Travel Guide: Portland, OR

Last week, I visited Portland, which is a city in the state of Oregon.

In Portland, a giant pink tower thrusts itself into the sky. I don’t know the name of the tower, but I consider it to be an architectural wonder. You know, because it’s pink, and doesn’t look at all gay. How do they do that? You can take an elevator up the pink tower, and then get off the elevator and go to a restaurant/ bar, with tuxedo clad greeters and look-alike waitresses and old men in thick glasses playing the piano. I drank martinis with a bunch of doctors. Twice, I thought this other waitress was Jamie, my waitress. The second time I did it, I asked her for “the bill, please, Jamie?” She said, “Still not Jamie!” And then she walked away. I didn’t like the service, so I took it out on the real Jamie, shorting her on the tip.

In Portland, you can sleep in a tent in your friends’ backyard. This is not necessarily advised, but if you’re in a house with sex as loud as the house I was in, you’re going to want to bring a sleeping bag. I mean, it wasn’t just the usual bed/floor creaking with an occasional moan. There were grunts, and swears, and then some slaps. I couldn’t figure out what was slapping what, so I slept in the tent.

In Portland, you can drink a lot lot lot of great coffee. Drink it until your head aches and you believe you may vomit and you’re vibrating so hard that you feel like a tuning fork that’s just been struck. Then drink more. It will be worth it when you return to Boston with its Dunkin’ Donuts monopoly and its Starbucks for backup.

In Portland, the microbreweries rule. I have heard this. Also, everyone seems to have arm tattoos.

In Portland, you can go to a great bookstore called Powell’s. It’s enormous and fun, if you’re still into print media. I picked up a lot of books, and then decided I didn’t want to pay for any of them, so I put them back in the wrong place.

In Portland, you will be driving late at night, and you may see a scary man in a Mexican wrestling mask, leaning out of his camper van and shouting incoherencies. If you’re like me, you will tell him he is ugly, and then hope you don’t get beat up.

Also, I recommend bicycling around town. It’s quite pleasant.

priorities

Neither Lynne nor I are talented at the waking up part of the day. Since we both have jobs that enable us to slink in late if need be, we often abuse this privilege. Sometimes one of us gets to feeling guilty about our sloth, and we make a pact to meet for coffee at 8 A.M. (I know, ungodly), We both feel that if the other is actually depending on us for company, it will be easier to get out of bed. Today, I did feel the guilt. I was in bed at 7:52 and everything hurt so badly, I just wanted to close my eyes and let my hair waft in the smooth breeze from my fan. Instead, I got up, threw some clothes on, and went to the 1369 coffee shop, where I chugged iced coffee with Lynne and gossiped desultorily about our recently broken-up friend Jabber.

Then I went home and went back to bed. Apparently, I value Lynne’s friendship more than my workplace responsibilities.

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