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Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008
velveteen
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11:49a
Eugene
I awakened to someone two floors above me running down the stairs screaming, "BIRTHDAAAAAAAAY!"
The Lorax basically rules. It is just like Poplar House, only if it were five stories, had close to thirty people living in it, contained a far larger anarchist to non-anarchist ratio, and had been taken care of the last twenty years. The walls are covered in anti-establishment graffiti; there are usually at least two people out dumpstering at any given time. New faces are coming and going constantly - I've told everyone that I'll learn names by the end of the week, just in time to leave myself.
Eugene has treated me nicely. There's a big pile of house staples - I'm eating a lot of quinoa - and people will occasionally come home with a pile of dumpstered fruit and veggies in order to make a huge meal. I've been doing a lot of dishes and a little furniture arranging. They put me up in a room that contained two busted couches and a bunch of bikes and a mattress, basically in a pile. Now it's more than habitable.
The juggling has been good here. I met some cool circus guys on Monday's juggling club who want to hang out later this week and talk circus and maybe catch an EDM party. Tuesday led me through downtown to an amazing sweet shop (best eclair evar) and then to a circus skill trade - sparsely attended due to summer, but I got invited to a whole cirque house for a Saturday potluck. Tonight's radical film night, so I'll probably be hanging out and popcorning it up with a documentary or two.
Everyone here is extremely nice, and I'm really excited to get home and get cracking on making the house habitable for others. There's a whole network of similar co-op houses all over the world - the Lorax might hook me up with some people in Berkeley at a house called Lothlorien - and I'd love to start getting Poplar House ready for these kinds of guests.
By the end of the week, I should have my ride to Cali figured out. It'll be a few days in Davis - presuming I get outta here on time - then headed to my first Major Destination... the Bay area.
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(2 comments | comment on this) Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008
(comment on this)
harriet_m_welsh
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8:56p
transitive fallacy
Today I think someone asked me to justify something I said yesterday, while I was at work. I got flustered and couldn't answer because, well, my workplace is everybody else's hangout. The translation is sometimes awkward with my buddies. When I'm at work, I'm workin'.
Actually I really couldn't tell whether I was being asked to justify my position or basically just being told that I was wrong.
The Prius and the automatic garage door was a metaphor. Here's this guy, Thom Hartmann, who gets paid to talk about how to do the right thing (which is technically the "left" thing), who (in my opinion) can be really out of touch with the topics on which he proselytizes. It was clear to me that the man had not spent much time in a neighborhood next to the freeway.
Here's my disconnect on his argument: "If A = B, and B = C, then A = C" is basically good math gone wrong, when applied to extremes.
For example,
If poor people are getting more athsma,
and athsma is exacerbated by highway pollutants,
then poor people must live by the highway!
Um, no. It is true that low income people sometimes live in areas with poor air quality - The Ghettoization of Athsma discusses several neighborhoods tainted by polluting industry. I have yet to find a source that links poverty stricken neighborhoods to highways.
The article also links the following sources of athsma irritants: "Allergens that commonly trigger asthma include dust mite excrement, pet dander, mold spores, cockroach parts and rodent urine. Irritants include cigarette smoke, ozone (O3, your basic vehicular smog), particulate matter (PM 2.5, very fine pieces of soot, dust or smoke, under 2.5 microns in size), sulfur dioxide (SO2 from coal-burning plants), and nitrogen oxides from unvented gas appliances and wood-burning fireplaces and stoves. Common respiratory irritants such as fragrances and vapors from paints and pesticides can also provoke asthmatic reactions."
And further states that athsma triggers "exist in combination," and that athsma is a multifactorial disease, implying that it would require more than one irritant to create the condition we know as athsma, despite that "studies have not been able to pinpoint an exact cause for asthma's increase."
I contend that the conclusion Thom infers is fallacious because highways travel through all sorts of neighborhoods, industrial, high income, low income, agriculture. The link between athsma and poverty may very well be as multifactional as the disease itself; perhaps the working poor have jobs with a higher exposure of pollutants, perhaps access to medical care is an issue, perhaps they spend more time outside breathing smog and less time indoors on the Interbutts, perhaps they are more likely to be around smokers?
Wouldn't it stand to reason that all people who frequently breathe near the highway have a higher incidence of athsma, not just the poor? But that's not what Thom said, was it. He said that poor people are getting athsma because they live by the highway, and I'm sorry, but I still call bullshit.
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(5 comments | comment on this)
velveteen
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12:25p
Portland journal - 07/20/08
How the plan actually worked:
I still have no idea where NE Sandy and 20th is. I will never go without checking the map again. I am sitting in an unknown bar in Tigard, OR - end of the line.
It's like this. After walking something like twenty blocks in the wrong direction, I turned around an did something similar in reverse. Then I got directions from some drunk people which got me slightly on the right track. The problem is that the track didn't get me into Tigard before the bus left to Twalatin. Hooray for weekend bus schedules, ja? When the last Twalatin bus was leaving Tigard, I was punching the ticket button for a light rail ticket as the damn thing pulled away from me. I guess I did want to ride the light rail before I left Portland...
Cool crowd in this bar, and the music just got started. All things considered, this isn't the worst place to have ended up.
I can really feel my superiority complex starting to unwind. It's not what I thought was happening - that my role had become one of extremely low social status - but rather that I feel a more acute awareness of my own interconnectedness and embodiment of the world. Of course, bringing Alan Watts on this trip definitely helped.
I still feel a little weird, but it's gto be expected - I kind of set myself up for it. I've been too heavy on the principle of late and too light on the practice. That's something I intend to remedy when I get home.
Anyway, so all of my hitchhiking has failed so far (except for getting a ride to Seattle from Bellingham). However, I haven't really had ideal conditions, and part of learning what to do is learning what not to do.
In that sense, I'm learning a whole lot.
I have learned about bum-proofing now in both Seattle and Portland. Coming from a town in which it's easy to find a rooftop to play on (or "occupy" for the night), I'm actually rather excited to see what Tigard has to offer. The bus trip over suggested lots of squat buildings, accessible rooftops, and maybe even a garden without a fucking sprinkler in it.
I just realized that this may be one of the first - or very few - times I've been in a bar that didn't contain any hipsters.
I already wrote about the pack. It's quite the conversation piece. I got flagged as I came in the door - "What's with the pack, buddy? You hitchin'?" But then I got to tell the whole story and I was fine. Not a bum - a backpacker. I'm still convinced that the difference is money. Though...
The long bus here - the one that came all the way to Tigard for 45 minutes or whatever - came with two frazzled old women not in the practice of making very much sense. One insisted on telling me all about how to get places I didn't want to go. The other used me to air out her not-so-private theories about how Oregonians are, in general, very stupid. Because they're poor. And how the federal government is filling Oregon with refugees with burqas driving Mercedes Benzes. And how a felon is living in her apartment in San Diego while she lives in her car in Tigard.
But the first delivered a Twalatin bus schedule into my hands (god, why did i presume google maps would solve all my problems?) and the second gave me the pen that is preventing me from going insane right this second.
Anyway, I've known this type of person - lived with one - and I wonder what it might have to do with ust being extremely out-of-touch. I mean, I'm not qualified to really gauge the precise causes and effects of fuddy-duddyism, but I'd sure like to be able to prevent myself from acquiring such a condition (as if I've never been accused of nonsensical babble).
In other words, this trip may not have been what I needed. But it's definitely shown me what I did, which means that this trip is exactly what I needed. Funny paradox!
Anyway - the more I write, the less I go over and take that lady up on the beer she wanted to buy me...
--
OK, so I missed that chance. What I'm wondering now is whether the obnoxiously attractive girl in the corner is interested in people who sit around writing in bars. Funny how I can embark on this trek of enlightenment and education, yet a pretty face derails the whole thing. Granted, it's an extremely pretty face...
Regardless, damn - she left, boyfriend in tow, 'natch. Still, the band kicks ass, and extremely
--
Here, the journal ends. Why? Because she and I ended up sharing a table and got to talking. She ended up offering some crash space at her place; let's say I didn't expect to spend the night in Tigard snuggling a Latvian knockout with a wee psychedelia library and a cherished copy of Fallout 2 on the shelf. I awakened the next morning to farewell kisses and got back on the road.
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(comment on this) Monday, July 21st, 2008
jazzsociety
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10:34p
things are going well
I have been spending more time with a few select people that make me feel good and are important to me. I have very little time off these days, working 7-8 shifts a week at Fortes. So I'm happy to say that when I do socialize, it's quiet. I don't really go to parties anymore (unless they're important), I barely drink at all, and I don't see people when I don't want to. So the last week has been a bit of a lovely dream involving something akin to dates that have a wonderful, romantic feel to them even if the friend and I are strictly platonic.
It started last Monday when, after work I laid on the beach fast asleep until Angus showed up..he brought soy ice cream, and was then joined by Navi and Nick. Then we went to Tanpopo and stuffed our faces and the evening ended with a lot of gratuitous, no nonsense snuggling.
Hanging out with Bob after the band meeting and going to the beach again to meet Navi and the neighbour boys. Lots of jokes and chatting and followed by the Naam.
Family time on Friday where I played with my nephew all evening at the folk festival.
On Saturday, I had a lovely time after work with Wes. Dad and I snuck him into the festival and we got to roam around and eat and browse and meet Katie's babies, and watch the sunset and dance to lovely music and try very hard to sleep in.
Please note that all of this time is interspersed with check in moments with my beautiful wifey.
Which brings me to today. Besides getting to talk to Bailie for the first time in awhile last night, I had breakfast with boathouse girls, lunch with potential bass player and Lauritz came over. We worked on a new song, which I'm really excited about and eating yet more Naam. Then he took me for a ride along the highway to UBC on his scooter. I love seeing the tail end of the sunset, and feeling extremely comfortable in my own skin.
I guess that's what it is. My skin fits well right now. And I'm doing things I think are right. And I'm only dealing with things I care about. And it's shaping up to be a lovely lovely summer.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
harriet_m_welsh
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8:19p
little pink houses for you and me
When I drive to Stanwood on Cancer Day, I like to listen to talk radio. I flip back and forth between the liberals and the conservatives. Sometimes Tristan will ask questions and I do my best to answer him well. Last Monday, there was one topic that I could see both sides of - mandatory six week paid vacations. Tristan and I had a good conversation about it in the car.
Today, the liberals were talking about athsma and the poor. The host pontificated that the correlation was because of highway pollution and what kind of property was around highways? "Poor neighborhoods, that's what's around the highway!!!" railed Thom Hartmann.
Well let me tell you about where I live, because apparently it is a poor neighborhood, according to Thom. One thing's for sure, it definitely ain't a rich neighborhood! I am perhaps one block west of I-5, and exactly one lot north of Alabama Street, a four lane road (the very road I darted across with two bottles of wine last night). The neighborhood his a mix of houses, from Very Old (like the cottage next door, 1900's), to Sorta Old (mine, 1918 - but with decades of add ons), to Really New (like the newly constructed "Old Timey" style house across the alley). We got old people, students, jerks, loudmouths (that's us), families, section eight (that's Juan), renters, homeowners, a bank, an orthodontist, a hair salon, a pet accessory store, a city park, and an elementary school, all within six conjoined blocks. And none of this counts the Trader Joe's side of the street. Highway or no, I think I live in a slice of life. Today, the kids across the street were playing harmonicas and violins in their front yard. I don't want to move, and I don't think my neighborhood is giving me athsma.
Of course, this is not always where I think of when I consider my neighborhood. My other neighborhood is a tight two blocks of downtown, between the coffee house, the barber, the frame store, the bookstore, a sculpture studio, our favorite bar, the orchestra offices, the bail bonds, and the roastery. These blocks are three tight blocks from the middle school that Tristan attends, which traverse Whatcom Creek, and in which are jammed the Municipal Courthouse, the Health Department, the Library, City Hall, the Police Department, the Jail, the Public Defender's Office and the County Courthouse. That's my neighborhood. It's a small town, despite being almost exactly the same population of my "hometown" of Encinitas, CA. Encinitas was no small town, though.
I park at the roastery because I have a permit to do so off-street. One day last week I was walking to my shift at the coffee house at about 10:45 a.m. I passed six people on the sidewalk. I knew the first and last names of five out of six, and greeted every single one by name. I like to tell Tristan that he can't goof off after school, because I know everybody. (I don't; I just know the bail bonds ladies, the bartenders, the book seller, the barber, the sculptor, the orchestra manager and the picture framer. That's enough, right?) Anyway, that's my neighborhood. Junkies, hoboes, proprietors, employees, friends, customers, artists, hangers on - they're my neighborhood.
My neighborhoods are not "poor," my neighborhod is rich. Maybe just not so much rich with Benjamins, is all.
I would like to know where Thom lives. I would like to see his slice of life.
Do you think he drives his shiny Prius into a garage and closes it behind him with a remote control?
.....
Today there was a terrible car crash in Bellingham on the I-5 I mentioned above. It happened on the road we call "The Guide." (Do you know why it's called Guide Meridian? It's based on the Willamette Stone, the baseline for North American longitudes. "The Guide" runs perfectly north-south of the Willamette Stone - you can thank my 15 useless years in Real Estate for that tidbit.) An 82 year old confused fella got on the freeway going the wrong direction and hit a 76 year old motorcycler who now is in the hospital from it.
As is typical in just about any Internet forum where the comments are unmoderated, our "small town" paper owned by The McClatchy Company conglomerate tends to contain horrific, horrendous, hateful comments. Racist, sexist, ageist, you name it. I read the comments anyway because sadly, that's where a lot of the news is. But today, today there was a comment about that terrible crash that hit me right between the eyes. Made me tear up a little bit:
On my Grandma's 75th birthday - she handed her keys to my dad, and sold her big arse car to my brother for 1$ (Yep, One buck). He tried to give it back to her and/or convince her to let my brother work the summer in her garden or do yardwork or something to pay for it but she wouldnt have any of that.
She told us that she didnt feel she was safe to drive anymore (for others, not just herself) and that since my brother got a car for $1 - he just saved $900 on car payments and he could use that to drive her to her appts and the grocery store.
So he did - for the next 12 years actually and when she died - he lost his best friend. (they did alot of confiding and talking on those car rides)
We need to stop letting our elderly get behind the wheel when we/they know its not safe anymore - and take responsibility for our family members who are no longer able to get themselves around.
How many times had I been driven to my friends house clear across town, to the friday football games in highschool, to the movies after having to stop to pick up 5 of my friends on the way, or dropped off at work in the morning before dad would have normally had to even get up? Our parents drive us around for years to places we think we "have to go to or we will die!" -
How much effort would it be to repay them for those rides when they need them themselves - and save someone else from actually dying?
Not much.
David | 07.21.08 - 1:51 pm |,
No, it really doesn't take much.
.....
Just now, Bill and Alex returned from the greasy spoon also one block away (Lee's) with dinner. Best clam strips in town, rivals even the Shrimp Shack! On summer nights Bill can smell fried chicken from the front yard and it makes him crazy like a cat that's crazy for chicken. We hadn't been there for ages, but Tristan is staying with my Mom tonight so I guess we figured it was a special occasion.
Bill and Alex were laughing, teasing me for not turning on the lights (it isn't anywhere near dark this far north at 9 p.m.), and told me all about the "happiest guy in town" that they saw at Lee's. Apparently he gleefully remarked, "They're still open, can you believe it!?!?" as they ordered their dinners. Alex described him as an incredibly friendly meth head. Apparently he asked the server whether she had her tickets yet. Which tickets? "TO THE GUN SHOW!"
Of course, Lee's also forgot to put a chili burger in the bag and Alex has now run back down the street to get it.
That's my neighborhood.
current mood: OK
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(3 comments | comment on this)
harriet_m_welsh
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7:01p
This Just In
You really haven't lived until you've dissassembled a used invalid commode and packed it up for storage.
Oh, my life is glamour.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
velveteen
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2:54p
Journal from Seattle - 07/16/08
The pack is a dead giveaway. Fortunately, I remember a couple of important things:
-I don't carry other warning signs that usually accompany a pack, like a gross beard, smell, habit, dog, or the like
-I'm actually a pretty good guy and a cool cat in general!
That said, it's important to remember that I am in foreign territory, and I can no longer take for granted the fact of a server's assumption of my good intentions.
Speaking of good intentions, I am already noticing an extreme disparity between things I take for granted and things I'm able to do on the streets of Seattle. Examples: powering a laptop or cell phone; finding a seat; drinking a glass of water; peeing.
In other words, I just gained a significant mount of respect for homeless people - not only those homeless by choice, but those flung into this situation by financial happenstance, cultural crisis (children being thrown from their homes due to drug experimentation, sexual orientation, etc.), or other situations.
And I'm still living fancy, eating Thai food on savings.
--
I can understand why the author of Evasion started sticking to small towns. Trying to find a location that wasn't somehow bum-proofed - in this neighborhood, at least - was quite the difficulty. The infill here is done in such a way that every business has some kind of abode behind or on top of it - meaning that any attempt to crash on a rooftop means you're probably gonna get tripped over in the morning. Not to mention the usual suspects: cameras and sprinklers.
Everything sounds twice as loud when you're trying to keep an ear out for people coming to shoo you away. It took me a few before I realized that the nearby crunch of vegetation was a neighboring squirrel, not a fellow sleeper. Still, I was so insistent at keeping up appearances - who am I trying to fool here? - that I first tried to sleep in a t-shirt, then finally gave up and tried the hoody and then realized that I'd brought the fucking sleeping bag for a reason and if I were to be discovered, it wouldn't matter whether I was Richard the Wandering Dandy or Ugg the Nocturnal Terror. One way or the other, first and foremost, I was The Guy In The Bushes.
After a while, I finally got around to some really crazy, nonsensical dreams - which were restful mostly by the fact that I'd finally fallen asleep. I wish I'd descended into sleep a bit earlier, so as to have a bit more time before being confronted by a duo of ravenous mosquitos... maybe next time.
Not every sound was menacing. The crunch of squirrel spoils, traffic, and the songs of a couple passersby let me know, once again, that I am actually in over my head. To a degree, I feel like I'm actually part of this whole world again. It hit me when I opened my eyes in the middle of the night and saw a handful of stars in the nearly-twilit sky. An airplane, larger and brighter, zoomed among them, and I thought a similar thought as I've thought before: "I wonder if they wonder who's watching them." I entertain a companion thought whenever I'm on the place, looking back. And it may be a funny ideal, because - to a degree - I haven't changed... but what spurred me to a new realization of how big, how complete this world is, is that I never thought of sharing that thought with the Bum In the Bushes.
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(1 comment | comment on this) Sunday, July 20th, 2008
(4 comments | comment on this)
harriet_m_welsh
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11:35p
if these are the kinda protagonists I keep getting, then I'm gonna quit
I hope a coupla fellas know how much I love them because I just turned the channel to Venture Brothers.....ON PURPOSE!
p.s. I forgot to tell you that my pond got robbed of a fish last night, and my lily was decimated. Only fish left is Alex.
p.p.s. This morning I saw a squirrel actually pick an apple off the tree and eat it.
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(4 comments | comment on this)
harriet_m_welsh
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9:04p
slugs and booze
Apparently I had nothing to say for four days. Those who know me, probably also know how remarkable that is.
If you asked me how the week went, I'm not even sure I could tell you. I got new glasses, and they are wrong. The focus point of the lens is at the bottom. I know it will get fixed though, because that's who I pay for all my staff's glasses, and he's not likely to want to lose the account. Also Tristan got new glasses, but not from the same place because Lenscrafters has that no-matter-what guarantee, which we almost always have to use. Man, that kid is hard on his glasses. On the other hand, I'm really glad I went there because his prescription had changed drastically. I hope this means a better year in school for him. I really wish I had taken to get his eyes checked sooner.
Every night I work outside, it's a little insane. I have an unhealthy tendency to fixate and obsess already, but I guess there are worse things to fixate on (like TEOTW). Those shitty cats, I have really had it with them. I finally broke down and started to cayenne pepper the vegetable patch. I'm sure it works because I sure sneeze like crazy aferwards, and my nose and mouth burn. I'm tired of replanting the same stuff over and over. Also I'm through with those shitty slugs. The green beans are coming up but they're getting eaten just as quickly! I put out beer traps (apparently a study at Colorado State University has found that slugs prefer Budweiser) and lined all of my beds with a barrier of lava. Tristan helped, forming a "death trap" of lava rocks bordering a small cache of pennies (slugs hate copper).
Tonight I made a hoop house around the tomatoes, which means that I just threw a plastic tarp over the top of the tomato cages, held down the sides with brick and left the two ends open. My theory is that it will catch some heat and get on with the growing. I've also started new, er, starts in a windowsill greenhouse. Lima (because the shitty cats keep messing them up), and a fall crop of broccoli. I have Robert's sugar pumpkin seeds sprouting in there too. On a whim I grabbed a watermelon plant at Home Depot (because the shitty cats kept digging up those too), but I haven't put it in the ground yet.
Also Bill bought me a washing machine tub at the recycled appliance store on Marine Drive - just $10! I planted potatoes in it. I even put petunias in a long-abandoned window box, coleus under the apple tree, and a few cosmos around the corner of the porch.
If it were sunny right now, I'd still be out there.
Even today, after putting in about eight hours at my office, I came home and did a few things outside, and then ran to Trader Joe's at 8:46 p.m., having just realized that they were about to close and I had no WINE!
But then I also realized that I had no MONEY, so I hollered up the stairs for Bill to hurry up and gimme my change from our lunch at the taco truck yesterday. HURRY! All right allright allright ALREADY he complained, then I was gone. Trader Joe's is directly across the street and I had seven one dollar bills. It was meant to be, don't you think?
I ran back across the street, not having bothered with a bag. A bottle of Three Buck Chuck in each hand, one red, one white. As I'm dashing across Alabama with my spoils, I hear a skateboard churning across the freeway bridge, then a holler: HEEEEY TERRRIIIII!!!!! It was Jordan, the kid who works at the Cash & Carry where I buy cleaning supplies, a regular at the coffee shop - and apparently a neighbor. How must that have looked, responsible lady that I am, running at breakneck speed with a bottle of booze in each hand?
That's how small this town is.
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(8 comments | comment on this) Saturday, July 19th, 2008
velveteen
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7:55p
Leaving Portland
Here's the plan:
1. Bus out of town to Tualatin.
2. Hop Boone's Ferry Road to the south.
3. Find a place to crash for a number of hours en route - the nature park on Boone's Ferry should suffice.
4. Head south to the Elligsen onramp and try to score a ride.
Here we go!
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(comment on this)
velveteen
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7:01p
A few jeers to add.
This is what happens when I make a happy post about Portland! I just discovered that the Wilsonville bus doesn't run until Monday, leaving me with shitty downtown freeway exits where nobody would pick me up even if I could be seen from the damn road. So - I'm stranded with not a camp in sight. Then I got lost, walking twenty blocks in the wrong direction. Now I'm at this rad coffee house called "Coffee Time," which is open 'til 2:30 AM. They're playing Kid Koala, which is my first sign in hours that something is going right. I am taking it as an omen.
I'm trying to sort my options here. I'm way fucking far away from anything, though I could feasibly sneak out and snag a bus to better spots. Here're my two options:
1. Drop a Craigslist post saying "Hey, I'm stranded and can't get outta here, gimme a ride." Bus downtown to the local 24-hour diner where all the freaks and geeks hang out after dark. Drink lots of coffee, snack, blow my busking money, and wait for a call.
2. In 30 minutes, I can start an hour+ bus ride. It leaves me next to the second-most southern freeway exist in the Portland area; the southernmost is six miles away, and there are two parks where I can probably crash while en route.
I think the second option's looking like the best; I can make the Wilsonville exit (which has been recommended by other hitchers - truck stops nearby) fairly handily. Which leaves me with two more options:
2A. Give the first freeway onramp a shot; I mean, Sunday morning in a small town shouldn't yield many rides, but it would save me a six-mile hike.
2B. Trek through Tualatin, camp in the park, and try to make the Wilsonville exit early enough in the morning to snag a ride to Eugene.
Worst-case scenario: I get stranded all day on Sunday, finish my book, cry a little, and then take the $2 bus from Wilsonville to Salem and try again from there. I have all day tomorrow to decide...
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(4 comments | comment on this)
velveteen
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3:21p
Last night in Portland
Cheers:
-Great juggling club at the university - other contact jugglers!
-Chit-chatting with my neighbor who was checking in with the local branch of his Pedi Cab biz
-Chilling with ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) pandapoke and her chill housemates in their amazing garden
-Walking by the Hung Far Low building
-Figuring out how to navigate another major city (Portland's got a kickass layout)
-Beautiful Portland people
-Kicking ass at today's farmer's market (good crowd, good money)
-Hooray Portland bus system!
-Amazing little street vendor on Albina
Jeers:
-planned to run into three Bellingham friends. Doubled that number by coincidence. THERE IS NO ESCAPE
-Missed the Albina Press (late!)
-Near-missed inevitability for the umpteen43829042th time (figures)
I'm gonna head back to the other street market and see if there's more busking to do - if not, I'll be heading south out of town and camping for the night. Tomorrow: Eugene!
Here's me not dead in Portland:
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(8 comments | comment on this)
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okay