I haven’t had much chance to tell you what it’s been like up here in future-Brooklyn PDX, mostly because I am travelling for work a lot and enjoying the city for myself. That said, my wife was in Los Angeles on business for five days and I thought I’d share some of what happened for some of my longtime readers who care or for my new readers that are too tired for some good old fashioned Facebook stalking.
Agreed to go to Con Bro Chill show in NE despite being above the median age and needing to go shop for additional neon clothing. In case you are curious, this is Con Bro Chill:
While it can be difficult to take a pro lacrosse player from Lake Oswego seriously, these guys dressed like neon vikings, spend most of their music videos jumping off waterfalls around Oregon and pretty much drew 600 people to one of the weirdest dance parties I’ve ever been to and I went to college in Los Angeles with hot people. I’d go again as long as I could travel by spaceship.
Let’s rewind this to the beginning. When I got to the house party in NE before Con Bro Chill (you can’t Con Bro Chill sober or anywhere near it), I mixed some voodoo rum punch in a pasta pot.
I managed to get three bottles of rum in there and it was undetectable. There was Mount Gay Silver that I won many years ago for winning a rum punch recipe contest (I’m radical at all kinds of things I keep secret, you should see me play gin rummy). I definitely released the Kraken into it and then Malibu was a throwback to the sticky SoCal high school parties of my youth when the bar was a handle of Bu, a handle of Cuervo Gold (just gagged from memory) and Corona.
Bitters, grenade, fruit juices and soda and basically it was an acid-reflux inducing time machine to a future of Con Bro Chill where this was totally normal:
I know that guy. And I am proud of him.
Later that night I found a Subway I didn’t know existed, my first “fast” food purchase since I feel like my Bachelor Party (2010) and the television gods smiled on me because Ocean’s 11 was on in the middle of the night which felt like a win even though I probably own a copy. Playing a DVD makes me feel old now. Not as old as being at a Con Bro Chill show, though.
Successfully left the house for a total of 11 minutes on Saturday and watched every film I missed during our move to Portland. You can’t quantify how much you miss your wife until you watch The Iron Lady in your boxers eating leftovers. I would have gone on a hike with her, window shopped and picked out candles (okay, I like candles, they smell good). Anything.
At the supermarket, a man described to me his experience being put in the drunk tank and now not having his wallet because it was in “possessions” so he had to wait until Monday to get it because “as I know” (I didn’t), possessions is closed on the weekend. I was amazed the conversation happened because I looked like a cave troll and was avoiding eye contact with all species but dogs. Check Out Guy thought I knew him. Not sure if I was pleased he thought I listened and was kind or if I was pissed that I looked like I could be company for a man who just escaped the drunk tank in Clackamas. Con Bro Chill, bro.
Also, when a drunk stranger tells you not to go to Clackamas a couple months after a fucking mall shooting there, you figure the conversation is not going to be good.
Recreated the penne vodka pollo from Pasta Roma on the Row at USC and felt pretty good about that because I’ve spent the last decade not eating things like that because of violent college memories when I felt like “hey, Pasta Roma is a good decision.” Also, I didn’t have garlic bread, which would have really tied the room together.
The next day I continued my unconscious effort to run long distance again, logging an 11.5 mile route around PDX in which I crossed 2 bridges, hit all 4 quadrants of the city, ran through the Saturday Market (it was Sunday) where Kenny Lavitz was covering Lenny Kravitz, ran the riverwalk to the south riverfront and OHSU, ran through the Portland Timbers home opener drinking celebrations near Jeld Wen in NW, did all the park blocks down to Portland State and back and then continued eating the penne vodka pollo I created.
I love running in Oregon. You feel close to Prefontaine, the air is really clean and there’s a ton to look at. Also, drivers are polite to the point of frustration so basically if you are on foot you have the right of way. And the left.
Enjoyed runner’s high and Galaxy’s 4-0 win over Dallas for the 3pts.
Watched the Timbers game at Yurs (a truly great dive still boasting a cigarette machine) with SeanBrown (who I’ve mentioned on here for years) and then drank in Old Town. Didn’t get mugged. Big win for the agency.
At one point I cooked a steak for myself and while I normally am a wildly competent home chef, I let the pan get too hot and so there was enough white smoke coming off it to make my neighbors think I’d picked a new pope. I used a towel to fan smoke and realized my wife would be returning to a house that smelled like a meat locker. Noted that I needed to clean the condo.
At the gym the next day I got out of the shower and when I was drying off realized my towel smelled like steak. It was the smoke fanning towel from the night before. Wasn’t mad at all. Just wanted steak again.
Picked wife up at the airport. Human again. For now.
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