the mix and in front of it at the same time. *MMMmm*

(And, how polite of these fine artists to play into the theme of my yakky little blog.)

Congratulations, Hank Failing! Genius album.

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Now I've Seen Most Everything

Which thrills me most?


1. Costco sells caskets and cremation urns
2. The above are available by Expedited Shipping

"Friend,
Do you find yourself still searching for the perfect holiday gift? Has Grandma INSISTED no more knick-knacks or tea cozies this year?

Imagine the face of your special someone on Christmas morning, as they come downstairs to see your thoughtful gift beneath the tree. Finally! A gift they'll really use!

Shop early for best selection as our most popular designs always sell out fast.

Please check the box on the Order Form if you'd like our Signature Gift Wrap for that extra holiday touch.
Returns Policy: Returns must be empty, in original container and in "like-new" condition. Subject to refusal if marred by semen, body fluids or personal lubricants. Dirt, spade marks or formaldehyde will also cause us to decline accepting the returned item for credit."

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An Excellent teaching



"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results" Professor Einstein

________

Well worth a couple tanks of gas and a few hour's time behind the wheel, in exchange for what can be my freedom forever from wishful thinking in relationships.

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Have you Read "Around the Sun" today?

I love the "Around the Sun" blog. It radiates goodwill and a gentle kindness that I quite admire.
Lots of stuff listed there now for fun To-Do's tonight! Will you be there?

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Full Circle

Went on a day trip today. More about that later but it's amazing how much learning one can do in one day/behind the wheel.


Drove back into beautiful, glistening downtown PDX and as was promised me, the deer in the "Made in Oregon" sign now has a shiny red nose. Goes with my fluffy flannel sheets on my bed.

It's so great here. Bring on the holidays!! I'm so ready for a palm tree-free Christmas.


II. Update

Yesterday, I drove several hundred miles in traffic, only to find my destination was back at my starting point. Here's what I learned:

An "Invitation" tells someone of an event in a manner designed to have that person's presence at the event. Its chief feature is that it contains the time, date and place of the event.

A "Statement" --Wikipedia says that "a statement can be true or false"

I was presented with, "We'd love to have you for Thanksgiving." The address was missing, making this a Statement, not an Invitation. All parties (including me!) acted as though it was an Invitation. The issuer kept promising to give me the address and directions "later." I got so caught up in the sentiments being expressed that I didn't/ couldn't do my normal first step- Googling the address to get directions. I was "trusting" the speaker to take care of me, and to tell me how to get to the destination. I'm still working out in my head if that was their job. I'm pretty sure Miss Manners would say it was. But I wonder if I did indeed abdicate my role in taking care of myself, because I packed, gassed up the car and left, not knowing the destination or the address.

Oof.

Seeing that written out is illustration to me that this action was not logical. I got drunk on the, "Oh we can't wait to see you" and other things of that type. My repeated request for the address kept getting mixed in with other chat. Once I had fixed on this premise of being taken care of, I seem to have shut off my own thinking. When I'd ask for the address, the other person was saying "I'll get you the directions, just start up here."

I actually got as far as Seattle using this insanity as logic. By now I'm far from my laptop and Google. Without any other maps of the area, it's dawning on me that I'm helpless. On the phone, the other person was still saying she was going to get me the directions! Now I'm angry, but I'm trying to disguise it with a social veneer, "laughing" and saying will you give me the goddamn address already? I finally got the address, far too late to put into Google, make a map and save myself.

A vapid- sounding teen took the phone and gave me what sounded like directions. I thought I found the freeway exit but at its base I was presented with a "Y" instead of the "it only goes one way" that I was told. I called and they said, "What? Where are you? Drive toward town." That's not an instruction, when "town" is not visible, nor its direction known. It's conversation. This can't be parsed.

The weird thing was, no one I talked to could understand that I could only work with what was in front of me- "I'm on __ street at __street. Do I turn Right or Left?" And they'd say, "towards town." My voice is rising with my internal pressure. The setting sun is right at eye level as I'm trying to drive, talk on the cell, and look for street signs. I've been driving in heavy traffic since 11, and it's now 3PM. I kept trying to communicate to them. "I'm in front of __". Do I turn right or left? "Oh, I know right where you are. You're really close! Just come towards town, now." I reply "I don't know where Town is!" "Just keep coming down the road!" I drive for a bit and see none of the street numbers they tell me.

I've come to understand that what I think are normal questions are not going to get me answers and I'm desperate now, grasping for things they'll respond to. "Do I go towards the mountain or away from it?" "Toward!" I do so and the grid of streets disappear. "Wow, where are you? I don't even know where that is. You must be really lost." A man offered to come get me. I said, "If you can come get me, why can't you tell me how to get there?"

This insanity went on even longer until something horrible began to happen to me. I felt it starting to tear at my mind. My chest is heaving. My voice breaks as I beg some stranger on the phone for directions. It's literally torture.

I start to sob, and it's only now that I see myself, falling like a leaf. No. Suddenly I see that this is toxic. That stops it. I take care of myself. That's my first priority.

I shut off my phone and drive back to Seattle, where I once lived for several years and know my way around. I rest. I walk around Greenlake as the sun flops behind the trees. A man smiles warmly at me and my pretty outfit. I eat at a Capital Hill Asian noodle house, drive to look at the Space Needle from Queen Anne, do some thinking.

Instead of pleasantly joining a gathering as an adult and an equal, I'll stumble in as the overwrought, pathetic loser, the brunt of all the jokes. Even the children will lisp out some cutting remark. Or worse, I'll be pitied. Way too much of the wrong attention. I felt betrayed. A furious anger and despair washed me in waves. I was exhausted. The last thing I want to do is be in a room with this group.

This is precisely the sort of people and situation that cannot be in my life anymore. Look at what framed my world. A broken jigsaw puzzle, my own piece's image obscured by castoff wax and burrs until I couldn't tell where I should fit. Everything I did try was wrong. The relationship has a clear pattern. It is only what it is. But it must be respected. Wishful thinking will not change it.

In my world today, things are factual and knowable. Addresses are parsed by Google into directions; drawn as lines, printed as maps. According to my odometer, the distance from the point I gassed up in Seattle to my destination in Portland is 172 miles. Not "300." Southbound traffic was very light and that trip back took 2 1/2 hours. Northbound, in all the traffic the transit time was about 4 hours. Google says Everett is another 30 miles north of Seattle, not "100". Facts. I like facts. I like maps.



The genius of Google Maps is it presents one version of potential, and offers that as "what is." When it parses a request, the default reply leaves out the variables. One can find one's way. Things get easy.
It's probably saved a lot of relationships. It would have saved this one.

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Earthquake Today!

I see there was an earthquake here in Oregon today.

Y'know, I'd really like to have left those damn things behind in So Cal. But the reality is we live in the Ring of Fire, Earthquake Zone.
And Alaska gets their share of the damn things too.
Everybody's got something. And Kodiak had the additional thrill of having a tidal wave, after the big earthquake in '64. I'll take both over a tornado anyday. God those scare me the worst.

One of my parent's friends had a home movie (8 or 16mm film) of the tidal wave coming in over Kodiak, and we got to see it. I remember the harbor's breakwater rocks were just alive with zillions of rats beating it the hell out of there. Then I seem to remember the camera pans to the local mini-mountain, and you could see people running up the side of the mountain. Meanwhile this goof is standing there filming it coming right at him. It wasn't like a big cresting wave, it was just water rising way higher and faster than seemed possible. Left fishing boats sitting in the middle of what had been the downtown area.

Went a-Googling to find a picture for you, since I'm being so tangential, and found Timothy Smith's terrific account of the quake and wave, aka "tsunami."

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A Holiday Message from Your Entree

And a story

_____

"The Village" a lounge in Kodiak where I worked as a bratty 20-something cocktail waitress, used to close for Thanksgiving Day. The regulars were then invited back as a private party. Everyone dressed up and we'd spend the afternoon smugly yelling, "We're CLOSED!" to the lesser lights who tried the the doors and found them locked. With a potluck buffet and my boss, Ron Ball, graciously hosting the open bar, we lazed away the afternoon indulging our collective curiosity in the "top shelf" boozes. Entrees like Roast Duck made the "potluck" grub way better than what my clan was shredding each other over at home, although the level of drunkeness and resulting arguments were bone-numbingly familiar with both groups.

My family would slur, "I can't believe you'd rather be with those drunks you wait on every day than here at home with us." Hmmm. Clearly a specious argument, as it didn't factor in that the family never tipped me $20 for bringing them a free double Chivas rocks.

Other than waiting on customers with my mouth full, my contribution to the festivities was decor. I extended the event out by drawing smartass Thanksgiving-themed cartoon posters. Each year, I made up completely new jokes.(That's the year "1983" below my signature.) The second year, the patrons honored me by fighting over who had "dibs" on the half-dozen works. After that launch, I then sold the 20x28 posters for, I believe, about 50 bucks a piece.

This may strike a reader as a shrewd bit of salesmanship, but the downside is that "Your Dinner" is the only cartoon that I still own. It's a little beat up and for some reason my cat bit into a corner of the damn thing, but I wanted to share it with you.

A holiday sentiment from mi casa to su casa. May a happy Thanksgiving be yours!

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Nice One, Writer's Assistants

Image copyright defamer.com

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Whistle While You Work

Desceptively pretty. But it's likely these people don't know they're visible: a new program tracks the IP addresses of people editing Wikipedia pages, showing the title of the page being edited and the geographic location of the editor. Like a Ouija pointer, the Google map quickly moves its focus to any point in the world, showing the posting topic at each location.

-Update- This imagery generated by this program in action looks exactly like electrical activity in the brain. I realized that's exactly what it is; a fractal image, synapse on a global scale.

The loss of privacy is omnious, but to see the world thinking as a collective is a religious experience. We truly are all One.
Love to see your comments on this, especially if you've viewed the program in action.

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I See You Around Me

Blogger has a widget that shows just the pictures from bloggers as they are uploaded. It plays like a slideshow. Life, illustrated. It's very beautiful and moving at times.

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The Future is Unwritten

I missed the whole Clash startup, somehow. All I knew about them was from MTV and I thought then that they were too commercial and slick. Seems that Joe thought so, too.
Saw this movie at Cinema 21 last night and it's a grand one.
The footage and the sound are everything you could hope for. The interviews are wonderfully done, although there were some snickers in the audience at the sight of some of the subjects. And we can gather from the hair and makeup that Johnny Depp came while filming his pirate movies.

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WGAw Strikers get Marshalled Up

This strike affects friends of mine as well as at least one of my deals I still have going down there, so it's near and dear to me. Streaming media is definitely the new broadcast model, but I'm boycotting my beloved "30 Rock" webcast as well as the others until the pay issue is resolved. See no advertising, hear no advertising... ya dig?

Damn. Alec Baldwin is absolutely enchanting this year, too.

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Ode to Downtown PDX (with apologies to Joyce Kilmer)

I think that I shall never see,
My destination in front of me.

Oh one way street to dead end lead
From this hell ne'er to be freed
Last week's route is this week's trap
Surprised brakes squeal a thunderclap.

Yon web of orange mesh tells no tale
Of travelers snared and held for bail
To rescue friends does one dare creep
Or beg to signal with two beeps?

Someday on its new-paved breast,
Traffic of all breeds will flow and rest
To each type a careful lane
A snarl unknotted, the crazed made sane.

(just not today)

(c) 2007 ~Su. All rights reserved

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The Power of One: Dr. Kevin Carpenter

Just read this on Salon.com and then the original New York Times article: this doctor's investigation in Sydney, Australia has saved the lives of children the world over.
Kinda makes me think: What can I get done today?
And: Thank you, Dr. Carpenter
-
The photo's copyright is held by the New York Times, and is the artistic work of Tony Sernack.

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My teaching Trinity: Mr Todd Rundgren

I love this artist. He's got that great Spirit of Play. I've been watching the old NewTek video Todd himself made for his song,"Change Myself" also on YouTube. Nothing leads him astray from his work, not even the appearance of this world not listening to him. "Change Myself" is beautiful. Let him sing it to you. It's perfect and good, of course ...

Back when it seemed everyone loved Bush except for the Dixie Chicks, Todd was screaming "Liar!" on his album of the same name. Along with "Mammon" "...Your God is Mammon! Your God is Dead!" -it's some of his most passionate work, an anguished cry at the state of the world- yet the album's cover is a snapshot of a pajama-clad Todd at a home Easter Egg hunt.

Whomever produced and assembled this TV clip, above, mockingly took some of the lighter moments from "Something to Fall Back On" yet Todd still shines out from its crown of thorns.Typical of the bodhisattva.

The other two corners of my personal holy Trinity- Mr Rogers and Sam Kinison- don't walk the earth as mortals any longer. It's tempting to think by not living in this grayed present day of lies and treason, they had it easier. But both were disparaged in their time- Mr Rogers was ridiculed as being effeminate if not gay, and his very teachings were mocked. Sam played so far past the field it takes a lot of looking to see that he was reflecting our unawakened state back to us- and further, not as a punishment, but as an invitation to change.

The Bodhisattva- at home in their enlightenment, stretching their hand backwards to us.

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My teaching Trinity: Mr Fred Rogers

What a path this bodhisattva walked. I feel humbled just thinking of him.

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My teaching Trinity: Mr Sam Kinison

Sam's network debut on Late Night with David Letterman

It took me years to understand Sam's message. I used to think he was simply profane. I didn't get his greatness in ministering to the sinners and he certainly took a unique approach to walking with his parishioners- but they got it, and him.

Here's a clip that's a good mini-bio on Sam:

Howard Stern is one who knew Sam personally, and I keep wishing he'll publish some of what Sam left with him. I'm afraid people will forget Sam.

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Mysteriously Seductive

I do not know why I love this abstract image of the Sellwood Bridge- but I do.

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Sellwood Bridge Harmonic Convergence

That's a lovely spot. I'm watching the colors change and slant across the water as the sun recedes and I'm totally happy, walking off and just as I'm almost back on the bike path I look back and see this sign for a Suicide Hotline.
Now there were many, many beige on beige on beige stucco overpasses in Los Angeles I could have dispaired and thrown myself over, but this gentle, perfect spot? Was not one of them.
So that gave me some things to think about; different than what I'd planned when I set out.

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Permanently Coveted

Oh, how I wanted to *take* this gorgeous art when I saw it on the post in the Nob Hill District. It's so beautiful! I thought to myself that it was just going to get stapled over or torn off versus me taking it home and cherishing it.
It was a closely-fought battle, but ethics won out. I left it there for all to enjoy and so it could do its job of elegantly advertising the estate sale.

How about you? Did you resist the temptation?

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The Saddest Thing about Hello is Goodbye

I love you, my personal Mr. Bodhisattva. Be well.


(PS I got the post title from a song)

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What a Gorgeous Day for a Walk

Look outside.

Fog, you say? Didn't you ever dream of walking in the clouds?
Look out again.

You can do that today.

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Doublespeak

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It Ain't Local But - Scared o' This!

Taxicabs in Kansas City, loaded with karoake and cameras. Tip from Esquire online magazine. I can't look. You look and tell me how it is...

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Redd Foxx Family Values, By Alec Baldwin

Hey Dummy!
Who knew Alec had this in his pocket? Speaking of which, I'd love me a slice of that Howard Cosell he says he's packing as well.

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Jesus Appeared Through the Clouds

This sooty old diesel is ripe for a bio-conversion to a higher calling.

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Candy Overload

Bringing the Halloween candy to work may take the temptation out of your house but the rest of us feel it.
Ulgh. Maybe I should eat more candy. Hair of the dog?

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I see I need to be 503

Funny how things are so clear once written out.

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I see your 818 and I call it

Weird vapor trail of an old connection from LA followed the triangulated beacon of my cell phone to the Caller ID, but the important conversation was the one I had with myself- on what Home truly means to me. A sacred space. Inviolate.

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Representing

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Wordstock is Coming!

Picture yourself in a shiny red chair- the Wordstock Literary Festival

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The Plazm Page-Turner

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