The sudden sads

“On my way home! Need anything?” I texted dad.

“I have a script ready at Albertsons but I need to go up there after you get home” he texted back.

“Can do!” I sent and pulled out of the parking lot. I listened to the Accidental Tech boys argue about storage media as I drove through the traffic of southeast Portland. Surface streets only. No freeways or highways for me. The days were getting cooler, sunset is coming sooner and sooner in the day. Fall had definitely fallen. I was tired but not sleepy, just wanted to go home and chill but still felt a duty to help dad out.

The ATP boys were particularly argumentative and it was very entertaining, if a bit stressful. Listening to them was sort of like cringe comedy sometimes except they’re mock-angry with each other. And anger is often hilarious. I used to say that all the time in the past.

I normally back in to my reserved parking spot but because I knew I was going to be leaving again soon, and because parking in front-first put the passenger door closer to the sidewalk, making it easier for dad, I parked normally.

“You’re home!” he said from the couch when I walked in. The couch faced at a right angle to the front door, and with the pin in his neck, he could not turn his head to see me. He was wearing his coat and hat, and it was kind of chilly in the apartment, so I turned up the heat a little. I chatted with him about work as he stood up and walked toward the door with me.

Night was definitely on the way as I drove him to the Albertsons. We were in the Magic Hour, just before sunset, and the colors were muted but beautiful. The sky had some clouds but mostly shone with a dark pale blue color.

“Any word on the house?” I asked him. He’s staying with me while his apartment is being remediated for asbestos and water damage.

“Lisa (my sister) said that they had the sheetrock up and were painting it. Probably be done by…” he paused. “Probably be done by, uh, her birthday. Middle of November.”

A car cut me off to cross two lanes. “The squirrels are out tonight, dad.” My turn to pause. “I’m going to miss having you around.”

Dad was quiet.

As I drove in to the parking lot, I asked dad if we needed anything from the store and he said I could shop around while he was waiting at the pharmacy counter.

An Alberston's store front from the parking lot, with the darkening evening sky hanging above it.

I snapped a picture of the Albertsons sign, the beige stucco facade and the lit-up blue and white sign against the fading blue sky, with amber parking lot lights… it was pretty. I was glad I’d captured the scene.

Dad looked thin and tired, hunched over as we walked through the parking lot to the store. He went off to the back corner and I took a spin through the aisle. The bread I like was on sale, buy one get one free, so I had two loaves in hand when I caught up with him. “We can put one in the freezer,” I explained, and he grunted assent.

Meds obtained, we went though the checkout counter. No bad needed, miss. Dad wanted to get some cigarettes but the counter where they kept them had a line of people waiting and no checker behind. A lady asked a security guard if anyone was working the counter and the security guard didn’t know, politely. Dad decided he had enough smokes for tonight and he’d take the bus to the 7-11 tomorrow. We headed back out into the twilight.

I got to the car ahead of dad, unlocked the doors, and sat behind the wheel. The light outside was dying but beautifully. I sent the picture I took to Tracy, just to share. Dad got in, buckled up.

“This is the kind of light Spielberg likes to film in,” I said. Dad smiled, nodded.

I’m glad I have been here to help him out. I am going to miss him when he is not around.

Do you ever, suddenly, without warning, get the sads? Yeah. Me, too. Strange how swiftly it happens.

Food Recomendations For Portland Visitors

XOXO Festival is coming up, starting tomorrow, and I could not be more XOXO-cited (don’t groan, you loved it, I’m not apologizing.) On the good social medias people are posting their travel selfies, tips and tricks, and scheduling meetups. I can’t share any of that, but here in public, I’m going to make a personal list of some of my favorite things about Portland, from me, a native son of the city. It’s true: I was born here almost 60 years ago, at St. Vincent’s, on a snowy December evening.

I’m not one of those Portlanders who hate people moving here, though. I want people to move here, mostly leftist or progressive folks, because governmentally the city is run by centrists at best, although I have hopes that the new form of city government we all voted in and that the current pack of conservative commissioners have been trying their best to sabotage will enable true progressive voices, and hopefully diverse ones, to have greater say in how my city works.

So if you’re new to Portland, visiting for the XOXO Festival, here are some off-the-beaten-track recommendations for food, entertainment, and quality time. I grew up in Southeast Portland, so most of my faves are in this quadrant of the city.

I have never had bad service at Kay’s Bar or the Limelight Lounge, both located in SE Portland on Milwaukie Avenue. These are friendly neighborhood establishments with caring staff who know their business. The bartenders at Kay’s serve strong drinks, the menu is bar food but done really well, and the atmosphere and decor is chill and retro. I could be biased, though: the previous cook named a burger special after me once (the Lunar Burger, which had goat cheese and cole slaw, is sadly no longer on the menu.) Many vegan or vegetarian options, also!

The Limelight likewise has filling, delicious burgers, sandwiches, and specials. The restaurant side is warm and inviting; I like to grab a window seat and watch the foot traffic but on sunny days you can sit outside. Limelight is my go-to for Taco Tuesdays; three tacos for cheap, all day long, along with the Niño Nachos, and a beer, is a filling inexpensive meal. Try a drink with one of their infused vodkas; the jalepeno makes a great vodka martini. Their Taco Tuesday always includes a vegetarian option, as well.

Maya’s Taqueria downtown, Santa Fe Taqueria in NW, and Aztec Willie’s in NE, are all long-time Portland Mexican food staples. Their verde chicken is amazing, and I consider their salsa to be the pinacle and the match of anything I’ve ever had in actual Mexico (though I am a tourist there, of course.) Maya’s is also situated right on the MAX line and a block from the Central Library; I have spent many a lazy afternoon or evening sitting at the bench watching the world go by through the large front windows, nursing a beer and filling myself with a burrito or quesadilla. Ah, memories. Aztec Willies is open late over the weekend, and has a terrific dance floor!

Lauretta Jean’s wins on pie; they’re on SE Division. Also a tiny shop, they always have many different pies to choose from. I prefer berry pies, and now is the perfect season for blackberry, raspberry, and marionberry, but they do an awesome cheesecake, or a Boston creme. You can drop in for a slice, or buy whole pies.

One last time, with feeling

My team lead called me today. He wanted to know if I’d be willing to take another tech’s on-call rotation next week, since they’d be on vacation.

“I would love to, and I’d be able to during the week, but that weekend I’m volunteering for a conference so I’d be really distracted.”

“Oh, that’s understandable,” he said. He’s very reasonable and very much about work-life balance, so I knew it wasn’t a big deal. “We’ll make it work somehow, no problem.” He paused. “On another note, though, what’s this convention about?”

“It’s called the XOXO Festival. It’s… kind of an indie-artist tech conference? There are multiple tracks for music, for games, and for videos and podcasts, and art of all kinds.”

I shared the website with him and he browsed it while I tried to shorthand a quick description.

XOXO is sort of hard to explain. It’s got a vibe unlike so many other conferences out there. It’s definitely not tech-bro territory, and it’s not wild and pagan like Burning Man, and it’s not techically nerdy like DefCon. Its attitude is sharing, curious, talented, and kind.

The festival takes the best parts of Portland, and none of the worst parts. XOXO is a product of the Portland I love, created by two friends, Andy B. and Andy M., who are perhaps the most curious, talented, and kind people I know. I’m happy to have been even a small part of XOXO, even though I have never felt my imposter syndrome as strongly as I have among the staff, volunteers, guests, and attendees at any of these festivals.

And I’m sad that it’s ending. Did I mention that? Andy and Andy have spent a lot of time and energy creating and curating this thing, and they want to put a bow on it, make one final statement, and move on to other projects. So 2024 is the last XOXO. I had to be there. I missed the last one, in 2019, because I was in a depressed headspace.

But I’ve stayed in the community — oh did I mention there’s a community? The XOXO spirit begat a private Slack that has been operating for as long as Slack has been a thing, I think? I’d have to go look. I’ve stayed in the community and it has been, for me, the Best Place on the Internet. I try to give back to the XOXO family as much as they’ve given me.

I’ve always been a volunteer, helping to staff and run the past events, and this year is no different. Tonight was the volunteer orientation and it was amazing to be in-person with people I’ve only mostly interacted with online for so long. Andy and Andy stood up in front of us, talked about the vibe, and reminded us all of what our expectations should be.

“But you know all this,” Andy M. said. “Everyone here has either worked, or attended, a past XOXO. We couldn’t do this without you.”

The feeling is reciprocated.

Day 9 – Old Home Week

Dammit I had an idea to write about today but I forgot what it was by the time I had a chance to sit down at my computer.

Dad needed his tax forms printed out and I hate printers. Also I don’t have a working one currently. So I drove him over to my sister’s house to get that all taken care of. It took him a while to do it, so I messed around on my laptop and chatted with my sister and my brother-in-law, took a look at the damage from the ice storm and pipe bursting, and petting the Very Good Boy Archer. Tried to figure out why my remote login to my home server worked on one subdomain but not the primary domain (still don’t know why but since I can get in one way, it’s not a huge urgent deal.)

Then dad had to go poke around and look for some things that got packed away when he had to start his controlled-homelessness run. By the time we left, it was after 5 PM and rush hour was in full bloom, making the estimated Google time to get home, across town, nearly an hour due to traffic.

Dad, navigating, sent us near his home bar, and I laughed and suggested that he’d done that on purpose; since he’s been living with me, he hasn’t gone, and it’d been a few weeks. “Your friends probably miss you,” I said. And he thought about it, and said, “well why don’t we swing in for a drink and wait out the traffic?”

You will notice, dear reader, that was not a denial.

Dad knew the bartender, several people sitting at the bar, as well as nearly everyone out on the covered patio around the fire pit. And he introduced me to every single one of them. Almost everyone there knew who I was, told me how much they loved my dad, and said that he only told them good things about me. “Your dad says very often that he’s been blessed with good kids and grandkids,” they said.

It was wild. A little intimidating, even. But it was fun to see dad hanging out with people he knew. I ate greasy bar food, and drank semi-fancy beer (Rogue Dead Guy Ale, for the record) which made me feel only slightly out of place) and listened to dad tell his stories and to other people telling him stories about their lives. Dad remembered everyone’s names. He knew what they did for a living. He knew who was married to whom. It was nice.

And every time someone new walked in, he yelled the same damned joke: “It’s about fuckin’ time you showed up! We can get this meeting started now.” Well, sometimes he started the joke and someone else finished it for him.

Everyone there said they were happy to meet me, and they all seemed sincere. I should go back sometime. I wonder what kind of reception I’d get if I walked in alone? I’m more of a loner than a charmer like my dad. It’s too bad I take more after my mom that way.

unasked, bursting

Picture of a street corner at sunset, with the Charles Bukowski quote in the caption overlaid
Photo credit: Brian Moon, taken 6 March 2014, Sellwood, Portland, OR

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.

Charles Bukowski, “So you want to be a writer?”

    Day 7 – Turn around, bright eyes

    Obviously the big thing that happened today was the solar eclipse. I don’t know if I have 500 words about it, though. For one thing, we only got about 22% coverage here in the Portland of Oregon, and for another, it was very cloudy so I couldn’t see much of the sun at all.

    I did make a point to be outside during the event, though. Listen, I’m a practical person. I try not to give much attention to spiritualism or magic or the supernatural. But for days now I’ve been seeing people talk about Eclipse Energy and how it represents a break, a cleansing, a shift in perspective. And that all seems like unfounded disconnected thinking.

    I say that, but I do also have a horoscope app on my phone, and I know my Big Three by heart (Capricorn Sun, Scorpio Moon, Sagitarius rising) and I share daily horoscopes with my friends. I think that those Big Three do somewhat circumscribe my personality in many ways. I do have a practical side that fits with the general Capricorn vibe; see the paragraph above, even though this paragraph may, to some, undermine my argument. But my practical side is also weighted by the sharpness and intense nature described by the whole Scorpio thing; I just mask it a bit. And backing all of that, the traits of a Sagitarius rising means I’m curious, novelty-seeking, and get bored easily.

    In many ways this is also a description of the ADHD mind, at least my (technically not professionally diagnosed) ADHD mind.

    And I’ve been on a run of bad luck lately. I’m unemployed, and beginning to doubt I’ll ever find a job that’s a good fit that I can ride out the rest of my professional life with. The pressures of modern late-21st-century capitalism are getting to me. I just want shelter from the elements, healthy food and drink, and medical care when necessary, and all of those things are becoming harder and harder to find. The idea of a cleansing, a break, a magical way to shift my focus and find something better… it appeals. It appeals strongly. Doesn’t it? You feel me on this, right?

    Twenty minutes before the maximum coverage for my location, I headed outside, in comfy workout clothes and sturdy walking shoes, with Bonnie Tyler singing that every now and then she falls apart. Me, too, Bonnie. Me, too. I’d love to not fall apart. Can I soak up some Eclipse Energy and make it happen? Or maybe I just need to pull myself together and make it happen, eclipse or no eclipse.

    I stopped on my walk at 11:25 AM Pacific, and pointed my phone at the sun behind the clouds (not looking directly at it, I’m not that gullible) and sang along with Bonnie. I don’t know what to do, and I’m always in the dark. We’re living in a powder-keg and giving off sparks.

    To this atheist, this was as close to a prayer as I will allow myself to make.

    And the only one who can respond is the person making it.

    Forever’s going to start tonight.

    No Ghosts but What We Imagine

    Went out to get some dinner, stopped at the library to pick up a hold, then didn’t want to go straight home. Saw the full moon in the deep indigo sky, yellow and unfocused by the high thin clouds, and just drove around and sang along with a favorite playlist.
     
    And everything around me had a memory attached to it. I’ve lived in this patch of the world for so long now.
     
    That song reminded me of a similar dark night in a different car a long time ago.
     
    Drove through downtown Milwaukie and remembered seeing a movie with an old friend at the theater there on a similar cold night.
     
    That back street? In high school, my friend with the car would drive up and down it, very fast, too fast. How did we never crash?
     
    There’s the street corner I would wait for the bus when coming home from my girlfriend’s house.
     
    I’ve lived here, in this little corner of Portland, in this 3 square mile patch of Oregon and America and the world, for so long now. I’m surrounded by ghosts, except I’m an atheist, so I call them memories.
     
    I’m feeling sad and lost, and eager. Ready for change, and yet tired of changing. Rootless but grounded.
     
    Goodbye old year. So long, farewell, see you never again.
     
    Hello new year, hi, welcome, ready or not here I come.

    The Future Is Retro Now

    View post on imgur.com

    This old bar, on the last Friday before Christmas, was full but not packed. I picked the window table, but the chair facing away from the view, so I could see the folks sitting at the bar, and the other patrons. Though I could turn my head to look at the sidewalk and the street with constant traffic.

    Was Multnomah Village ever this busy when I lived here, 22 years ago? It doesn’t seem like it.

    And there wasn’t a corporate for-profie medical clinic across the street, that’s for damned sure. That whole idea feels like dystopia to me, alone. It sits next to the frozen yogurt shop, which metaphor escapes me right now.

    I sip my strong Irish Quaalude and poke at my pocket smartphone and think about the end-of-the-world politics of the country in which I live. The reality TV star is going to have the power to order nuclear launches soon. We’ll find out about the next war when he taps out 140 characters or less and posts it to Twitter. How many retweets and faves will the Armageddon get?

    22 years ago I was renting a basement from a co-worker not far from this bar. It was a money saving idea for both of us. We worked at Powell’s and idly dreamed of unionizing and I did my job, terribly and despondent. I was at Powell’s, off the clock but still hanging around, the night America elected Bill Clinton, the Comeback Kid from Arkansas, and my roommate tried to cheer me up (I was not political but still very cynical) by saying, “Hey! The good guys won one this time!”

    In comparison with the presidents who followed him, maybe Bill Clinton was a good guy. I’m still not 100% certain, though. My idea of a good guy would be someone with politics like Bernie Sanders, but maybe a person of color or a woman so they’d actually speak for the most vulnerable in our country with the voice of experience.

    22 years ago I would sit in this bar with a sci-fi book and read and eat and drink. I remember it being mostly empty. I remember the fancy dark wood paneling. I remember the upside down clock over the bar. I remember tasting gazpacho for the first time and wondering why a bar that touts its Montana roots would make a cold Spanish soup. It was good soup, though. Tasty. Gazpacho is not on the menu tonight, however.

    Tonight, I’m sitting in the bar, tapping out my memories on a pocket supercomputer that’s constantly connected to a global information network, eating and drinking. Fancy wood paneling intact. Upside down clock still there. Montana roots still evident, at least on the menu. Evidence of totalitarian economy on view out the window.

    This Christmas season, I’m feeling like I’m finally getting the dystopic cyberpunk future I was promised all those years ago.

    Tour Portland’s Political Underbelly

    I’m reading (well, listening to the audiobook of) Nixonland by Ron Perlstein and Portland’s been mentioned as a location twice, even though I’m less than a third of the way through. First, Nixon was in a hotel here during the campaign for president Eisenhower; Nixon was the vice-presidential candidate, and there was some controversy about a slush fund, and Eisenhower was apparently pressuring Nixon to bow out. Instead, Nixon doubled down, and two days later, gave the infamous “Checkers” speech, where he deflected criticism by showing off an adorable Cocker spaniel. (To be clear, the speech was given in Los Angeles, in the El Capitan theater).

    The second mention was when Nixon started a boiler-room phone bank operation here to spread misinformation about a political opponent.

    That got me to wondering if I could track down the actual locations. Would it be possible to find the exact hotel room Nixon stayed in? Is the building where that phone bank was situated even still standing?

    It felt like it was turning into a project that an author like Tim Powers would love, and I love Tim Powers’ work. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I imagine I would feel something like haunted, standing in a place where Tricky Dick worked his weird anti-charisma magic. Language and communication and consciousness are deeply affected by context, and that particular context is difficult for me to resist.

    And that got me to thinking: what other Portland buildings, rooms, street corners hold the not-actual-ghosts of some of Portland’s infamous political history. We’ve had our share of home-grown seedy politicians.

    • Neil Goldschmidt, once a rising star of the Democratic Party, went from Portland City Commissioner and Mayor to US Secretary of Transportation under President Clinton, to state Governor. He was probably going to make a run for president, but some investigative journalism uncovered a victim of his: a woman revealed he had been her statutory rapist, back in the 1970s, during his tenure as Mayor. She had been 13 or 14 at the time.
    • Bernie Giusto, The Teflon Sherrif, had been Goldschmidt’s bodyguard but eventually rose to elected official himself as Sherrif of Multnomah County, a position he was forced out of in large part because he lied about knowledge of Goldschmidt’s rape during the state’s investigation into the matter.
    • Bob Packwood, Senator from Oregon from 1969 until he stepped down in 1992, Chairman of the Senate Finance Committee, was discovered to have been sexually abusing and assaulting women during his political career. He’s no longer in public office, but he’s apparently doing quite well, sharing his expertise in government funding with a large number of private firms as a lobbyist.
    • Going further back, Oregon was under Federal investigation as the center of organized crime and corruption that went all the way to the statehouse. The Senate Select Committee on Improper Activities in Labor and Management, a.k.a. the McClellan Committee, as part of their investigation into Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa, found out about a plot by the Teamsters to bribe, blackmail and extort their way into power in Oregon. Recordings of conversations with Jim Elkins, a Multnomah County crime boss whose specialties were brutality and illegal gambling, were played on national television, to 1.2 million viewers, in 1957.
    • Portland Mayor Sam Adams, three weeks into his first term in 2008 and enjoying wide popularity, was accused of sexual misconduct with an intern by the name of Beau Breedlove, who had been a teenager at the time. Adams admitted to the accusation. Despite the resulting scandal, and with Beau Breedlove appearing wherever and whenever he could in the local media to remind everyone of the scandal, Mayor Adams was cleared of criminal wrongdoing and served out his full term,  retiring from public life to become the director of a non-profit devoted to climate change.
    • Then there was Police Chief Derrick Foxworth, who, in 2006, got caught via email for sending sexually explicit emails to a subordinate. He was demoted, and filed suit against his accuser, but remained employed until he retired a couple of years afterward.
    • The last truly local scandal I can recall without more research is Multnomah County Chair Jeff Cogen, was forced to step down after his affair with a policy advisor was made public. When his emails and text messages were published he was found to have enjoyed support from the union president, too, who had known and warned Cogen about the affair a year before.

    There’s a bunch more, going farther back: land fraud in 1908, Sen. Hatfield’s graft in 1984, Police Chief Harrington’s improper collusion with drug dealers in 1986. But I was specifically trying to find ones that may have ties to a Portland, or, at least, Multnomah County, location.

    Portland is seen as incredibly liberal, and generally, politically, it is, but there’s another side of the coin that doesn’t get as much play. Our political leaders seem to enjoy, or maybe I should say take flagrant advantage of, our native sexual permissiveness, only to find that public opinion about that can turn on a dime.