Going back.

So I went to visit my father in Phoenix for five days. My father isn’t the problem. Nor is his girlfriend. Nor are his friends. Nor have been the events that have made up the visit. Nor was the hassle of taking a day off work. Nor was the hassle of packing. Nor was the boring plane flight. Nor was the warm(ish) weather. Nor was the sub-par food. Nor was being without my friends. Nor was being without my cat.

None of that was the problem.

Being away from Portland was the problem. And I’m not back yet, but will be by the evening, and I eagerly await descending into the city I adore. I eagerly await the skyline. I eagerly await the city lights. I eagerly await the brisk cold. I eagerly await clouds (and maybe rain if the gods know how important it is to me). I eagerly await good food and good drink. I eagerly await coming home.

The best part about going on a small vacation, for me, anyway, is coming home. I love Portland because it is my home and nothing can tear me away from it for good.

Fag mayor

So, I’ve been reading statistics.

And, uh, yeah. As far as minorities go, nobody likes fags. Nobody trusts fags. Fags are unelectable for their ultra liberal agenda and for pushing bestiality on the moral and undermining family values for the breeders. Fags=evil.

Here’s the poll I cite to answer the question: “If your party nominated a generally well-qualified person for president that happened to be …, would you vote for that person?”

	Yes, would vote for	No, would not vote for
	%	%
Catholic	95	4
Black	94	5
Jewish	92	7
A woman	88	11
Hispanic	87	12
Mormon	72	24
Married for the third time	67	30
72 years of age	57	42
A homosexual	55	43
An atheist	45	53

Yeah, no matter how many fags like to be at the bottom (half?), it can’t be good to see these numbers, ya know, especially because this times fags can’t even bottom, just get close to the bottom.

I write this now for two reasons: Gus Van Sant’s fag movie, Milk, just came out (pun so intended) about the first elected fag government official. He was murdered. Which sucks. Second reason: Portland totally elected a fag mayor, making pdx the biggest city to elect a fag mayor. I mean, we totally kicked San-Fran’s ass on this one, making Portland totally gayer. We’re totally the gayest.

What’s great is that during the election, the fact that sexy (for a politician) Sam Adams is a gaylord was never part of the campaign. It didn’t come up. It didn’t matter. No one cared. And he won with a considerable margin. And he is totally qualified.

I love Portland because we don’t give a shit who’s gay and who’s not. I love Portland because we defy statistics from polls that paint America as very bigoted. And most of all, I love Portland because we’ll elect a mayor named after a beer.

Next on the list: electing a gaytheist.

Also, if this was a thingsiloveaboutoregon blog, I’d talk about Silverton’s transgendered mayor.

Portland’s Double-Ended Dildo

The Portland Theatre originally opened in 1928. In 1930, it became the Paramount Theatre. With the name change came the construction of it’s sign, the Paramount marquee. The brightly lit sign to those innocent Portlanders of the past, however, is no longer so innocent.

To me, anyway.

And so, we have our very own double-ended dildo.

Or, soon we would have it, anyway.

In 1984, after the city reacquired the theatre (thanks to a hefty donation from Arlene Schnitzer), the city refurbished the sign, changing from “Paramount” to “Portland,” making this large, well lit marquee the “Portland” marquee.

Making it our very own double-sided dildo.

Why would Portland reacquire the old theatre, and with it it’s sign? Undoubtedly (to me, anyway), it was to show our support for our wonderful lesbian community, the one that watches “The L Word” at The Egyptian Room every Sunday night, the one that is still clad in flannel even if it isn’t 1993, the one participates in a Portland softball league.

I mean, Portland is said to have the largest concentration of lesbians of any city on the west coast, so of course the city will throw its support behind ‘em by taking claim on a two-ended phallic object that (thankfully for them, and me, I guess) isn’t actually a penis.

I love Portland because we as a city don’t just display a rigid cock, we display a double sided one, which exists for the pleasure of our lovely lesbians (and of course I love ‘em; I dated two).

Lights

I was walking from class on Friday.

It’s only October, early Fall, cool, not cold.

But it’s coming. After all the leaves turn vibrant, colors exploding, left charred-brown on the ground. Jackets get thicker. Scarves become increasingly prevalent. The city absorbs more and more rain. It’s coming.

Winter. The cold. Early nights and late mornings.

And I’m excited.

How could I not be? I mean, I live in Portland!

Friday: left class. Hungry. Walking to lunch. Listening to music (The Elected, I think). I walk by Sixth and Salmon (I think), outside the Unitus building. These trees out there: unusually stickly (for mid-October). I wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for the man stringing lights into the trees.

I know, I know. They aren’t gonna be lit up yet. But it’s coming. With Winter comes the marvelously lit-up streets of downtown Portland.

I know many cities do this, but it doesn’t make me appreciate the trees any less. In fact, knowing they do it here in Portland seems so much more important, so much more valuable: to have the opportunity to have this already magnificent city illuminated by tens of thousands of tiny lights on hundreds of trees, reflected in the Portland puddles and buildings’ windows, the lights are something to behold.

I love Portland, even so early in the season, because I know that the beautifully lit trees are soon to adorn our already beautiful city.

Bridgetown plans its twelfth over the Willamette

Don’t get too excited. Even if this comes to fruition, it won’t be completed until 2015.

Okay.

Get excited.

This is the first bridge in the downtown core in 35 years. If any, that’s a reason to get excited.

In yesterday’s Oregonian, readers finally got an update.

To paraphrase: This new bridge will bring MAX service to Milwaukie and will take riders from OHSU on the West-side to OMSI on the East-side. The head of the committee that will seek final approval: Former mayor Vera Katz.

And according to Katz, the factors the committee is concerned with:

-Budget: $84.2 million.

-Functionality: tall enough for ships, wide enough for barges, low enough to avoid the already crowded East-side. This bridge will be a step in the right direction to make us greener by excluding cars but including MAX, including buses, including streetcar, including foot-traffic, and including bikes.

-Aesthetics: goddamnit, lets make it pretty. Five options. Likely winner: cable-stayed bridge. To make the 600 foot clearance, they’ll need at least two columns, similar to the image above. But when they settle for style, lets hope they settle for some sexy asymmetry, like the image below, especially looming over the East-side, balancing the height of the downtown core.

Expect the committee to settle on a design by years end. Expect public forums for the voice of the community. But don’t expect this bridge anytime soon. We got a bit of wait ahead of us

But it’s worth the wait. We’re doing this right and for the right reasons. I love Portland because our next bridge won’t just be within budget and functional, it will be an aesthetically significant addition to this gorgeous city. I love Portland because we are building a bridge not for cars, but for buses, for light-rail, for streetcar, for bicycles, and for pedestrians, determined to live up to the title of the greenest city in the U.S.

Stolen bike

The recovered bicycle

So, my bike was stolen. Which sucks.

But that was back in July. I’m over that.

I bought a bodunk bike for cheap. A cheap and hopefully temporary replacement until I could save up for something better.

Well, when it rained, the bike went from functional to fucked. I learned that today, when I tried to get to school.

What I also learned today: my stolen bike is still in pdx. Not only did I learn it was still in pdx, but I learned its location, spotting it locked up outside Ash Street Saloon. I took my lock, secured my stolen bike, called the police, and waited.

Now if it isn’t clear how unlikely this scenario is, consider this: only .5% to 2% of stolen bicycles are recovered. And there’s my bike. Right there. Plain sight. Mine!

Officer: “Do you have the original receipt with the serial number to verify it is yours?”

Me: “No, I bought it off of ebay. I didn’t know it was necessary. Of course I know that now. Hindsight…”

Officer: “Well without a very specific description or a receipt with serial number, I’m afraid that this would be a civil matter.”

Me: “If you remove the stem of the bike, you’ll see remnants from it’s original paint job, a bright yellow. I hand-painted this. I still have the spray cans with the color I painted it at home. Though there is no label, I can tell you this is a Trek 1200. 51 cm in height. I have photographs dated prior to the date I filed the police report in July. Is that specific enough?”

Officer: “I’m afraid you’ll need proof of purchase with a serial number.”

Me: “So what you originally said about a specific description being sufficient was inaccurate. In actuality, you won’t take a specific description, only the receipt.”

Officer: “I’m afraid so.”

Disheartened and sick to my stomach. I went home, called the officer’s sergeant. Got a voicemail. Thirty minutes later: a call. The officer.

Officer: “I got a call from my sergeant authorizing me to cut the lock and seize the bike for 30 days. If no one claims it with proof of purchase. It’ll be yours. You need to come back downtown to remove your lock and we’ll have the fire department come down to remove the other one.”

I go downtown. I remove my lock. Outside the Ash St. Saloon, almost a dozen people drinking at the tables, watching the scene unfold. I remove my lock. There’s applause.

Over the course of this four hour ordeal, when I was present and when I was at home, I had earned support. I love Portland because these complete strangers, these bystanders, who learned the whole story by word-of-mouth, from one drinker to the next, cheered and applauded for me and my bike, a small victory.