rose city journal

Things to do in Portland: 2008 Holiday Ale Festival

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 04:01:00 +0000

The 2008 Holiday Ale Festival kicks off on Wednesday, December 3rd and runs through Sunday, December 7th. There will be 37 Oregon craft beers available at the festival, including beers from Alameda Brewhouse, Astoria Brewing Company, Collaborator, Hazel Dell Brewpub and Track Town Ales. Ah, yeah.

It’s free to get into the 2008 Holiday Ale festival and then you can buy a mug and tickets for beer tastings (Who does that? Really?) or to fill your mug with some yummy Oregon craft beer. Per the festival website, they need volunteers. 2008 Holiday Ale Festival volunteers get a limited edition long sleeve t-shirt, souvenir mug, free entry into the event, and 12 beer tickets. Volunteers who work a back-to-back shift get an additional 16 tickets for a total of 28 tickets.

I’m trying to imagine what shape I would be in after redeeming 28 beer tickets. It’s probably not too far off how I’ll be after spending eight of them.

2008 Holiday Ale Festival
Pioneer Courthouse Square
701 SW 6th Avenue
Portland, Oregon 97205

things to do in portland: 5 months of lompoc lagers at bailey's taproom

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 21:10:00 +0000

Bailey’s Taproom is hosting a 2008 Lompoc Brewing Co. Lagers tasting event on Wednesday, November 18th from 4 p.m. until midnight. Visitors planning to attend the Oregon craft beer event will meet the brewers and have the opportunity to try the July through November seasonal lagers:

Heaven's Helles 5% ABV Bavarian-style pale lager

Saazall 5.5% ABV Bohemian-style dry-hopped Pilsner or lager

Oktoberfest 5.0% Bavarian-style Maerzen or amber lager

OktoBock 6.7% ABV Bavarian-style Bock or amber lager brewed with 5 lbs/bbl of fresh picked Crystal hops

Saazilla 7.6% ABV Bohemian-style double Pilsner or pale lager brewed with over 2 lbs/bbl of Saaz hops.

Visitors can order flights, pints or glasses of the Oregon craft beer.

2008 Lompoc Lager Tasting
Bailey's Taproom

213 SW Broadway
Portland, Oregon

503.295.1004

Day Trips from Portland: Newport Lighted Boat Parade

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 18:48:00 +0000

The 14th Annual Lighted Boat Parade happens on Saturday, December 6th in Newport’s Historic Bay Front. The holiday boat parade will include commercial fishing boats, charter boats and sail boats decorated for the holidays. Newport’s Lighted Boat Parade can be viewed from 5-6:30 p.m on the 6th. Many commercial fishing boats keep their Christmas lights going well after the holiday boat parade, so if you’re anywhere on the coast with a view, you’ll see them twinkling on the ocean at nighttime.

Visit Discover Newport for more information about the Lighted Boat Parade and upcoming events in Newport.

the chanterelles

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 17:09:00 +0000

Spending time with my family is never dull. And it often proves interesting.

A couple of weeks ago, I ran down to the coast to visit my folks. Two of my brothers (the twins) were also visiting, for the start of deer hunting season. Slow, sweet days with my mother while the boys hiked over the pass were golden… And the days went by too quickly.

And I’m reminded again, of the cultural divide that exists within my sprawling family. On the one hand, we have the hunter-gatherers, fishermen and hunters who ooh and ah over new gun purchases, think McCain would have been our salvation, eat red meat and often work in dangerous or semi-dangerous occupations.

I am endlessly fascinated by them and forever asking questions:

“Bears? What kind of bears do you see up there?”

“Dead ones.” Because when you come face to face with a bear or a cougar and the animal isn’t running away from you, self-preservation quickly takes over.

“Why are there so many cougars here?”

“You can thank PETA for that.” According to my brother, the animal rights organization put a stop to the apparently abhorrent but time-honored tradition of hunting with dogs some years ago. Since then, the cougar population in Oregon has exploded ten times over.

But cougars still fear many types of dogs.

One day in the woods, my brother saw a cougar in a low clearing and for a joke went running down the hill, barking and baying like a bloodhound. Once at the bottom he looked around and realized, he could no longer see the cougar.

And not in the good way.

The same brother once stumbled in the snow and found himself kicking at air, with only his shoulders above ground.

That’s one way to find a bear’s den.

A hunter’s stories never cease to amaze me, and my dad and my brothers have many. I press and press for more detail, as much for myself as for my friends, who like me, live vicariously through their tales. They look like city-bred woodsmen, sagely nodding their agreement while I spin my family’s many tales in back-lit barrooms over icy gin martinis.

And then there are my other family members. A brother in tailored suits who isn’t too masculine for the occasional manicure (though the time he got home and realized they had used clear nail polish was “a little much.”) Brothers and sisters who refuse to wear fur, vote Democrat and work as engineers, executives and, a writer.

I even have my own (little) hunting story to tell. Once, when my friend Ann was visiting, my dad drove us up the pass so we could see where they hunt. We trundled up the mountain in his pick-up truck, the road becoming more winding and narrow as our elevation increased. Upon reaching the summit, we found a beautiful view of the valley. A photo opportunity.

I hopped out of the truck, barely glancing at the tall hedges on the other side of the eight-foot wide road. Happily snapping photos, I paused to consider a different angle… And heard a long, low growl from the hedge on the other side of the road. I jumped back in the truck, slamming the door and rolling up the window.

“What???” I told them what I heard and my dad sloughed it off in attempt to calm us down: It was probably a dog.

A dog? Three miles up from the rest of the civilized world? Are you kidding me?

Later, I relayed the story to my sister, who asked me what time we’d gone up the pass. Oh, it was around 5:30.

Ah, she smiled.

Dinnertime.

It makes for interesting family get-togethers. I really don’t know how we all manage to get along. It hasn’t always been easy. I think truly, we support each other, we’re interested in each other and above all, we make an effort.

The fellows didn’t have any luck this time around. Weather that’s far too warm and sunny for the beach at the end of October quickly put an end to any of their buck dreams. Dry leaves crackling underfoot and snapping branches meant that there was no chance of bagging a deer. Instead, they happened upon green glades overflowing with mushrooms.

So they picked Chanterelles instead.

from the road: seattle

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 18:45:00 +0000

I’m in Seattle* tonight, at El Gaucho Inn on first ave. I have a beautiful view of the water from my suite. And Seattle seeps into my consciousness… When I was driving in I came over the hill where the city is laid out to greet me and I leaned forward to see… and caught myself holding my breath. Cruel to be Kind came on the radio so I sang really loudly all the way to Aurora Avenue.

Wednesday I leave for Orcas Island. I called the innkeeper where I am staying tomorrow night and it was the classic innkeeper/stupid tourist conversation:

“What time ya gettin here?”

“Well, I thought I might get the 2:30 ferry or make the 3:00.”

“Nah. Them don’t run to Orcas. Ya gotta get on the noon boat or wait til four o’clock.”

“Ah, I uh, yes, I definitely don’t want to wait until 4.”

“Ya wanna get out here during the day anyway, so you can see some stuff. And it gets dark real early.”

“I’ll be sure to be on the noon ferry.”

Funny. I checked the menu where I’m staying tonight and it’s a sort of twee steakhouse, with dishes like Chateaubriand (which I love) and Porterhouse. I may order a bottle of Billecart just to mess with them, ha.

This is where I’ll be tomorrow: Turtleback Farm Inn. Then the next night I am on to Lummi Island for another inn and a tour of an organic farm and hopefully, a reef netting fishery.

The innkeepers at Lummi are apparently of different stock than at Orcas. They called me to confirm my visit and explained they’re having a wine dinner for the journalists and their guests on Thursday. I’m not sure what that is (a different wine with every course, maybe?) but I told the innkeeper, hey-hey, that’s right up my alley. My mom called right before I left and told me, you may have to dress for dinner at some of these places. I threw some gold shoes and a bunch of jewelry in my bag at the last minute and will hope for the best.

I actually can bring someone with me on these trips. They want the writers to be happy, so they kind of encourage it. And everything is comped except for travel, usually. This one just came up really fast and I thought, why not? I’ll focus on my writing and enjoy some self reflection. I got an assignment today to write a fictional story for a women’s fashion magazine about three couples who are on holiday. I want to give someone a secret, or maybe all three of them; someone is having an affair, someone lost their job 18 months ago and hasn’t told anyone and the other couple lost a child.

When my mother called me this morning she wished me a happy birthday (yup, it’s today) and I thanked her for deciding that seven children just weren’t enough. At the end of the call she said, I love you so much, Lisa. It was sweet.

Call me, because I am not sure what my email capability will be on an island where the boats don’t dock in the afternoons, ha.

It’s sunny and glorious here. I’m off to Pike Place.

*Sometimes I am a travel writer. This was from last month, when I did a tour of the inns of the San Juan Islands in Washington.

the memo

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 23:29:00 +0000

To: My faithful employees

From: Your Benevolent CEO

Re: Best Practices, Core Competencies, Integrated Solutions and Action Items for the New Year

Dear Employees:

Well, another year has gone by and it’s been a good one.

I’d like to take this time to recognize some people who really stood out this year and unfortunately, point out the few who proved to be a huge, huge disappointment to me:

A big thanks to Jerry, Mike and Randall- I know that the infinite, interminable meetings in the product marketing department that never resulted in anything “productive” (heh, heh) certainly made my weeks go by faster!

And once again, we spent more time on project management than on projects. Building instead of buying proved to be a decision that sunk us. For the fourth year in a row (coincidentally, the fourth year since we started using Project Managers), no project was actually completed and we wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars. Bravo!

For those of you (Kelly, John and Reg) who utilized jealousy, infighting and back-stabbing to get ahead: I applaud you. For those of you (Mary and Chris) who remained apolitical throughout all of the drama that ensued (Way to spend more time in the break room and less time on the phones, customer service!), I encourage you to look to your brethren for advice on the proper way to conduct yourself in the office.

As a reminder this holiday season, please, keep the cube decorations to a minimum. We don’t want you to “labor” (haw-haw) under any sort of pretension other than that you are at work. In your gray hole, toiling away from morning til night, you’re mine. Mine! And I don’t want to see anything that smacks of a life outside of work.

Before you head off for the holidays, we have some good news and some bad news to tell you. If we don’t start cutting w-a-a-a-y back, we may have to (gulp!) start leasing our jet. Or (shudder) sell the Lear and start flying… commercial. I’m sure you can see just how hard that would be on my third wife and our precious three-year old twins.

The bad news is that 80% of you will be laid by off by the New Year. As I’m sure you know, times are tough for American-based businesses. But the good news is that moving most of our operations to another land will save us three million in the first year alone. Really, and I know you agree, it’s just the best thing for all of us.

Merry Christmas!

2008 weblog awards

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 04:51:00 +0000

You can nominate your favorite blog for the 2008 weblog awards online now until Wednesday, November 19th.

easy come, easy go

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 01:59:00 +0000

the southern girl

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 02:26:00 +0000

In the midst of champagne toasts and the ongoing celebration at the beautiful election party I attended last night, I found myself caught up in an extraordinary conversation. Even more extraordinary was the moment I found myself caught out when the person I was speaking with said, “I detect a southern accent.”

Why, yes, I trilled. I’m from Northern Kentucky. I just moved here in April. We laughed and the conversation continued.

But it made me think.

For a long time, I resisted the urge to speak with the southern accent of my many friends and neighbors in Newport and later, Covington, Kentucky. I spoke eloquently (or so I thought) and without a hint of an accent. I enunciated my words properly, without any bluegrass slang. And I took great pains to sound Northern.

But over time, I learned some things that changed my attitude. Forever.

It was getting to know the hard-working people of the towns where I lived. My neighbors, my friends, the people at the post office and the bus drivers. Artists, writers, government officials and restaurateurs. I can’t do them all justice here, so I won’t try.

They weren’t dummies. They were unique individuals, with hopes and dreams like the rest of us, but expressed in a slow-talking, slightly southern drawl.

It’s that “slow-talking” cadence of the language of the South that fools you. Seems funny to outsiders. And it’s easy to assume that southerners are stupid. That we should distance ourselves from them. Talk pretty. Sound smart.

Some years ago I was visiting friends in Wisconsin and an actress who’d been taking voice lessons told me I sounded "a bit southern." At the time, I felt vaguely resentful, as if she had pointed out a stain on my blouse.

Nowadays, when I pronounce words in a way that makes my friends smile, I have to smile too. I take pride in my accent. In my inflection. If you talk to me, you’ll find out right quick that I do have a bit of an accent. And that’s just fine. I’m proud of who I am, and how I got here.

To be otherwise… Well, as we say where I come from, that ain’t right.

Question: What’s the plural of “y’all?”
Answer: “All y’all!”

historic Oregon photos available online

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 23:18:00 +0000

Bathing beauties at Oregon Centennial Exposition at Portland, Oregon, 1959

The Salem Public Library historic photograph collection includes thousands of Oregon photographs dating from the mid-1800's to the present. You can search for vintage Oregon photos online in the historic Oregon photos database. The old photos of Oregon can be downloaded for personal or educational use and purchased for commercial use.

the list

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 05:05:00 +0000

I am writing a fictional story for a women's fashion magazine and trying to clean up my place in anticipation of out of town visitors. During the razing, I found a list of things to bring to the coast for my dad's birthday, which was in September:

- New David Sedaris book;
- Rose's macaroons;
- my sassy attitude.

I have to think I was on the phone with my sister when I wrote the list; that last one sounds like something she'd tell me to pack.

I’m always amazed at the cleaning products that I find under my sink. And slightly suspicious: Who bought those?

Who put them there?

Back to work.

portland election night parties

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 20:17:00 +0000

I'll be attending a partie privée on election night but for the rest of you jokers, culturemob has a list of election night parties that will be taking place next Tuesday in and around the Portland area.

the celebration

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 17:03:00 +0000

I wandered into the house after work one day and to my delight, found my ex-boyfriend hard at work in the kitchen. I do so love it when people cook for me. In addition to the lovely smells emanating from the stove, chocolate-dipped strawberries, wine and flowers adorned the table and a crackling fire lit up the hearth.

“What’s the occasion,” I squealed, expecting to hear “I just love having you in my life” or maybe “you’re an amazing person.” What I wasn’t in any way prepared for was this:

“It’s our six-month anniversary! Did you forget?” This was said with more than a little shock and of course, an accompanying wounded look.

Aw, jeez. Another made-up holiday that I’m supposed to plan for with all of the pomp and ceremony dedicated to Christmas, a real holiday that I actually do celebrate.

I don’t mean to be unsentimental. But between half-year anniversaries, monthly anniversaries, Sweetest Day and the 1001 other made-up holidays that we’re forced to not just recognize but actually celebrate when we’re in a relationship, I’m just… not that into it.

I think it’s all really silly. Kind of a waste of time, really.

And it’s not that my family didn’t celebrate holidays and special events when I was growing up. Birthdays, Christmas, Graduations, end of summer block parties- we always had plenty of excuses for celebration. With one or two memorable exceptions.

One time, my parents were off on one of their trips and left me in the care of “the boys.” My older brothers managed to feed me and clothe me but fell sadly short in one essential area. I woke up on Easter eager to open my bedroom door, the place where the Easter Bunny always thrilled me with a basket of candy and toys.

The hallway outside my bedroom door was empty. Hmm, I thought. He’s gotten wilier this year. I trundled off to the living room, looking behind furniture, a popular hiding place for extra special gifts on Christmas Morning. Still nothing.

I quickly did a scan of the house, and then moved into the backyard to continue my search. Nothing. I asked my brothers if they had seen my basket, worried that one of them had stolen my precious booty. Puzzled, they looked at me as if I was speaking some new foreign language. Then the phone rang and my mom asked to say hi to me, presumably to see if I was still alive after some days in my brothers’ care.

“Mom,” I said crying. “The Easter Bunny didn’t leave me a basket this year!”

“Put. Your. Brother. On. The. Phone. Now.”

The mumbled no’s, I didn’t know, does she really? and uh, okays emanating from my brother told the full story: The Easter Bunny needed a helper to get the basket outside my door. Because he’s so busy, you see. That’s what I believed until my brother got off the phone and looked at me curiously. “Lisa… You still believe in the Easter Bunny?”

Not anymore I don’t.

On the night of the big six-month to-do, I quickly shot into my boyfriend’s living room and clawed through my handbag, desperately searching for something that could be considered a gift. The purse probe resulted in a car wash gift certificate (about to expire), some gum (Because I love your sweet kisses?) and something that looked suspiciously like a napkin with someone else’s phone number.

Someone, whom I’m sure, doesn’t celebrate three-week, six-week or two-month anniversaries. Sighing, I walked back into the kitchen.

“You’ll get your gift later tonight, honey.” Whistling and smiling, he dropped a kiss on my forehead and turned back to the stove.

cell phone service in portland

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 00:09:00 +0000

It looks like cincinnati bell wireless is going to pull the plug on my mobile phone. I've been looking at portland cell phone service options and they all seem pretty much the same, price-wise. And they all require contracts, which I'm not crazy about.

Before I sign my life away for two years can you tell me, if you live in portland, who do you use for cell phone service? Like them? Hate them? I'm most interested in coverage / service availability for using my mobile phone in Portland and while outside of the area.

e.g., when I drive three hours down to the coast to see my folks, can I still conduct business on my blackberry? Or will I be out of luck?

blog crush: cobalt blue

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 20:48:00 +0000

My blog has a crush on cobalt blue. From the gory details of signing up at a temp agency to remembrances of sweet growing-up years in Texas, the San Francisco-based blog splashes life across the screen- and it ain’t always pretty. But it is always energetic and it’s very often great fun.

You’ve gotta love a blog that moves from flat-out bad boy behavior (presidential contender's policy choices from a dirty frat brother’s POV) to dreamy quotes like this: “Green fireflies glowing in the distance and a cigarette ash blinking right back at them.”

Blog crush: Cobalt Blue
Rated: Sexy, Smart and Funny as Hell.

the triumph

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 23:09:00 +0000

so today, I was goofing around downtown, getting my passport (are you reading, lynn?) and I quickstepped over to macy's (just to check on things) and bada-bing, bada-boom, someone asked me where something was and I knew the answer! (imagine cymbals crashing)

I was very blase about it all but couldn't stop grinning at the guy, who smiled back in obvious recognition of my all-knowingness.

could I be more of a geek?

black box

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Sun, 19 Oct 2008 18:55:00 +0000

The old black box tells a million tales.

Ticket stubs, from concerts long ago forgotten. Yellowed photos of a young girl in a long dress. A diamante crown leftover from some unknown celebration. Pennies flattened by trains. Dried corsages, old but firm, bedecked with pink satin ribbons.

And letters. Everywhere. There are letters.

Ruled white paper, torn from a notebook and filled with blue ink. I don’t have to read the letters to know what they say. I pick one up, and like a flash! I remember. That big old car. Windshield wipers swishing in the rain, a farmer’s rain, a real soft soaker. We left the windows open and the car was turned off but for some reason, the windshield wipers were still on. You forgot about them, or maybe you just liked the rhythmic, thwap-thwap sound they made. The stereo softly playing some song I thought I’d never forget, but after a while I couldn’t hear it, couldn’t hear anything but that thwap-thwapping sound.

And I remember smelling that heady scent, that wicked-rhododendron sweet smell, and laughing softly at the flowers you put on the mirrors, the dashboard, on the floor of the car and in my hair. Our Secret Garden.

Sometimes I still read your old letters. Are you somewhere reading mine?

the pitch

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 19:31:00 +0000

So a couple of unrelated events happened in the last 24 that got me thinking:

I am at home last night minding my own business (working, actually) when a guy from Environment Oregon stopped by. Barely taking a breath (I watched for it but never saw one) he proceeded to natter on about the environment and then he.pushed.his clipboard.over the threshold.and into my face.and waved it around. I told him I wasn’t interested and still, he kept wiggling his list of signatures in my face.

I appreciate the fact that he’s on commission (those signatures seemed almost a matter of life and death), but come on… That was a little much. I very much contemplated taking the clipboard, locking the door and calling his employer, but instead repeated that I wasn’t interested and firmly shut the door. A shame, because I actually thought Environment Oregon was fairly reputable. Apparently, I was wrong.

Today, I went for a deep tissue massage (hey-hey) and to see the chiro and while I was waiting, had a funny conversation with the receptionist. That crazy girl admitted that she looks in everyone’s grocery cart at the store to see what they are buying. That struck me as really funny, and we laughed when I told her if I ever saw her anywhere around New Seasons that she was to just walk away immediately, ha.

In the middle of our conversation, a couple of sales reps from Quill Office Supplies came in. Without apologizing for the interruption or asking if it was a good time to talk, they disrupted our chat to move in on the receptionist and to give her their pitch. We talked about the Quill sales reps after I came back from my appointment (they’d stayed for a while and she was aggravated by their strong sales pitch) and I told her she was too polite. She said she didn’t know what to do to avoid those situations so I pointed her to Staples to buy a “no solicitors, ever” sign for their door.

And how many people have YOU heard complaining about the Greenpeace kids who hang out in downtown Portland? The receptionist started talking about the downtown Greenpeace folks and their aggressive behavior this morning, but lately I hear complaints about them from everyone. And I am all for Greenpeace, trust; but when I’m in downtown Portland I’m always going somewhere and I don’t have time to talk. I, like many other people, will and have actually crossed a street to avoid the Greenpeace cadre that lurks outside Chinatown like an eco-friendly gang of tweakers.

I know of many, many people who made sales their lifetime work. It’s often an honest and perfectly acceptable way to make a living. But there’s a fine line between salesmanship and aggressive, annoying behavior. For me, that line was crossed not once but twice in the last day by Environment Oregon and Quill Office Supplies.

I am v. open to your suggestions for best ways to handle overly aggressive or rude salespeople, readers. So far, my no thank you’s and my more abrupt I’m not interested's just don’t seem to be doing the job.

the interview II*

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 03:27:00 +0000

One part of the online dating process that strikes me as really, really strange is what can only be termed… the interview.

When you date people online, you’re supposed to have Some Goals in mind. Have an Idea of What You Want. So when you are emailing before you meet, talking on the phone or on that interminable first date, you can make sure that you’ve found someone who is Very Compatible with What You Want and Need out of A Relationship.

But when it comes to asking extremely personal questions of people that I hardly know, I have to admit that sometimes it feels suspiciously like…. A job interview.

“So Dylan… I see here that your last relationship failed miserably after only six months. Can you tell me a little bit about what went so horribly wrong?”

“Have you thought about having children, Mark? When?!”

“Can you list some of your areas of experience? And maybe, uh, tell me a little more about your specific areas of expertise?”

Going right along with the job interview and asking all of the personal questions, I’ve started to wonder about checking references, too. I’d call ex-girlfriends, sisters, moms and friends to learn more about a potential suitor. Questions to ask might include:

“So tell me, Mrs. Bradshaw. Has your son had very many girlfriends?”

“Sarah, when you dated Jeffrey, did he do that thing with his hands? Or is that new?”

When it comes right down to it, online dating is exactly the same as regular dating. The wrong ones text and call you all the time. The right one disappears into thin air about ten minutes after you have your date. I guess it’s all a waiting game, no matter how you meet.

So far, I’m still waiting.

*Not to be mistaken with the interview, a wholly different type of awkward moment for single women.

the void

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 03:06:00 +0000

A friend of mine emailed me from Vegas and was telling me how unfortunate it was, watching the tourists cavort on the strip. Drunk and stupid and littering the streets. He said it reminded him of that spot by voodoo doughnuts where people congregate and whoop it up after the clubs close. Oblivious, I think he called them. I told him this:

Sometimes when I see people like you describe, I hate them. Not because they are oblivious. Because they’re really phony.

I like to drink. Beer, or sometimes a small batch bourbon. But I don’t whoop in the street, throw up on the curb or cry with abandon under the streetlight. Well, I probably do all of those things, but I do them in my home.

And I have never before lived in place where people got tattoos just to get them.

When I lived in the Midwest, people got tattoos because they meant something. To remember a beloved parent. Commemorate a lost brother. Celebrate the birth of a child. Here, a hallmark of the creative class is getting tattoos just because they’re pretty. An act of defiance as meaningful as working in a coffee shop and telling people that you’re an artist.

In forty years, will they be wiping the crumbs from the counter of the nursing home when someone notices their demarcation? And will they say: I worked in a coffee shop? Or will they say: I was an artist? Will they still believe it? Or will the inaction have finally sunk in?

I love humanity. I just hate people.

I think Linus said that.

the elimination

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 00:43:00 +0000

So dear readers, I wrote about the craigslist experiment a couple of weeks ago and I’ve barely had time to catch my breath since. I still have lots to tell you but for now, I want to write about the elimination process; to share my experience in case you’re thinking about putting up your own personal ad.

The sorting process for the responses to the ad has been interesting. Because how do you choose? And you have to start the selection process pretty quickly if you plan to a. keep working b. have any sort of life outside of checking email and 3. ever go out on any dates.

Here’s a little about how I (tried to) pare down the responses:

Men who sent me an email saying, you didn't say what you're looking for, were deleted. I did say what I was looking for. But I talked about common interests, qualities I like and values instead of height or age or whatever. For the people who didn't "get it," I didn't feel like explaining it to them.

Men who responded and sent me their own personal ad or a link to MySpace, Facebook, etc. Deleted. Not that this was such a bad thing to do, though as Annie and my sis pointed out, they didn’t put any thought into it. I deleted them because when I read the email that was clearly their personal ad (“I like walks on the beach, butterflies and poetry”) or read their online ad or profile, I didn’t see why they were contacting me. I didn’t feel it.

Men who didn’t send a photo were deleted. I asked for a photo and my thinking was, for all of the people who didn’t send one, many people did, often saying, this is a terrible photo of me. But they still sent one. It seemed only fair to delete the rest of them. Also, and this is important, because everyone on craigslist personals complains about spammers, I think that many of the people who responded without a photo were spammers. Clever spammers who said they wanted to see if I was a scam before they sent a photo. I just have a feeling about it.

Men who quite obviously didn’t read my ad at all or only honed in on one aspect of it, one line, etc. Deleted.

Some people were from out of state. I deleted them just for expediency's sake. I understand, there’s a romantic aspect to dating someone who is far away. But there’s also a “you're far away and I bet you can save me and also you don’t know about all of my flaws” aspect to it that I didn’t like. Deleted.

Some were from out of state and said they frequently travelled to Portland. Those were suspect and deleted. Some were just a one liner and some included photos of half-naked men. Deleted. Deleted.

The people who responded apparently just to tell me we had nothing in common. Quotes from the bible, and others who were offended by something that I wrote. Deleted, deleted, deleted.

Spammers that were clearly spammers, “Hey I like you you look good hit me up” there were only a blessed few and they were deleted.

The hard part came in reading the rest of the responses. And then I just worked off instinct. Dear readers, it's been really hard. Everyone seems nice, funny, interesting and attractive. How do I know who I am going to have chemistry with?

I’ve been on a few dates. Have been trying to set up a few more. Tricky because of my travel, their travel, but I’m trying to take a Taoist approach to dating: whatever happens, will happen.

And the dates I have been on have been nice. Really interesting, dynamic, nice people. I can’t tell you too much about them, because it’s none of your business. That’s private. But I will say, I’m still feeling good about the experience.

~ More later.

been holding your breath?

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 00:29:00 +0000

the resemblance is uncanny.

So I told you all that I posted an ad online to meet men in the rose city. It was a long journey that got me to this place, this place where I posted an advertisement on a website to try to meet someone special. But here’s what led me along this path:

In 2008, I had some goals. Move to Oregon. Spend lots and lots of quality time with family. Keep working to stay self employed. And that… was it, really. I hadn’t thought beyond the move. Once I was settled; once I’d been down to the coast a dozen times to spend long weekends with my folks, or spent many a lazy Saturday afternoon bicycling around Corvallis with my sister’s family, it was time to look at what else I needed. For me.

And there was definitely something missing.

So I posted an ad. And the next thing that happened astounded me.

From all over this fair city, and from many points beyond (California, Idaho, Washington, Montana- even Chicago and New York), I received email after email from hundreds of people who were all looking too.

I don’t what I expected. Maybe I thought it would be all spam. I remember thinking, I bet I get 20-30 responses and I hope it doesn’t overwhelm me. I had no idea.

I figured I’d get some downright silly responses and I did. Here are a few of my favorites:

- I don’t know about going out but you need to clean that room. (one photo showed me in my apartment, and yes, it’s a mess)
- You’re thirtysomething? Damn. I’m twentysomething.
- Sell some of those fucking vintage coats! (I fessed up to owning more than 100, which is a conservative estimate at best)
- I didn’t list any age or race or height or bank account requirements, because I think that’s shallow and superficial. So I got a number of responses like this one: “Is 74 too old?”
- You don’t want a man. Get a dog.

And my favorite, “You look like Sarah Palin.”

Then there were photos of men in drag, a woman (who I actually agreed to meet), several half-naked members of the Greek persuasion (or at least they all had SAE tattoos) and lots more fun and funny responses.

But mostly, it was just nice, sincere men who are all looking for someone special. I was really, really blown away by the time and thought that they put into responding to my ad. I still am, because responses continue to trickle in. And I am still reading through emails from two days ago.

I’ll have more to tell you soon, dear readers. How the whole process feels like a job interview. How fucking difficult it is to try to pick some people to respond to, and how worrisome it is to think that the right one might be missed.

I also think you might be interested to learn what I wrote in my ad that seemed to engender such a range of responses. I know my beer and baseball comments hit a home run with some Mariners fans (boo); musicians, artists and writers responded to a call for an artistic bent; and some people were motivated by something else entirely.

And the difficult, stressful process of elimination will be another blog. I wish there were more hours in the day. So that I could respond to everyone who emailed me. Since there aren’t, I had to make some quick decisions, or I’d be dating until 2011.

I suppose whether I really do meet mr. right will have to be it's own blog, too.

More soon. ~

updates

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 20:43:00 +0000

More than once since I moved to the rose city I’ve had to apologize, belatedly, for not posting regularly. And here we are again, dear readers. So, some updates, and a hopeful promise that I’ll soon have more news to share:

A few days at the coast to visit mom and dad unearthed yet another interesting tidbit about their 80 + year-old neighbor, who is a dear friend to them and to me; it turns out that he was published many times in Sunset magazine.

Noteworthy simply because I love that publication and getting published there is on my to-do list… one day. Also, we had an interesting conversation about his plans to sell his property and move to some acreage off in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Why do you want to be alone? How can you do that?”

Taken by surprise, he responded wholly and without artifice that he doesn’t need people. He gets enough interaction with family as it is and will most likely get involved in some local politics (lately lording it over the run-down claptrap of a clubhouse/neighborhood association where my folks live).

I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation (much more lively and detailed in person, of course) and here’s what I took away: he’s already had it all. Was married, has a daughter, has other family members he’s close to, it’s just, he HAS it all or had it all already, and now he just wants to putter in his not inconsiderable gardens and have some peace.

I can dig it.

Moving on: my sissy got the cutest. Dog. Ever! A teensy-tiny terrier that flips and flops and runs excitedly when you whistle for him and he’s just generally sweet and v. lovable. I am usually a big-dog person but I tend to migrate towards any kind of dog without reservation. And when they are puppies they are so playful and sweet. My sweetie-niece had a bad experience with dogs way back when and the dog-ownership is in part a salve, an attempt to get her on board with cute canines. So far, it seems to be working.

I have moved far beyond disenchantment and being pissed off at the complete lack of communication and am now just flummoxed at the fact that our garbage hasn’t been picked up since, I don’t know, July?

My folks are threatening a visit tomorrow and my place looks, as usual, like a crack den of iniquity.

Biggest news of all: I posted an ad online to meet people. Yup, I really did.

We’ll see what happens. Highlights from responses received so far include a large number of married men (why? Why would you contact me and why would you admit to being married? Although I guess that beats the alternative.), one photo of someone in drag (wha?), countless suspect spammers and finally, some very well-thought out, kind emails that immediately got my attention.

One hour after posting and I’ve received so many emails, it’s kind of overwhelming. I posted my photo and requested a photo with responses so for people who email me without one, I guess that gives me a point of elimination. That only seems fair to the people who do include photos. Right? Right.

Keep your fingers crossed for me.

growing up

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 20:58:00 +0000

“You don’t know me at all. You don’t know anything about me,” she mumbled at me through tears. A whirling kaleidoscope of images came fast, almost choking me:

That time she fell and the way that she looked around, finding me, and how she ran so fast, chubby little legs pumping, into my arms. And sobbed her heart out. How I held her tight and whispered things to make her rigid body soften.

When she read a book upside down so she wouldn’t be left out while all of the adults were reading.

In the hot rod I drove during college, taking her for afternoon rides while she grinned up at the bright sun, blazing through the sunroof.

Going to softball games. Watching gymnastics.

I remember so much.

But I guess I don’t know her now.

Years of being institutionalized can harden even the sweetest of children. Vulnerability masked by a thick-skinned veneer. It can make me cry for hours after a visit. Thinking of that little girl that I still see, that I will always see, in the young woman’s face. I used to wonder, what we could have all done differently to save her. Replayed mistake moments over and over again in my head.

I don’t go back in my mind anymore. It doesn’t help anything. And it hurts.

We talked for hours through our tears, and I don’t think we found any resolution. It’s too much to hope for and it’s too much to ask. I just hope we found some middle ground.

"I don’t have to know everything about you," I told her yesterday. "I just want to know you."

When I left, she hugged me and at the last moment grabbed on and really held.

That’s enough. Enough, for now.

the clock stop

rosecityjournal@comcast.net (Lisa) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 17:31:00 +0000

I have to think that a lot of what went wrong in our relationships has to do with timing. Looking back at my most significant relationships and trying to figure it all out, it wasn’t so much that we didn’t get along or that we didn’t share the same values. I think that our timing was off.

When I lived with him, I was just finishing college and we moved in together after something like, I don’t know, three weeks? And I loved him, I still love him, but now that we’re just best friends we laugh about how young we were then. Trying to play house. We were trying to cope with the emotional upheaval that comes with a deep commitment when we were, basically, still just kids. With no idea what it took to sustain a relationship.

And I have to wonder, if we’d met at a different time in our lives, if things could have been different.

Sometimes it feels like when you most want a relationship, when you’re ready to go all-in, to start to trust again and to give something new a try, that’s when you only meet people who want to be just friends. Who want to explore new opportunities and leave themselves an opening to see “what’s out there.”

When you want to meet a lot of new people and just have fun, you find people who are flummoxed by your decision and don’t see the point of going on together, when it will never go anywhere. And it’s true; as long as you’re spending time with the wrong person, you won’t find the right one. I’ve learned that over the years. You have to be open to feeling the click.

I broke up with him because I wanted to see what else there was. Years later I can tell you, there wasn’t anything else. I found myself trying to explain this to a friend recently and I know, he didn’t understand what I was saying. But it’s this:

You can get up every day, drink your latte, go to work, come home, fix dinner and go to bed, wake up drink your latte go to work come home fix dinner and go to bed every day for the rest of your life while never quite finding that connection again. Because people just aren’t making connections like that every day. Mostly, they’re staring out the window, slurping hot coffee and wondering if today’s going to be the same as yesterday.

And yes; it is.