beautiful, funny, sad & true

Tossed In, an avid and extremely prolific blogger in his own right, and I were talking the other day about the bad reputation that blogs have. Most people don’t consider them legitimate forms of writing, even though more and more blogs every day are cited as sources for (start reading in stentorian tones. . .now) ‘serious’ news and reporting.

We wondered what it will take to get blogging taken more seriously. We didn’t really come up with an answer – other than to keep writing as well and as interestingly as we can, of course – but we both agreed that there’s more than enough material out there cluttering up the internet that gives bloggers in general a bad name. I’m sure this blog would NEVER fall into the ‘clutter’ category. Noooo way. Not even remotely possible.

I don’t have any delusions. I write to help myself remember things, and to have fun, and to share things that, with any luck, other people will enjoy as well. So far, most have. Some have not; c’est la vie. The precious few dissenters over the years have been blow-darted, or crushed by boulders, or bisected by light-rail commuter trains. In a few cases, pianos have mysteriously fallen on them from a great height. If you ask me to my face, I will vehemently deny all knowledge of these things.

But that, as they say, is neither here nor there; back to Tossed In. He called at eight o’ clock on Thursday morning to invite me to see a play that night. I had a gig with Susie, but luckily it was a super-early one, so I was able to go, and I’m very glad that I was. The play was A Long Christmas Ride Home, and it was strange, and surprising, and excellent. We may go see it a second time, which would actually be his third time. Afterwards, we went to the Blue Monk, the jazz club up the street from the theater, to say hello to some of the actors (he pretty much knows all of them, I know only a few) and to get some of the Blue Monk’s excellent food.

In other news, I’m borrowing a theremin for the next few days. This makes me very, very happy. One of my friends in the play-reading group wrote a semi-biographical play about the instrument’s inventor, and the group will be reading it this week. Since I’m the music guy in the group, I kept wondering what instrument I could bring that would sound even close to that. I was going to bring the cello, because it could be used in a similar way, but when Matt suggested I use his theremin, I jumped at the chance. Yay! I just know that I’m going to end up wanting (and buying) one of my own after this.

And while we’re on the subject, can I just take a minute to say how much I appreciate the play-reading group? Cause I do. They’re such tremendous people, who are interesting and professional and. . .alive, in a way that is very refreshing. It’s always nice to be around people who really ‘get it.’ They’re such a source of entertainment, friendship, and camaraderie that I make it a priority to be there, no matter how busy the rest of my life gets.

I’m thinking of rearranging the furniture in my apartment, but I don’t quite feel up to that task just yet. I don’t have a Plan for it, but I have a feeling I’m just going to end up doing it one weekend in the near future. It’s been about nine months or so since the last rearrangement, which was really more of a replacement than a rearrangement, because I got rid of some bookshelves and a computer desk that I’ve had for ages, and replaced them, but the new stuff is pretty much in the same spot that the old stuff was in, and it’s getting to be about time to shake things up again.

Wow, that was a really long sentence.

Oh yeah. . .and you can stop reading in stentorian tones now. Thank you.

OneYearAgo

Tonight was supposed to be a rehearsal for my gig tomorrow, but the rehearsal got cancelled.  So naturally, instead of sitting at home doing the things I should be doing – such as laundry – I looked for something fun to do, and tonight it was the Blue Cranes.

I called and texted and e-mailed, trying to get some friends to come to the show, but the overall concensus was that it was too short notice, so I ended up going by myself.  I did see some musician friends there, however, which I had a feeling might be the case.

My friend Keith is the bass player in this very swanky and melodic jazz group.  I’ve seen them before, but tonight was the release party for their new album (at one of my favorite venues), so I had no choice but to go.  And yes, I bought a CD.

Super good times.

You’ll also be interested to know that I checked in on yesterday’s fire twice today – once on my lunch break and once on the way home from work – and both times, there was still smoke coming up from the basement of the building.  I didn’t get a chance to watch the news, but I do know that at 5:30 this evening, the site was still smoking noticeably, and there were plenty of fire trucks and camera crews on the scene.

But right now, it’s time to chill out and listen to my new Blue Cranes CD.

I woke up this morning with this ancient They Might Be Giants song burning a hole in my skull.

I thought it would make for better (and funnier!) reading, if I would edit it a bit, and then just turn it into a miniature short story.

A woman came up to me and said, “I’d like to poison your mind with wrong ideas that appeal to you, though I am not unkind.” She looked at me; I looked at something written across her scalp, and these are the words that it faintly said, as I tried to call for help:

“There’s only one thing that I know how to do well, and I’ve often been told that you only can do what you know how to do well, and thats be you. Be what you’re like. Be like yourself. And so I’m having a wonderful time, but I’d rather be whistling in the dark.”

A man came up to me and said, “I’d like to change your mind by hitting it with a rock, though I am not unkind.” We laughed at his little joke, and then I happily walked away and hit my head on the wall of the jail, where the two of us live today.

There’s only one thing that I like, and that is whistling in the dark.

Hilarious. If I was any kind of graphic designer, I’d have found a picture of a woman with a shaved head, and Photoshopped that quote around her scalp in Gothic calligraphy. (I know, I know, ‘photoshopped’ isn’t a real verb! It’s called artistic license.) Perhaps that kind of picture manipulation is a skill that you have, and you’d like to take on this little project. Perhaps you’re a tattoo artist, and you will one day be lucky enough to find some woman with a shaved head who would like to have “There’s only one thing I know how to do well. . .”, et cetera, emblazoned on her head forever. You just never know.

After all this, of course, I wanted to know what the phrase ‘whistling in the dark’ really means. A quick search showed that it means “confident that something good will happen when it is not at all likely.”

Hunh.

What a strange morning this is already turning out to be. And now it’s time to eat breakfast and pack for my trip to Seattle.

Speaking of which, through a beautiful example of irony, my brother and his family, who live in Seattle–and whose house I’m staying at–will be in Portland this weekend for a little getaway, so that means I’m going to be up in their town while they’re down here in my town at the same time.

Praise the Lord for the gift of laughter.

Be advised; this will be a very long entry.

Here’s my weekend, in chronological order, with quite a few ‘visual aids’ to help out. As usual, you can click on the pictures to enlarge them.

I left Portland and turned off at the Historic Columbia River Highway. It’s in the process of being restored and gradually reopened bit by bit, so I always like to see what’s been done since the last time I’ve been through.

This cleared-out tunnel made me very happy.

I’m a big fan of abandoned places, and this road has been a fascination of mine ever since I was a little kid. I’m also fascinated by Sam Hill, who is a very influential and interesting person in his own right, and who is tangentially related to the construction of this road. More on him later.

So I continued along the old road, to the eastern section that I rarely get to, and I was rewarded with a clear day and a stunning view.

Then, on the other side of the summit, a view of the road looping back onto itself, in a similar way to that of Crown Point.

From there, I crossed over to the Washington side of the river, and stopped in for a rest on the lawn at the Maryhill Museum. Remember Sam Hill, who I mentioned earlier? He’s the turn-of-the-century multi-millionaire who built this huge ‘castle’ for his wife Mary, along with the recreation of Stonehenge, and the entire little town of Maryhill.

This place is remote now, but a hundred years ago, it was almost unthinkably remote. Sam’s wife Mary was a Seattle socialite, and she was less than thrilled with the idea of living out in this desert wasteland, so she hardly spent any time there before saying, “Thanks, hon, but let’s go back to Seattle now.” Construction of the mansion was completed after Sam’s death, and it was turned into an art museum soon after. Today it boasts one of the largest collections of Rodin sculptures in the world.

And while we’re on the subject of Maryhill Museum, I should mention the peacocks, because there are tons of them living all around the grounds, and they’re an integral part of any visit, as far as I’m concerned.

I’d never seen an albino peacock before. Its tail was particularly amazing; I couldn’t get enough of it. I was hoping it would display for me, but none of them did. They’re all completely unfazed by people walking, picnicking and driving amongst them, and the alpha male went so far as to challenge my car. He walked straight over to it while I was photographing the albino one, and made it clear who was boss, in no uncertain terms. He strutted clear around the back of it, along the passenger side, and then stopped at the front to stare down my unsuspecting Honda.

It was at this point that I started to wonder just what was going to happen next. This little tough guy could quite easily have climbed or jumped onto the hood, and I wasn’t too excited about that prospect. I also knew better than to physically mess with him (there are signs everywhere warning against doing that), but luckily he just circled around until he found what he determined to be its weak spot; just behind the door on the driver’s side quarter panel. He stalked over and started doing this display with his neck, trying to pick a fight, and then began to peck the side of the car repeatedly. He didn’t seem to be doing any damage, so I knelt down and took a bunch of pictures, trying to capture one of those moments. I was able to get close, but capturing a split-second peck is nearly impossible to do, so here’s the best one.

This picture wasn’t touched up with Photoshop or anything. His coloring is really that vivid and beautiful. I decided that I’d had enough of his pecking, so I walked around behind him and opened the door. He was so intent on winning the battle that he didn’t even notice me walking or opening the door (I even leaned out and took a few more pictures of him through the open window), and he watched in triumph as I drove away.

Next picture stop was just outside of Goldendale, Washington, at this abandoned house, with Mount Adams in the background. This view is different every day, and is also especially beautiful when the fog has rolled in. I was glad to have the view of the mountain, though.

Finally rolled in to Yakima in the mid-afternoon, to go to the rehearsal for Chris and Nicole’s wedding. I was the best man, and I also brought my accordion, in order to provide music for the ceremony, which was simple, but very touching and nice. One of my music teachers from high school was there – an amazing surprise – and it was great to see him. Here are some of the pics from the rehearsal night and from the actual wedding the next day.

You can take the girl out of the 80’s, but apparently you can’t take the 80’s out of the girl.

The reception finished about 7:30 or 8:00, and then I drove home for a bit, before DrummerAdam (who lives in Yakima) called to invite me to the SportsCenter to watch my drummer friend Ty play in a cover band. I hadn’t seen Ty since I moved to Portland, so he was completely blown away to see me there on his turf. Very nice. Got home around one in the morning.

Next morning, my mom’s friend came by to join us for lunch, and during that conversation I was reminded of lots of the things that have always driven me crazy about Yakima, and how empty life can be there. I also kept thinking how much more I enjoy life now, in a way I never did back then. Friends are much better, music is much better, dating is much better, natural surroundings are much better. . .in fact, the only thing I can think of that’s better in Yakima is the Mexican food. There’s some good stuff to be had here in Portland, but you can get the real thing in Yakima.

After lunch, I headed out to meet my college friend GuitaristAl at one of said excellent Mexican restaurants. Since I had eaten at my mom’s house, I stuck to chips and salsa (which were fan-friggin’-tastic, by the way) and talked while Al ate his taco salad. So much fun to see him again. He’s really a great guy.

I drove home to Portland via another scenic route, this time over the switchbacks and hills of Highway 142 – it narrows to one lane for a few miles, with a sheer drop of hundreds of feet on one side – and down along the Klickitat River, to the point where it meets up with the Columbia and I turned back downriver toward home. I stopped to take a picture of one of my favorite spots along the way, which is Cape Horn, Washington, where the road clings precariously to the edge of the high cliff wall. Here’s the view.

This view never gets boring. Not even a little bit.

Finally arrived in Portland at 8:30 p.m., unpacked my clothes and climbed right into bed, where I slept for the next ten hours.

Great weekend. Great times. Great friends. Great memories. I can’t believe it was all compressed into three days.

I have to hand it to Tossed In for coming up with the best opening line of a blog that I’ve read in quite a while.

“Considering it was Hitler’s birthday, today was so-so.”

Cracked me up. And silly me for missing such a special occasion. How should someone celebrate that, anyway? What do you get for someone who’s responsible for the deaths of eleven million people? I ask you.

Anyway.

The mixing with Andrea went great, and we’re really satisfied with the results. Special kudos once again to DrummerAdam, who completely ruled on those songs, and every time I listen to them, I’m reminded of that fact.

Saturday I was awakened by a strange knocking sound. I got up and walked into the studio, to find a robin sitting in the tree outside the window, staring in at me.

I also couldn’t help but notice how much snow had fallen overnight, so I walked out front to find this tranquil scene:

I must’ve been quite a sight, in my long-sleeved T-shirt, pajama pants, and Doc Martens with no socks. Well, sometimes looking ridiculous is a small price to pay for the sake of Great Art.

I was the first one awake, since I’d slept (or should I say NOT slept?) in my sleeping bag on the floor in the drum room, so I dinked around online for a while, until everyone else woke up. Once they did, Andrea and I went for a walk through the golf course, to take pictures and just get some fresh air for a while, after being cooped up inside all the day before.

We both took about a million pictures, and good thing we did, too, because all the snow had melted by mid-afternoon.

After we were done with mixing, I drove the hour back to Portland, showered, changed my clothes, and then went on a really great date. We were lucky enough to get two rainbows; one in its actual form, in the sky – “Hey, that’s a good omen!” she said – and the other in sushi form; a rainbow roll. It was a wonderful evening – “Let’s do that a whole bunch more times,” I said – and here’s to a ‘whole bunch more’ weekends just like this one.