A Love Letter to Portland

Yesterday (after trying to remind myself about the fundamentals of Ohm’s Law and the analogy between electricity and water pressure) I went to this guy Greg’s block party where there was a man dressed up in a tree costume ruling the top square in foursquare, and I played ping-pong in the middle of 48th Avenue with a 10-year-old while another guy with an amp on the back of his tricycle rode around playing guitar. At the end of the street is Belmont Station, a beer store and tasting room that could more appropriately be described as a huge beer museum where you can drink the artifacts, where Kelly (Jen’s friend, Damon’s ex, and the cornerstone of my fortunate social situation) and I went after having Thai food at the place nearby where the owner is known for giving jewelry and other swag away to his customers for no apparent reason. Greg is Portland’s bike safety guy and has a really classy backyard, complete with full-sized teepee (with interior fire pit), and two of the block-party’s beerkegs were donated by a wedding party who had leftovers and happened to see the street closed off. After riding around town in a 9-person bike gang, sampling some Chartreuse at a low-key birthday party in the northeast, having a quick game of cornhole, adorning ourselves with some Christmas garlands left on a curb for all takers, playing smack-the-stopsigns with a giant plastic candycane, and breaking at Voodoo for some bacon-maple doughnuts, we went back to (Damon’s girlfriend) Carolyn’s shared Victorian-style house for a makeshift dance party in a room lined with commuter bikes. In attendance were Artie, the special-ed teacher (who was making hats for people out of newspaper and packing tape), Kevin, the realtor/children’s music singer with the backyard hens, and James, who is working for a kiteboarding company after a stint teaching at the Outdoor School. I passed out around 2 am and rode back to the duplex at 4:30 to let Edie out, rolling out of bed at noon to get coffee and biscuits, and then I did sudoku while Damon showed a prospective camp member the 20-foot shelter he has set up in the backyard to get ready for Burning Man. Then I read a PD James book I got at the mysteries-only bookstore on Hawthorne (I finally finished Geek Love) while the lovebirds took Edie for a walk at Laurelhurst Park.

The guy in the picture: Georg Simon Ohm, German physicist, 1789-1854.

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2 comments so far

  1. Wendy on

    I’m listening to Nantes and I am very happy that you are in Portland. Even though I miss you.

  2. Kate on

    Wow. Can I just live vicariously through you?


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