Monday, March 30, 2009

"Or-a-gone"


Three weeks in Portland and I've already stopped pronouncing it "OR-A-GONE". And other fun stories about my initial jaunt into the Pacific Northwest.

This rain? Nonstop? I don't know how this is dealt with by law abiding citizens, but I am about 10 windshield wipes away from finding a way to clear the clouds here via some form of accellerated ozone depletion. If we all die, so be it - at least we'll be smiling from all that Vitamin D!

I pulled over to the side of the road last week because I saw a sign reading "Wolf Cubs". As in 100% ARCTIC. WOLF. BABIES. ... Adorable. And surprisingly legal to own as pets in Oregon, along with pretty much any other exotic or wild animal. It might have been the only thing technically legal about the man with the swastika tattoo selling the little munchkins.

While Andy and I walked along the beaches of Ecola State Park this weekend, I came across a message in a bottle. I'm not even kidding - it was a letter rolled up and corked into a Boylan's Creme Soda bottle, and it had washed up on shore. I opened it, and to my disappointment it wasn't from who I hoped. It was instead from Nik, and it began with this:

Dear Grandpa,
Today is your funeral ...


What followed was a heartwarming letter reliving happy memories and inside jokes, good times lost and the hard times that loss was bringing now. It made me think of my own grandpa, who I haven't seen since he died when I was in 5th grade. The bottle had begun to leak and smear the ink, so I'm letting it dry and will lend it back to the sea for someone else to find when I get the chance.


We also saw some stunning stick man warning signs, but that's for a whole new post (you think I'm kidding).

Oregon is a full service gas station state. I did not know such a place existed, but I have to say it's a little strange, and being a bit of a DIY freak, I don't really like tipping for something I've always done on my own. It's not like we're talking about replacing the engine here, we're talking about refilling the gas tank using the same buttons, card swipes and tubes we're all very familiar with (except you Oregonians, eh?). Am I being silly? Does everyone tip? Am I a miser if I don't? What else is full service here -- nightly tuck-ins? Now THAT would be awesome.

Portland's music scene is fantastic.
Or so I've heard. But based on the local FM radio selections, I'm a little confused. There seem to be about 15 stations, and I'm pretty sure at least 7 of them are Christian. Just tonight I was flipping through and happened upon one of my faves from back when I was all about that friendly bearded hippie and I wonder what, exactly, I found so "awesome" about this song:

When the toast is burned and all the milk has turned and Captain Crunch is waving farewell 
When the Big One finds you let this song remind you that they don't serve breakfast in hell

I don't know what it is about cereal allegories, but doesn't that just strike right where it hurts to achieve the intended lightning bolt of warning? No breakfast in Hell? WHAT?!?! Sweet Baby Jesus, call my hitman and cancel that "appointment" today - I can't imagine afterlife without my Wheaties.

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Right now I'm listening to Lambchop's Kurt Wagner croon sweet nothings into my iTunes library and it's putting me into a peaceful Sunday calm. I'll take that over Satan-steals-Cheerios any day.

3 comments:

Unknown said...

OMG please scan the letter and take photos of the bottle.

Jaggu said...

Cool!! I went here couple of times. Hope you have enjoyed the pacific ocean view from Ecola park.

Katherine Gray said...

Welcome to PDX! Look me up on Twitter: @thiskat. I'd love to get together.

And I hate to tell you this: no one tips the gas station attendant. We have full service because we just don't like to get out in the rain.

You're here on a gorgeous day! Enjoy it! After tomorrow it's going to rain until the 4th of July. ;)