Saturday, June 30, 2007
Huge buns
I ordered the SMALL one! They're proud of their homemade buns.
Blondie's in Klamath Falls
Strictly burgers at Blondie's.
Day 0.5 - Home to Roseburg
Since I didn't leave town until almost 5p, I'm not calling that my first full day. It's Day 0.5.My home to Roseburg, OR is 183 miles.
Picked up the car a bit early, 3:30p or so. The kid behind the counter was new, and showed it. Every little step of the transaction got a confused look from him. Swiped my AmEx - confused. Clicking through the screens on his computer - confused. Figuring out what car they had set aside for me - confused. I was patient and didn't bug him about it, and in the end, he realized that the whole thing was taking far too long, so he upgraded me from my Toyota-Corolla-or-similar to a '07 Malibu, in a cool dark gray color. Nice. I thought the gas milage would suck, but so far I've used less than a half-tank. I'll be fine.
When I tossed my luggage in the trunk, O.B. remarked, "You look like you're runnin' away from home!" Maybe I am, O.B. Maybe I am.
Which thought explains why I was a bit embarrassed when, after my last go-through in the apartment to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything, as I was literally walking out the door to leave, iPod in hand, I ran smack into Kevin, smiling like he caught me. Well, he did catch me as I was leaving. He said he'd been on his way home from work, saw that my front door was open, and took a chance. We caught up, I showed off the rental, I invited him along. He couldn't go. Or, he could but there'd be Hell to pay when he got home to the wife and kids. I understood and was amused. As I quickly told the story of my last road trip to Vegas, I realized that I had forgotten my road atlas. Thanks, Kevin, for delaying me just long enough to remember that handy item. Maybe things do happen for a reason after all...
Traffic on I205 southbound past Oregon City was exactly what would be expected for 5p Friday before a virtual holiday weekend. Ugh. It didn't really clear up and start moving until past Wilsonville. I didn't start my music until then. I played 3 full albums on Day 0.5:
- "The Blues Brothers Original Soundtrack"
- "One Day It Will Please Us to Remember Even This" by the New York Dolls
- "Straight on Till Morning" by Blues Traveler
Stopped in Eugene for dinner. I could've sworn that one of the waitresses was staring at me. Might've been my bald head and the fact that I was eating alone, both of which made me stand out. Lots of couples and families in there. The waitress was cute, too - curly brown hair and a round happy face. Even though she wasn't my original waitress, she took the initiative to refill my drink, and get me my check. Flirting? Or was she just filling in for the other girl, who I did not see after she took my order?
I checked Google Maps at a coffee shop (delicious Dutch apple pie, yum) near where I parked the car, and saw that I could detour to see Crater Lake National Park. That would mean turning off of I5 at Roseburg. I decided Roseburg was far enough for the first half-day, seeing that it was already after 9p, and would be another hour and a half or more down the road. I got disoriented and pulled off the road in Sutherlin, saw that there was no room available at the hotel there, and kept going. Got a text from Tracy asking how I was doing. I replied but figured she was already asleep by then.
Three different motels did not have a sign visible from the highway or street indicating whether or not they had a vacancy. That seems wrong. Or maybe I was tired. At the last full one, a Best Western, the lady behind the counter started to tell me that there wasn't a bed to be had in town, then, reluctantly, said, "You can try the one just down that way. It looks just like this one; it's called America's Best Value Inn."
Sure enough, it was laid out exactly like the previous one. Same blueprints. I felt an entirely understandable deja vu driving into the courtyard. Unlike the Best Western, this one's office was closed so I had to ring a bell at the night window. Down the stairs behind me walked a beauty in blue jeans, brown eyes and red hair, and she greeted me warmly and stepped into the office. "Sure, I'll sell you a single," she said. I wanted to ask her if I could stay with her instead, but the ring on her "alert" finger dissuaded me.
I crashed quickly, after trying to set the alarm for 8a. The digital readout was broken. When the alarm went off in the morning, and I got up to check my email (the motel offered free internet (at least I hope it's free! Haven't checked out yet) if you provided a Cat5 cable) I found that it was actually 6a. Oh, well, I was awake already.
Dressed for a run. Decided I'd run away from the motel for 15 minutes then turned around. 10 minutes along, I saw a sign for "Gaddis Park" so I took that street, past the oil tanks, and found five baseball diamonds, with bleachers for each. A paved trail ran around the park so I continued along it, still running, and found myself down by the river (the Umpqua? The Willamette?) and passing underneath the freeway back to the other side. Through a small woods, then past a huge fenced-off field. Shortly I spotted a huge, old, 2-story brick mansion on the other side of the field, and shortly after that the field became a golf course. Then I popped out back by the freeway overpass by which my motel sat. And then I showered and posted this.
More to come...
Friday, June 29, 2007
Go!
Ready to go!
Rain and gray on my way out of town.
I love technology
So it turns out that blogging from my phone is quite easy. I can send texts and pictures and have Blogger publish them with ease. So y'all don't have to bookmark a new page just yet.But I'm still going to use Twitter, and I may send some pictures or videos to my T*Mobile gallery. But it's all going to be duplicated here, on my main blog.
I love technology.
Smacky is excited at having the house to himself. Can you tell?
Vegas week
Next week I'm on vacation. Yes, the planned road trip to Vegas. In fact, I'm leaving tonight, this evening.I'm ready for the vacation, definitely. I re-watched "Swingers" this week. I've been running. Got some money saved up. Packed my sunscreen (according to Weather.com it's freakin' 99° as I type this).
Smacky's got food to last him 'til I'm back. Bills are paid. Yup. I'm ready to go.
Of course I'm going to blog while I'm gone. Duh. But if you need a quicker hit of some of that Lunar Obverse magic, I'm going to be using Twitter for my trip.
Twitter is a new social page that lets people text or IM short messages and have them posted on the internet. I can update Twitter from my phone, using the unlimited texting that T*Mobile graciously provides me for a nominal fee.
I may or may not figure out how to send phone pics to Twitter. I've already made my phone pics available publicly here, so you may want to check there next week to see what I can capture with my cruddy phone cam.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Sometimes
Sometimes, the best show of one's strength is to admit weakness.So weird.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Postscript
Walking back from Video Lair (I rented "Swingers" and "Tideland") I saw white-haired Dave, tall, tanned, handlebar mustache, sunglasses, baseball cap. He saw me and laughed."Ol' Ben is still trying to figure out that lottery machine," he said.
"Oh, man. I'm sorry!"
"Oh, it's OK. See, normally, if we run a mistake like that, we have to buy it. But Dave" by which he meant the other Dave "ended up buying it."
"Awesome!" I said.
"He was sayin' that he hopes you don't think he was mad at you."
I thought about how we'd yelled at each other, in public, and how he'd stormed off into the back room and slammed things around. "Oh, no, it was all just a silly mistake."
So his name is Ben. I'll have to buy him a beer or something.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Sellwood #3
After my run, I walk down to Foster's Market. The Oregon Lottery Megabucks prize is up to over $18 million and I want to play.White-haired Dave, the one who always wears sunglasses, is behind the counter, helping a black lady. I wait my turn while I look at the reader board to confirm that no one won the Megabucks prize, that it's still a huge amount. I calculate in my head that if the "prize" is $18 million, that after splitting it in two to take it as cash, and after the mandatory tax withholding, that's still a lump sum of over $6 million.
A shorter, dark-haired guy is behind the counter, beside Dave, talking to me. I've seen him before but not often. I think he's new. "What can I get ya?" he asks quickly.
"Megabucks, Quick-Pick, five plays, plus kicker. Total of ten dollars" I say, just as I've said for every drawing since the prize when over $2 million. I've learned, through rote, how to say it, just like my Starbucks coffee order, just like ordering my burrito at Taco del Mar or my sandwich at SubWay, I've learned exactly how to say it through repetition.
The man, shorter than me, goes back to the lottery machine, punches numbers, pulls out a ticket, comes back. He hands it to me.
I expected a longer ticket. It doesn't look right. There's only two lines on it, instead of ten - two plays per dollar should be ten lines. "This... this isn't right."
"Sure it is!" he says. "Five plays."
"This is only one play."
He points at the bottom of the ticket. "No." He cranes his head around because the ticket is still on the counter and facing my way, he turns his head to read it. "See? Five plays. Just like you asked for." Printed on the ticket is a series of five dates, the next five drawings for the Megabucks lottery.
He's given me one chance for each of the next five drawings.
I look up. He looks me in the eye.
"This isn't right. I wanted," I tap my hand on the counter, lightly, but assertively, emphasizing my point, "five plays for the next drawing, plus the kicker."
He slams his hand down, still not touching the ticket. The black woman and Dave are silent, watching us. "That's what you asked for! You have to buy this ticket!"
Firmly, I say, "No, I don't. It's not what I wanted."
Panic rises in his voice. He picks up the ticket and displays it to me. "I have to eat this!"
I just stand there. It's not what I wanted.
"You have to get a separate ticket for each chance!" He's upset and his voice is almost, but not quite, yelling.
"No I don't!" I point at Dave, from whom I've bought countless of these tickets. "He knows how to do it!"
"Fine, have him do it!" the man yells at me, and he turns away from the counter, angry and upset.
Mildly, Dave says to his co-worker, "You advanced it." I have no idea what this means but it's apparently related to how to run a ticket on the machine. Dave looks at me. "I'll be with you in a minute." He finishes up with the black lady.
The shorter man goes in the back. I hear a slam. Probably a fist into a door or wall, or a door slamming shut.
The black lady takes her items and walks away. A tall guy in black shorts and black t-shirt with a cast around his right hand is next in line.
"I'm sorry," I say, not really that sorry.
Dave shakes his white-haired head. "It's been that kind of day." Another slam from the back. "Sounds like he's trying to put his fist through a wall." He looks at the guy with the cast. "You know how that feels, right?"
The guy raises his cast and laughs softly. "Amen."
Dave looks at me. "You want a Megabucks ticket, five plays... for the next drawing, right?"
"Right," I say. I'm kinda soured on the whole playing-the-lottery thing. If I win now it's going to be bad news, I think.
Sellwood #2
On my way back from my run. Tired, sweaty, it's been hard and slow because of the heat, and because I can literally see the pollen in the air, feel the grittiness in my nose and throat and eyes, in spite of the drug I take to combat my allergies. Have you ever seen a picture of a pollen? It's all spikes and hooks and sharp edges. It's no wonder they're irritating. I'm surprised more people aren't allergic to them.I'm three blocks from my finish line, and I'm passing a blue car I've seen before. On the back is an oval sticker for the Rose City Rollers, a local group of hot women roller-derby-ists. Derby-ers?
As I'm approaching the car, an attractive brunette girl is walking out of the house this blue be-stickered car is parked at. She's wearing a flowing long skirt in a tie-dye pattern, and a loose shift open in the back showing her tanned back. She's wearing the huge round sunglasses that are so fashionable right now, white plastic rims. And she's leading a tiny little dog on a leash.
I slow to a stop in the middle of the street and look at her. She's walking the dog and ignoring me.
"Is that your car?" I ask, loud enough to catch her attention.
"It's my roommates," she says cautiously.
"Oh, I just saw the," I make an oval shape with both hands "sticker on the back." She smiles, I continue. "For the Rose City Rollers." I smile now that she's not so guarded.
The girl nods. "Yeah, she used to be on the Guns N Rollers." A chirping starts and she pulls out a cell phone, checks the screen, starts to open it.
I give her a thumb's up and start running again. "I just wanted to say I'm a fan!" I call over my shoulder.
She waves at me as I go.
Sellwood #1
Out the door in running clothes (including my trusty Brooks shoes - I'm still getting used to the new Nikes), as I pass the house two doors down, I see two ladies standing in their driveway. In their late 50s or early 60s, they're dressed in simple cotton skirts and blouses, and each has a scarf covering their hair.They're part of several families where the men always dress in slacks and white shirts, and the women always wear dresses and scarves on their heads. I've seen them on Friday nights, joining the other families from my block and elsewhere, going to the fenced-off building at the end of the street.
The building is large, with a large parking lot, but there are no signs or other markings to identify it. I've often thought it was a church, or a meeting hall of some kind, and have been curious, intensely curious, about the private people that march in, and dress so... antiquely. The younger generation talk without an accent, so they're not immigrants or an isolated ethnic culture. The house on the end of the block, with another family of similar fashion and habits, often emanates piano music, but I can't say that I've ever heard the sounds of a radio or TV from it. But they have cars; I've seen the young girls, or an older woman I take to be the mom, out washing their mini-van, but still in a dress and with a kerchief over her hair.
I've nodded a hello in the past, sometimes in my street clothes, sometimes, as today, in my running clothes, and I've often wondered if they think me immodest in shorts and a t-shirt.
Today, though, on my way past them, the two ladies are standing in their driveway. One of them holds a pair of field glasses, and on a tripod there sits a small telescope, pointed at the sky. It's about 5:00 PM, and still daylight, and warm. I notice them, and they smile at me.
In perfect English, the lady with the binoculars says, "Do you want to see something? There's a science lesson going on."
Because of my previous assumptions my first thought is that this is some kind of religious pitch. But since I'm still learning to say "yes" to the universe, I nod and approach them.
"Just take a look there," she says, pointing at the telescope. I move around. It points up and to the south and east. I look up in the sky but see nothing. "Just put your eye to the scope," the lady says. "I'm not going to say anything until you look." She seems to be enjoying this.
I look, and see, not the Moon, or some celestial object or event, but a large bird of prey, on top of a telephone pole.
"Oh," I say, astonished. "An osprey!"
"Yes!" the lady says. "You missed him eating his dinner. He had a salmon, a big one," she holds her hands two feet apart. "He was tearing into that!"
"That's awesome!" I say. I point west, towards the river. "He has a nest down in Oaks Bottom. I've seen it."
"I wonder what he's doing up here? And why is he eating it here, and not in his nest?"
"I don't know." I want to get going on my run, start to walk away, laughing at myself and my weird notions about these ladies. Other than their way of dress, they seem quite ordinary. "Thank you." I'm thanking them for the opportunity to see the osprey, and for the opportunity to talk to them, all at the same time.
Monday, June 25, 2007
None more
How much more clean can one get than "squeaky clean"?None more clean.
It's the most clean one can get.
Where the nervous things are
Hearing that there's going to be a film adaptation of "Where the Wild Things Are", one of my all-time favorite children's books... my breath catches in my throat, and my mind flashes on all the various ways it could all go horribly awry, and fail to capture the slew of feelings I have of reading that book.Maurice Sendak's art is what made the book come alive for me, though the story is also a simple one that should be familiar to any child or parent - young Max is making trouble around the house, and is sent to bed without supper. In his room, a forest grows, and the forest is populated with monsters. Max conquers the monsters, being half-wild himself, but eventually grows bored and lonely. Upon his return to his room, his supper is still waiting.
"And it was still hot."The monsters in Max's forest look very much like Muppets; the Muppets originally appeared in the 1950s, and Sendak's book was published in 1964, so there may be some influence there.
There are few directors that I would trust with material that holds such emotional appeal to me; Terry Gilliam, though his production would be way over-budget and take forever to produce; or Tim Burton, though he's a little too slapstick; or Michel Gondry, actually, might be perfect.
My anxiety was relieved, however, to hear that Spike Jonze is directing. *Phew*. Someone who handled the material in "Being John Malkovich" and "Adaptation" so well, will do a good job of translating the story of Max to the medium of film.
It doesn't hurt that Dave Eggers is writing the screenplay, though. Mr. Eggers' novels appeal to the little kid in me - or the little kid who likes to read at a college level, at any rate.
The part that makes me saddest is that I know people who haven't even heard of the book! Tracy gave me a blank look when I excitedly burst into her office with the news. I asked Stacy, who works in the cafeteria here, about it, and got the same non-reaction.
I'm not even going to ask Ken about it... Though he's free to comment if he'd like. Kevin? Have your kids read "Where the Wild Things Are?"
I'm tempted to draw a line from the lack of knowledge of this wonderful book, and the terrible state of affairs in the world today. Doesn't President Bush, strutting around in his flight suitseem exactly like Max, running around in his wolf suit, scaring the dog and knocking things over? President Bush thinks he's the King of the Monsters, but we'd be so much better off if he would just come back and finish his supper...
At any rate, I'm very much looking forward to this movie now. I'll be sure to see it with my youngest nephew... also named Max.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Everything is connected.
One day, I post about going to Chicago instead of Vegas. And within days, I meet and spend an afternoon with a woman originally from Chicago, who's traveling back home at the same time I'm going to Vegas.She had just watched "The Man With The Golden Arm", a Frank Sinatra movie. And while spending time with me, we had gone to a music store, on my suggestion. And she was floored when, as we approached the check-out, she spotted a postcard bearing the poster for that movie, by itself on a rack of postcards. She purchased it, to send to the friend who had recommended that movie.
When that friend receives that postcard, what event will happen shortly after that shows the connection continuing?
Saturday, June 23, 2007
TriMet customer service
To: TriMet Contact Us
From: Brian Moon
Subject: Driver early, inconvenienced riders
TriMet line #33 McLoughlin, Bus ID 2630. Driver was early and knew it because she waited about 5 minutes at SW 1st and Madison before crossing the bridge. Waited again at the Hawthorne Bridge stop (east side of river), then again at the next stop on MLK, while she talked on the phone with dispatch.
While on the phone, another #33 passed us.
There were about 6 passengers on the bus with me. When the driver got off the phone, she let us know that she had to wait for 10 minutes because she was early "and I can't be that early."
Driver should have communicated with us about being early BEFORE being passed by the on-time bus.
When I pointed that fact out, the best she could do is tell me I could get off the bus if I was in a hurry. That's simply adding insult to inconvenience, and very poor customer service.
Good thing I wasn't kissing anyone or I would've been thrown off and blacklisted by the drivers.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Air we breathe
There's something in the air tonight. Is it a full moon? I'll have to check (sadly, I don't just automagically know the phase of the moon. That would be a dumb super-power). Is it the fact that the summer solstice was yesterday? Is it the weather - a little sun and warmth and everyone's suddenly running around with a heightened sense of sociability and friendliness and, dare I say it?, sensuality?'Cause I'm feelin' it, too. And I've been putting out feelers here and there, and getting responses like crazy. I smile at an attractive woman and she smiles warmly back. I say "hi" to another one and she says "hi" and pauses to talk, for all the world giving me the impression that she was just waiting for me to say something, or for anybody to say something, to give her the opportunity to interact.
Earlier I was sitting in a coffee shop by the window, employing my male gaze and watching the attractive women go by (and don't get me wrong, I have a wide variety of tastes. You might be surprised) and the least response I get is a quick, last-minute swiveling of eyes in my direction, to see if, in fact, I was looking their way.
And some of the responses are almost unbalancing, startling me with the hunger and need to be entertained, laid naked and bare with the simplest of opening lines from me. I'm no Casanova. I'm not "smooth" or a player. I'm just a funny guy who's learning to put aside his fear and take some small chances in the world. I'm trying different things. And it seems that companionship (yes, I'm being vague on purpose - I'm not just talking about the lowest common denominator, but the wide spectrum that the phrase represents) is right out there waiting for me to take, if I want it.
This sudden availability is causing me some whiplash of the heart. It's challenging my assumptions. And, like the over-thinker I am, I'm trying to pinpoint the reasons, the causes, of this change. When instead I should be reveling in it, rolling in it like I'd roll in clover; itself a phrase that is linked in my mind with love and embrace and crazy childlike joy and, especially especially, with just plain winning.
Here I was, steeling myself to dive into water that I expected to be freezing cold, mentally braced for the iciness and frostbite, telling myself "I can handle it and it will be fine once I'm in there", taking deep breaths for my plunge to the bottom... only to find that it's blood warm and buoyant, supporting me on comforting waves. Imagine my surprise.
Imagine my surprise.
Is it illusion? Am I imagining it? How much "real" is this, and how much is like faerie gold, golden yellow at first but turning into dry leaves if I try to spend it?
Aw, poetry. Can I just enjoy the looks, and the "hello's" and the brief conversations about nothings? Is it enough for my eyes to trace the curve of cleavage only to look up to knowing, smiling eyes? Is it enough to put out a call "is there anyone out there?" and hearing "I'm out here, too"?
Maybe. And maybe the more of those I get, the more of those will advance to the next stage. I'd hate to reduce the music and dance of human interaction to mere numbers - but numbers have their own music, as any geek will tell you - or any musician, for that matter.
I'm so ramble-y tonight. I'm going to go out and prowl the night for a bit before I hie me hence to bed.
And apparently the moon is only 57% full, according to this page.
Nu shooz
Everyone who knows me knows I'm a brand loyalist. Apple computers. Levis jeans. And for running, my beloved Brooks shoes.Sure, I've tried other brands of running shoes. Had a pair of Nikes when I was first starting out. Tried Adidas Supernovas, and a pair of Asics Gel GT-2100s at one point. But I always came back to Brooks.
The Adrenaline line has been my personal running touchstone, always in a men's size 10 EE. But with the Adrenaline GTS 7s... something changed. They were loose, floppy. My feet felt supported but my foot rolled around on top of the support like they were on pillows. And my heel, my right heel, got sore, and painful, and stiff, and in spite of several-times-a-day stretching and icing, almost every day, the pain and stiffness never completely went away.
I knew that the shoes were part of the equation. Tracy just knew that my wearing Chucks, with their complete lack of support, all the freakin' time I'm not running, might be aggravating the problem - or even causing it in the first place.
With all that in mind, yesterday I wandered into Portland Running Company's SE Grand store, with Tracy as my chorus and cheering section, to try something different.
Rob was funny, and agreeable (almost too agreeable, actually), and he sniffled a lot (it's allergy season) but I got the impression that he knew shoes. And after much trying-on and running-while-Rob-watched and shoelace-adjusting and thinking...
...I bought a pair of Nikes.
The Nike Air Structure Triax 10, to be exact.
You thought I was going to say I got the Brooks, didn't you? It's OK to admit it. I was surprised myself.
Rob was also able to sell me on some shoe inserts. Biofoam, I believe they're called. Because of my heel pain, he suggested I needed more support, and I will give them a try. I'm also wearing the inserts in my Chucks - which feels odd and weird but they do seem to help, even after a single day. Tracy likes being right about stuff... and she's been right about a lot of things lately. She'll like this being pointed out in "public" (as public as a blog that gets about 500 readers a day is, at any rate...).
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Bowser
Ken and I were on our way to lunch (delicious Taco del Mar) (oh, and Tracy was with us, but she was on a phone call so might not remember), driving down SE Grand Ave.Ken said "Wowsers" in response to... something. Probably an attractive woman walking by or something. Yes, actually, I'm sure that's it.
I replied, feeling kinda rhyme-y, much like Fezzik, "Bowsers!" But then I added "...but that's not really a word."
"Yes," Ken said, "it is." He pointed out the window, in front of us. I saw a large tanker-type truck. "That's a 'bowser'."
"Really?" I was excited at learning a new word.
"Yep," Ken said. "I drove bowsers all the time in the Air Force. It's basically a big tank on wheels."
"Oh, I see. Is that just military slang? I've never heard that word before. Is it new? Old?" Anyone who knows me knows I love learning new words.
"I don't know. I don't think so. We had these tanks on wheels, fixed in the back, steerable front, and we'd fill them up with fuel and tow them around with trucks." He paused significantly. "Hence, we called those fuel bowsers."
"Oh. Oh, cool." I thought a moment. "So that one" I pointed at the truck, still ahead of us "is a milk bowser?"
Ken nodded. "Yes."
"And one filled with..." What, I thought, would be an outlandish liquid that you'd cart around in a truck? "...canola oil, would be a canola oil bowser?"
"Right. Though that could also be used as biodiesel." Ken's a big proponent of alternative fuels.
We arrived at the restaurant and the conversation shifted to other topics.
All of this is prologue to explain why I sent Ken an email, containing a link to this story from the Oregonian, with nothing else but the phrase
"Pig's blood bowser!"
in large, friendly red letters.
I hope he laughed out loud when he read it.
Home of the Blues
As I alluded to earlier, I had an idea for an awesome road trip. I've been doing some preliminary planning, and it looks like it would be a bit expensive. I've decided to start saving for it, and tentatively plan on doing this next year.But, what is it, you ask?
I call it, "The Home of the Blues". The idea is to start in Chicago, and drive south, tracing (basically) back along the Mississippi River all the way to New Orleans, stopping along the way in the towns legendary in American music, representing country, jazz and the blues; St. Louis, Nashville, Memphis, before ending up in Crescent City, my favorite city in the whole wide world.
(Being a baseball fan, I'd likely also make a side trip to Louisville...)
There's so much to love about this trip, at least for me (Tracy, though a big fan of driving, greets this idea with a shrug - for herself, anyway). Except for the Big Easy, it's all part of the country that I've never seen before. The cities I mentioned are (according to Google Maps) all between 3-5 hours driving time apart, so if I took a week to do this, I'd have about a day in each city to do some sightseeing. And since New Orleans is my all-time favorite, and since anticipation is as much, if not more, of the pleasure, I'd have it to look forward to the entire time.
But riddle me this, Batman: why is a one-way ticket from PDX to ORD more expensive than a one-way ticket from MSY to PDX? That seems odd, though it might be a result of the dates and times I was using to plan my trip.
(Random things one finds out with "teh google" - MSY is the airport code for Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans because the airport was situated on the former grounds of the Moisant Stock Yards, named after a regional aviation pioneer, John Moisant, who crashed there.)
Alas, between a car rental and the two one-way flights, this is out of budget for me on a spur of the moment. I will put it off a year and start saving up for it. That will give me some more time to plan out the stops I'd like to make along the way.
I so want to do this, though.
Coffee and strip clubs, too
I'm walking downtown, and traffic is slow (due to the streetcar construction on 5th and 6th). I see a car pull out of the main traffic lane and angle towards the sidewalk. Looking ahead, I think he's probably trying to sneak out of the stalled traffic and pull into a garage in the middle of the block.The car pulls closer to the sidewalk and the window comes down. Driver leans out and says to a guy standing in front of me, "Excuse me. Do you know of a bar around here that's got a lot of micro-brews on tap?"
The license plate is from Oregon so he's an out-of-towner, not a tourist. Unless the car's a rental, but it's a few years old, so probably not.
While the sidewalk guy is scratching his head and looking up and down, I pass by and keep walking.
A bar with micro-brews on tap?
How about all of them?
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Other ways of blogging
The average human gets 400 miles per gallon.So claims this guy.
He figured out how much energy is in a gallon of gas, and then figured out how much energy a human gets and did the conversion and math and stuff and it came out to 400 MPG at 3 miles per hour.
Now that's some serious blogging. I'm just posting random stuff I make up off the top of my head, or conversations I've had. No way I'm gonna do math just for a blog post.
Vegas update
Just to clarify: I'm not actually in Vegas this week. I had to give some notice. I'll be on vacation the first week in July.And... I've been mulling over a different idea for my vacation, but I don't want to commit to it in public just yet.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Life is a highway
Nothin' says "summertime is here" like planning a road trip to Vegas.Where by "planning" I mean telling the boss I'm not coming in for a week, renting a car, grabbing the gold card, and driving south.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Mt. Tabor 5K Results
Cross-posted from my running blog.The official results for the Mt. Tabor Challenge 5K are posted.
My official time was 27:59, for a 9:02 average pace. Not my best time, but a solid second-best time.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Father's Day ice cream cake
I will always think of him has being from New Jersey. My dad has objected to this in the past. "I've lived in Oregon for over 40 years!" he said once, "doesn't that make me an Oregonian?"Nope. Sorry, dad. You're from Jersey. Oregonians are born, not made. I don't make the rules here.
But you will always be my dad.
Oh, and thanks again for the bike! I'm sure you won't want it back... now.
And now I have to get dressed to ride my (dad's) bike to meet the rest of the family (including dad) for brunch. And ice cream cake. Oh, ice cream cake how I've dreamed about you all week! At least since talking my sister into getting one for Father's Day, at least since then! Whoever thought to combine ice cream + cake is a frickin' genius. Sure, lots of people serve ice cream and cake together. But think of the time you save having to only serve one item that has both ice cream and cake in it! So delicious.
...I'm sorry, what? Oh, right, Happy Father's Day!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Mt. Tabor Challenge 5K (and biking)
Cross-posted from my running blog.Late last week I signed up for the Mt. Tabor Challenge 5K. I've done that race a couple of times before. Last year I signed up but didn't actually run it - there was a death in the family the night before; I wasn't up to running that morning. The year before I ran it but got lost on the course (following two women who were also lost). So, really, I've only completed the race once before.
This year, because I'm getting into biking, I decided to ride my bike to and from the race, instead of getting a FlexCar. Google Maps told me it was 6.4 miles driving distance one way. This morning I left the house at about 8:20 AM on the bike. I wore my trail shoes to bike in, and brought along my trusty Brooks running shoes. It was fun biking, even though it was mainly uphill all the way there, and I had to stop and walk a bit twice. But I got to the race in plenty of time to get my bib number and get situated for the 5K.
I wasn't planning anything for the run; just do the best I could. The first two miles, mostly downhill, I ran fairly fast (~8:45 pace) but had to walk briefly on the final mile. I finished in under 28:00, I think - forgot to stop my watch and didn't see the clock because I was running hard at the finish. That would give me about a 9:00 pace overall, which is fine.
Maybe I could have done better if I hadn't biked 6+ miles first? Just kidding. That probably helped me warm up.
I'll post the official results when they come online.
Friday, June 15, 2007
The drink will flow and blood will spill
Sorry it's been so quiet around here. Summer's almost here, the boys are back in town, and they've been asking if you were around; how you was, where you could be found.Damn, what ever happened to Thin Lizzy?
At any rate, in addition to finally committing my thoughts and feelings about the naked bike ride to words, I also have a post in me about where and how our democracy is failing. Several things I've come across lately, from an advice columnist writing about workplace issues (just click through the ad - it won't kill you), to a conversation with Tracy's mom about the local Del Monte raids, to the drywaller's strike, to my own union, have been leading me to finally see something that's been there all along. And it's not pretty. But it might take a long post to collect all my thoughts. That post is coming. Consider this a bookmark.
I'm a thinker, that's for sure. I've also been involving myself in the physical, though. Meeting my youngest nephew for a movie tonight after work (he asked me to see Rise of the Silver Surfer). Got a 5K race on Mt. Tabor on Saturday, and instead of getting a FlexCar I'm going to bike there and back again. Father's Day brunch Sunday morning (again, biking to and from), and I talked my sister into getting an ice cream cake from . And I'm trying to arrange two dates this weekend (yes, two different girls, why do you ask?)
So forgive me if I'm not ready to spend time documenting. Too busy living. :)
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Naked Bike Ride: Bits 'n' Pieces
I've got notes that I took immediately after the naked bike ride on Saturday night, and added to the following day, and I've been meaning to turn them into a huge long article.But... minutes turn into hours, and hours turn into days, and before days turn into weeks I must stop and post something. I've put these snippets, these bits 'n' pieces if you will, in chronological order. They should have enough context to make sense. That's my hope, anyway. They make sense to me.
After this, I want to write about how I felt, and how I continue to feel, about the experience. This post is just about the act and the little conversations I had along the way.
*****
At the tie table, I pulled out a tie with tiny little ducks all over it, and showed it to the cute blonde next to me. "If you like ducks, this is the tie for you."
"Well, if you like ducks, maybe you should wear it. Do you like ducks?"
"I'm partial to ducks."
"What kind of ducks? Mallards?"
"Wood ducks, mostly."
"BOY ducks?" she said with a smile.
I laughed. "Wood ducks!"
"But if you liked boy ducks you'd only like about 50% of them," she pointed out.
"Oh, no, don't get me wrong. I like the OTHER 50%."
*****
She was completely dressed. I caught up to her. "You kinda stand out," I said to her.
She laughed, nervously. "Really?"
I said, "Well... you're not NAKED."
Indignant, she replied, "I took my top off!"
*****
I can't tell which made me laugh more: the guys who wanted to high-five me, or the guys who WOULDN'T high-five me.
*****
"Man, when I wake up, this is going to be the BEST DREAM EVER."
*****
People are either saying, "I'm so drunk!" OR "I'm NOT DRUNK ENOUGH."
*****
Lady: "It's good to see that you're wearing your reflectors."
Me: "Well, I want to be seen."
*****
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry! I don't mean to MOON YOU."
*****
Every man in the military, mostly sailors (I didn't see any women in uniform), got a "Thank you for your service!" from me.
*****
My quadriceps are gonna hurt like hell tomorrow.
*****
On Front Ave., some of the floats from the Grand Floral Parade were parked. I stopped long enough to pull out a purple flower and stick it in my helmet.
*****
As I mentioned, the party theme was "office casual" and back at the party there was a pile of ties from which to choose. I had one, and wore it all night. About two thirds into the ride, I realized it was covering me up. I wanted to be naked. So I flipped the tie around to dangle down my back.
*****
"I'm cold!"
"I'm not."
"My breasts just suddenly got cold!"
*****
Monday, June 11, 2007
Naked Bike Ride: Prologue
Friday night. I'm at the Acropolis, as usual. I had to come in to see if Sharai (oops, I used her stage name) was dancing. I wanted to tell her about the midnight naked bike ride.She was.
I did. Right after watching her on the stage for a full set, and two private dances.
As the song ended, she was sitting in the chair opposite me. I leaned forward. "I'm doing something crazy tomorrow night," I said.
Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward, too. "What?"
"I'm going on a naked bike ride."
"What? Naked?" She thought a moment. "I think I've heard about that!" She stood up and gathered up her bra, panties and skirt.
"Yeah. It's awesome. I've never been naked in public before. You've inspired me with all your talk about being naked."
She looked down at me and her face grew serious for a moment. "Thank you! That's... I appreciate that." She struck a pose, arms wide. "The world needs more naked people!"
I laughed. "I agree completely!"
She sat down in the chair next to me and put on her thong, carefully stepping into them with her 9-inch platform shoes. "Have you ever seen a naked war?" She arched her back to raise her ass so she could pull the panties up.
"No! Well... sometimes the losers are naked." I pulled out my wallet, fished out the money.
She continued, on a funny rant. I don't think she'd heard me. "How about a naked fight?" she challenged me, "Knife fight? Mugging? Nobody fights when they're naked! Naked people are not angry people!"
"That's very true. They're too busy giggling."
She laughed.
I pulled at my shirt, stopped. "I'd be so naked right now if I could."
She nodded, hiding a grin. "I bet you would. I just bet you would." She shrugged into her bra, stood, reached around and did the clasp.
I shook my head. "Curse these rules that keep me clothed!" I shook my fist in the air. I started to hand the money to her. She lifted one leg, balancing on one foot, and offered her stocking-clad thigh for me.
I tucked the money into the stocking. The brief warm contact of my fingers on her leg buzzed far more than it should have. I looked up and our eyes locked while she lowered her leg. I thought that was a neat trick of balance.
"My friend, Tracy? You've met her, remember?" Sharai nodded, I continued. "She doesn't think I can do this. She wants me to... just doesn't think I'll go through with it."
Our gaze was still locked and we stood very close together. In her shoes she was over 6 foot. I was looking up at her smiling eyes.
"What, like she think you're gonna pussy out of it?"
I nodded, smirking. "But talking like that just makes me want to do it more!"
"Oh, no," she said, enthusiastically. "You're going to do it. You have that sparkle in your eyes."
Bittersweet
While I continue to collect my thoughts and turn my hastily-scribbled notes into a post (or posts - I've got a lot to say) about the World Naked Dance Party and Bike Ride last Saturday night, let me just say that I find it very sad and bittersweet to read about "Missed Connections" between people who were naked.C'mon, people. If you can't hook up when you're naked... really, what's the point?
Sunday, June 10, 2007
I like to ride my bicycle
Quick post before I go to bed:Yes I did it.
It was the best thing I have ever, ever done.
And I've done a lot of awesome things.
But tonight, naked, on a bike, with 500 of my newest friends... that's the topper.
I can't wait to go looking through Flickr and YouTube this week.
More details later. G'night, Portland! I love this town!
Friday, June 08, 2007
My Naked Bike Ride Update
Hollie, as you may have read in the comments on my previous post, offered to help me find a bike. If the universe wants to help me in this silly quest, who am I to ignore it? Hollie did an amazing amount of research in a short time, and came up with several recommendations based on my simple idea. Sadly, some calls to local bike shops did not immediately turn up the bike models in question, but I figured I still had Saturday to find one or something similar.I had lunch with Ken today, and he reacted with surprise when I mentioned my little joke about him not letting put my naked ass on his bike. I feel a bit guilty for poking fun at him that way, but in my defense, Tracy thought that way, too.
Also, it turns out that Ken is in the process of buying a new bike for his wife, and getting his bike out of mothballs (heh, I said "mothballs") and getting back into riding. He and I talked about bikes and the models that Hollie had mentioned.
And then, again, as you can see in the comments, Dad turns up with a bike that he rarely uses. For free.
Thanks, Dad!
Remember what I said about the universe wanting to help?
Looks like the universe wants me to do this. Or at least my friends do.
Let's ride!
Unleashing the stank
Vanishingly few worthwhile conversations begin, "Here, smell this."Thursday, June 07, 2007
Blasting through the walls of repression
So, it's a running joke between Tracy and I that I'm repressed, at least where it comes to sex and sexual expression.Oh, sure, I hang out in strip clubs and flirt with the dancers, but when I'm outside the club, in the real world, I fail to act on what should be normal, human, desires. And when I am dating a woman... It's not all whipped cream and sweaty skin, if you know what I mean.
Slowly, over time, this idea, that I'm repressed, has filtered into my conscious mind. And I know that it's a problem. And, being who I am, I want to fix the problem. Only... how?
If I visualize the repression as a wall of stone, thick and cold, gray, covered in oily black-green vines... then the way to fight it is to either climb over it, dig under it... or blast through it.
My favorite dancer, "S", loves being naked. She really and truly finds joy in being naked. She hangs out at "clothing optional" beaches. She wanders around her house naked. And even in the club, she seems more alive and happy when she's got no clothing on.
...and I'm really comfortable around her. A large part of that, I believe, is the connection that comes from her being comfortable in her own skin.
Then, today, I read about Pedalpalooza, a celebration of bikes and bicycling. More importantly, I read about the World Naked Bike Ride.
I'd read about it last year. There was a nighttime ride and a daytime ride. I'm a voyeur - I looked at the pictures, watched the videos (warning: NSFW). I had forgotten that it was an annual event until I saw it on some blog again today.
Talking to Tracy, I complained. I said, if only I had a bike, that sounds like fun.
Tracy called bullshit on me. She's my best friend. She knows that I would never actually be naked in public.
Tracy was mostly right. Mostly, like 99.999997% right. I knew it. I didn't argue with her. Much. The repressed parts of my brain (I'm sure there's more than one because it seems like they gang up on me) were screaming and wailing at the very thought of being naked in a crowd of strangers while sitting on a bike in the Eastside Industrial District. I'm a 42-year old man, a man who is still overweight, a man whose ancestors were hairy people. I'm one of those guys that people joke about wearing a sweater when I take off my shirt. At a party in Mexico, slender hairless muscular Mexican men were calling me "Danny De Vito". I don't have great self-esteem when it comes to being naked.
But... I kinda wanted to try it. More accurately, I wanted to be the kind of guy who would try it. I wanted to be able to tell S., the next time I saw her, that I had, in fact, been naked in public. I wanted to be able to blog about it.
I've raced cars, both in formal settings and late night, on the streets. I've jumped from airplanes. I've walked around dangerous parts of New York City by myself. I have moshed. I've had an affair with a married womon and then become friends with the husband.
I can be brave. No, scratch that - I am brave.
So I made a deal with Tracy. First, I needed a bike.
My first thought was asking to borrow a bike. Ken is about my size and has a bike. I'd ask him if I could borrow... No. Tracy and I both cracked ourselves up. Ken is many things, but he's got, shall we say, cleanliness issues. There is no way he would let me ride his bike while I was naked.
So the deal is this: if I can find a bike that fits my budget before Saturday night, I will ride in the Naked Nighttime Bike Ride, along with all the others. I run, I'm fit. A bike would complement my running nicely.
I allowed Tracy to come up with the consequence if I don't do this. Her first thought shows that, one, she knows me very well, and, two, she has a subtle and devious mind.
I can't run for a week.
Running is my therapy and my passion. Not running for a week would be pure psychological torture. It may sound odd to folks who don't run, but, believe me... I would go crazy. Um... crazier.
And now, I'm blogging about it. I'm putting my reputation on the line. I will do this.
I will blast through the walls of my repression.
Plus I'll have an awesome story to tell.
OK, time to read up on the tips for first-time naked cyclists... And if you're wondering, no, riding naked is not illegal.
The Mercury to Tapers: No, yuo!
In response to people "reserving" their parade viewing spots early, the lovable activists at The Mercury are apparently going to be spending their Friday night ripping up tape, washing off chalk, and hauling away chairs downtown.The popo PIO has said that, as long as there's no fighting, they don't have a dog in the fight.
I might join them... that sounds fun!
When parades are a political issue
I used to think that the tradition of marking off sections of sidewalk with tape and chalk (and sometimes chairs and cones or even barrier tape) was cute.This year, I'm having a little trouble seeing it that way.
Portland City Council passed what's called a "sit/lie" ordinance that declares people who block the sidewalk persona non grata, and lets the police round 'em up and ship 'em off to jail. Portland's tried this before and when it gets challenged in courts, the courts say it's unconstitutional since the measures that get passed (last time, through some back-door shenanigans rather than a straight-up vote) are drawn broadly enough to impact our basic rights of assembly and free speech. The last such ordinance was used to arrest Iraq war protesters, for example. All in the name of "livability" of course.
The driving force behind the "need" for a way to round up the undesirables is largely seen as the being the Portland Business Alliance, a trade group of business owners. And sure enough, another sit/lie ordinance was pushed through city council this year just in time for enforcement during Rose Festival. But this time, City Commissioner Randy Leonard is registering his objections.
See, this year, the sit/lie law was tied to some concessions that were aimed at giving the homeless a day center, with lockers and showers, installing some public restrooms downtown, and providing benches outdoors for people to sit in (hopefully away from the shopping district so as not to scare away the paying customers, I'm sure). Homeless advocates kept up pressure on the city council until that was put into place.
But even though enforcement of the sit/lie law is going to start next week, during the Rose Festival, when tourists flock to our fair city and drop loads of cash... there ain't no day centers, there ain't no public restrooms, there ain't no showers. OK, we got some benches. Big whoop-de-do.
I'm sorry, but the image of the PoPo sweeping up the undesirables in order to make room for the tender eyes of the paying suburbanites who lay down their tape and chalk on our public sidewalks just angers me this year. I used to buy into the image of Portland as a friendly, happy, progressive place, but I'm increasingly seeing the authoritarianism and disregard for civil rights that lies just under the surface, and no, sir or madam, I don't like it.
How do the parade-viewers see themselves? You're not gonna believe this. They're protecting themselves from the "selfish" people! From a story in the Trib:
Yvonne Moore of Portland was out this week marking her spot with sidewalk chalk along Northeast Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard.Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh... It's the people who have the nerve to show up on the day of the parade and want to stand near the fearful shoppers who are "selfish". How fuckin' rude of them!
“It’s not greedy,” Moore said. “You want to be able to enjoy the parade, but a lot of times you come [and] some of those selfish people that don’t get out here and mark their spaces want to be in your spot, which is not nice.”
You go, Randy Leonard.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Vive la difference
Situation:
Cute barista, dressed in black with her green apron, reddish brown hair, blue eyes behind sexy librarian glasses, responding to the question "How was your day?" by describing her bike accident. Startled by a dog, collision with a tree. She turns half away, looking over her shoulder at us, and points to the tears in her shirt, starting on her back, left side, and continuing down towards her butt and thigh. "I've got road-rash-by-way-of-tree-bark all along here," she says, gesturing. "And I tore my shirt."Female thoughts:
Tracy thinks, "That poor girl! Ouch! And then she has to work, too? That sucks!. I wonder if Brian notices how cute she is? Wait, he's male. Duh."Male thoughts:
Me: "When she poses like that... I am totally picturing her naked..."Sunday, June 03, 2007
Big Dork
At the Acropolis, as per usual. S. is dancing a private dance for me. She's amazingly beautiful, long brunette hair, lean body but not hard and muscular. The word "lithe" was invented for women like her. If dark eyes can flash, then that's what her eyes do.And then she gives me a silly-sexy look, and I mug back at her, giving her an Austin-Powers-esque double-take, and she laughs and out comes a snort and it only makes her laugh more, and me, too.
"I can't hide it," she admits to me. "I'm just a big dork."
"I think that's why we get along so well," I say, hoping it's true.
"We laugh a lot," she says. "I dig that."
Me, too. It's why I like spending time with her.
After the private dance, she asks me if I'm going to stick around. I say yes, of course, and she tells me that she's got some funny pictures to show me. When she sees me again she brings up a pile of 5 by 7s. I look through them. They're of several Hispanic men in flannel shirts and slacks and wearing bandanas. They're stone-faced. One, in close-up, sneers and has a teardrop tattooed coming from one eye.
Oh shit. "Is this... you?" I ask.
She nods and giggles. "Yes!" She explains she went to a club in town that had Drag Night. "We went as Mexican gangsters! It was so funny!" She says she even came to the Acrop still dressed up, sat at the rack and wasn't recognized until she gave herself away.
Later, out in the club, I look at the other dancers and wonder if they, too, are big dorks. A., probably, but with her body-builder physique and ink-covered skin and dozens of piercings most might not see it. T., definitely; she plays the airhead role well enough but she also has a fun energy. Most of the other dancers tonight are hard-body types - bolt-on boobies, hours spent in the gym and the tanning booth, they've built their looks up to the point of being plastic.
And then there's L. Hollywood looks and a petite, soft but slender body. Perfect nose. Brilliant blue eyes. And although I'll likely never know for sure, I get the sense that the whole package is natural. No scalpel has marred her skin.
The last conversation I had with her I was babbling about being in New York last Christmas and not taking the chance to go to Harlem to see James Brown's body at the Apollo. I remember ending that conversation and leaving her with the impression of me being morbidly obsessed with death. The details are foggy. But since then she's seen me at the club, having fun, and seeing the other girls treat me like a mascot, and maybe that previous impression has worn off, or never sunk in in the first place.
I sat at her stage for a set, and tip, and smile, and mugged a little to see if I can get her to smile. It's stifling hot in the bar, has been all night, and after her second or third song, while she's going around scooping up the money from the rail and from the floor, she looks at me, and scrunches up her face. "Ugh" she says. "It's hot in here."
I take my fedora off and fan her with it. She laughs.
Then it was S.'s turn again.
The next time L. was up was on the main stage. It was getting later, and the club, once filled with party people, was starting to empty out. I could actually sit at the main rack and have almost an entire section to myself. I sat there and watched L. dance and spin on the pole. I watch the other customers' reactions to her, and they all look like they're thinking the same thing I do: wow, she is seriously beautiful. Ethereal. Somehow above this dive-y bar with its smoke and its beer and whiskey and the sticky floors and dirty everything - she's somehow untouched by it all. "You're so beautiful," they say to her: the tough bald biker guys, the smartass frat boys, the geeky emo boys. Even the girl patrons admire her in a way that's very different from the more carnal appreciation the other dancers get.
Second or third song, again, and she laid on the bar in front of me, tits up. She smiles her angelic smile at me from her cloud of platinum-blonde hair (OK, so not everything is natural) and arches her back.
I lean in, close enough to be heard over the thumping music but not close enough to alarm. Thinking of my earlier conversation with S., I say, "I'll bet, secretly, deep down... you're a big dork."
Her smile freezes, just for a second. She slides off the bar, completing the motion she began before I spoke up, turns to face me and leans over.
"What?" she asks.
I know that if I want this to come out correctly, I need to suppress any hint of apology. I'm just speaking of what I see, even if I'm wrong. "I'll bet that most of the time, you're a dork. Silly."
She leans back, her smile gone as she processes what I'm saying. "I don't know how to take that," she admits, slowly. Her song is ending and she's starting to move back towards the bar in the middle of the stage. She turns back to me, her smile returning. "But you're right."
I laugh. "I knew it! I like being right." She laughs with me, but it's an uneasy one, as if she's afraid of being exposed and not just naked.
Another song, and she dances. I smile when she dances for me, and I thank her when she thanks me for the tip. Another song, and the same, except I turn when S. walks past me to get a hot cocoa from the bar (she doesn't drink anymore) and chat with her.
After L. has collected all her money from the floor and the bar, and has put her panties and bra back on, and is in that in-between mode, waiting for the next girl to take over, she walks over to me where I'm still sitting at the bar.
"Why did you say that about me?"
I didn't know what to say. Honestly, I said it because I wanted it to be true. I said it because, out of all the girls here tonight, L. was the one who seemed least likely to be... human. Except for S., of course. But most of the dancers had an edge to them, or showed their insecurities in little ways, or would vent and get angry. But L. seemed perfect, and therefore not quite Earthly. So I thought it would be great if she had a goofy side. I thought that somewhere, there's someone who makes her laugh so hard she farts.
"I don't... I just thought... I could see... It's just second nature..." I stammer out, still smiling and trying to summon the confidence I had had just two songs ago. "I just think you've got a funny side you don't show very often."
"Well... thanks. You're right." And she turned her perfect naked ass and walked up the stairs.
Damn. Did I really pick up on something she thinks about? Or did I just demonstrate the Forer Effect by stating a complimentary generality that anyone would find flattering and therefore hard to deny?
Whatever I did, I rather like the effect.
New rule: Inside many beautiful women is a big dork waiting to be noticed.
