bridgecity's Diaryland
Diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Portland Story
For a brief period during the summer of 2001 I was living in Portland with a girl whom I was romantically involved and her brother who was gay. They were Mormons and had been city hopping since they were 18. The apartment was in a strange old very large building at SE 22nd and Burnside. Our door opened right onto the sidewalk. Homeless people by the dozens pushing fucked-up shopping carts stolen from the grocery store down the street rattling by all hours of the day and night. We had a couple of pet doves in a cage hanging from the ceiling and the birdshit smell mixed with the natural gas and the damp air and the old humidified wood floors smelled homey.
We had a great idea to sell chocolate covered cookie dough balls for 50 cents from our window since it was directly at serving level. I think we made about $1 dollar before we decided we were losing money from them just melting away on the windowsil. We had an 82 Oldsmobile that ran fine. One of us had to wake up every morning and move the car from one side of the street to the other because of various parking laws. I didn�t have a job during the months I was there. I walked everywhere. Every inch of the city within 3 square miles. Every record store, every book store, bar, art gallery, club, sex shop, vintage clothing store. All of these in great abundance. I saw the White Stripes and the Von Bondies play at the Doug Fir Lounge on my gay roommates birthday. Walking down by the river I saw an enormous homeless camp underneath a massive freeway overpass system and talked with some of the residents. They told me there were many rules in the camp. One was no drinking or drugs. A restaurant I frequented was famed for the wait staff being rude.
My gay roommate would sneak off at night to drink because his sister did not approve of him drinking because he got out of hand. And it was against their religion. He worked at the Goodwill down the street. She didn�t mind me drinking but I only did during the day when she was at work. I would sit in the empty apartment and make mix-tapes and drink. I also bought some �keef� from a stranger off the street right out in the open. I think he was a snowboarder.
A friend in Walla Walla calls people from the Pac. Northwest �vulgar-intellectuals�. Possibly a symptom of high concentrations of white people. It�s not like that in Texas. Because of the Mexicans. People in Texas are more like people in California.
I left Portland on relatively good-terms with the girl although she felt guilty about our carnality because it was against her religion. She didn�t blame me and I didn�t feel bad about anything. I arrived back in Texas on September 1st. I came down with a terrible ear infection and my hearing was very bad. It sounded pretty much like being underwater. By Sept 11th I still could not hear. A friend of mine who was the maintenance man at the place I was staying came over about 9:30 woke myself and the 2 other people there up and told us to watch the news about the trade center buildings. The next night we went to see the White Stripes (still on tour) and The Greenhornes at Trees in Dallas. Jack White was obviously shaken up about the previous day and said to the audience �I know how you all feel right now. We�re gonna play some songs.�
12:11 p.m. - 2007-08-26
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
previous - next
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|