A world, A place, a point in time, a community where people made decisions based on something other than money. What would it be like? We see bits of this dream, collective businesses, co-ops, nonprofits, local currencies... But still, the majority of the decisions we make still end in green, at least in our heads.
Growing up in the hardworking, thrifty Midwest, I was immersed in a culture that counted pennies and where success was measured by "how much's." How much disposable income you had to buy things corporations shoved down your throat. How much security you had as far as being able to retire at a reasonable age and pay for your kids' educations. How much influence you had in your community, based on your success, which was based on how much money you managed to accumulate...
Marriage, a family, cars and other gas powered recreational vehicles, yearly vacations, 9-5 working hours, future retirement plans, strip malls, corporations, college funds.... this was the life I learned to live, that I was taught to look forward to. Health, culture and creativity were all afterthoughts... What about the trees? What about non-packaged food? What about third world countries, or at least Europe? What about art? What about sustainability? What the hell?
Like a diet. We only take the time to care about our health after we are already fat. After the bad life patterns are already created. At that point we go on this pathetic diet and are successful for a while, but then we go back, back to our old unhealthy way of life. Is that how it is going to be our whole lives? With everything that is truly important? Moments of motivation are not enough. Life changes are necessary.
We are choosing money over health, money over culture, money over old growth forests, money over natural beauty, money over originality, money over community, money over time.
I don't want my forest saving efforts to be like the stereotypical American diet: unproductive and irregular. I don't want to just recycle paper, cans, and plastic. I want to recycle building materials, clothes, and I want to compost. I don't want my sustainability efforts to end when I turn off the lights when I leave the house, I want to use less water and bike rather than drive. And I don't want to diet. I want to change my life.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Awkward Encounters
Awkwardness abounds these days and I cannot seem to stop stumbling (or stuttering) around life in general and Portland in particular.
Yesterday for instance. I had arranged to meet Alex, a potential roommate at his house at 235 N Buffalo in North Portland. I knocked on house number 235 and waited momentarily before a woman peered out the window and yelled something to someone inside.
"Weird," I thought. "She must be getting Alex to come to the door before she lets me in." I stood patiently out in the cold while I heard the woman fumble with keys to open the door. Alex and the woman both greeted me at the door, but didn't really seem ready for me to see the house.
"Alex?" I asked the guy, making sure I was in the right place.
"Yeah," he replied. I followed them into the house, waiting for them to make the next move. When they didn't say anything I started feeling awkward so searched for something to say. Right as I started commenting on the fireplace in the living room, they both walked into the other room. At that moment I realized, something wasn't right. I followed them into the hall.
"Do you have a room for rent?"
"No," Alex replied. All three of us realized the same thing at the same time and started laughing. I had come to 235 NE instead of 235 N Buffalo Street, and a guy named Alex just happened to live at each house.
"Hey I have some mail for that house, do you mind bringing it over?" The woman asked. We laughed again and said goodnight. The real 235 house was only 4 blocks away.
Yesterday for instance. I had arranged to meet Alex, a potential roommate at his house at 235 N Buffalo in North Portland. I knocked on house number 235 and waited momentarily before a woman peered out the window and yelled something to someone inside.
"Weird," I thought. "She must be getting Alex to come to the door before she lets me in." I stood patiently out in the cold while I heard the woman fumble with keys to open the door. Alex and the woman both greeted me at the door, but didn't really seem ready for me to see the house.
"Alex?" I asked the guy, making sure I was in the right place.
"Yeah," he replied. I followed them into the house, waiting for them to make the next move. When they didn't say anything I started feeling awkward so searched for something to say. Right as I started commenting on the fireplace in the living room, they both walked into the other room. At that moment I realized, something wasn't right. I followed them into the hall.
"Do you have a room for rent?"
"No," Alex replied. All three of us realized the same thing at the same time and started laughing. I had come to 235 NE instead of 235 N Buffalo Street, and a guy named Alex just happened to live at each house.
"Hey I have some mail for that house, do you mind bringing it over?" The woman asked. We laughed again and said goodnight. The real 235 house was only 4 blocks away.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Hick at Heart...and in Real Life
Tuesday marked the day as my second Craigslist Rideshare adventure, and once again I was not to be disappointed.
His ad offered a ride to the mountain; two if the second person could fit into a space only big enough to accommodate an "anorexic midget."
A little less optimistic this time around; I thought J sounded nice, but not necessarily....the snowboarding type. He described his on hill performance in the terms of "falling on my face a lot." He also didn't really direct the conversation, which is something I look for in a potential companion. Don't get me wrong, I guess I'm not really looking for a director as much as I'm looking for a suggestor, or maybe someone with an opinion?
He ended up being one of the strong silent types. And he did fall on his face......a lot. We ended up leaving a little early because he thought he may have broken his collar bone. No, he wasn't one faint of heart. He was an ex-soldier who recently retired from the military and was trying to pick up snowboarding. I saw a glimpse of myself in him. We both don't give ourselves enough time and charge ahead when we aren't really prepared, or experienced.
I tried to warn him: quality is more important than quantity, or at least speed. Poor guy never had a chance. "Try to put some power behind your carves," I told him. "Your carves are somewhat noncommittal." He was somewhat offended, I think. Or too macho to accept my advice.
The sad part was he seemed to be afraid to show his true self. I noticed small things like his smoking habit and music preference. He tried to hide his puffs and felt he had to excuse his love of country. Smoke as many Marlboro's as you want, and I don't care if you know every word to every country song ever written. Sing away. Please, don't be afraid of my lowly opinion.
A hick at heart is a hick at heart......and no reason exists to be ashamed.
His ad offered a ride to the mountain; two if the second person could fit into a space only big enough to accommodate an "anorexic midget."
A little less optimistic this time around; I thought J sounded nice, but not necessarily....the snowboarding type. He described his on hill performance in the terms of "falling on my face a lot." He also didn't really direct the conversation, which is something I look for in a potential companion. Don't get me wrong, I guess I'm not really looking for a director as much as I'm looking for a suggestor, or maybe someone with an opinion?
He ended up being one of the strong silent types. And he did fall on his face......a lot. We ended up leaving a little early because he thought he may have broken his collar bone. No, he wasn't one faint of heart. He was an ex-soldier who recently retired from the military and was trying to pick up snowboarding. I saw a glimpse of myself in him. We both don't give ourselves enough time and charge ahead when we aren't really prepared, or experienced.
I tried to warn him: quality is more important than quantity, or at least speed. Poor guy never had a chance. "Try to put some power behind your carves," I told him. "Your carves are somewhat noncommittal." He was somewhat offended, I think. Or too macho to accept my advice.
The sad part was he seemed to be afraid to show his true self. I noticed small things like his smoking habit and music preference. He tried to hide his puffs and felt he had to excuse his love of country. Smoke as many Marlboro's as you want, and I don't care if you know every word to every country song ever written. Sing away. Please, don't be afraid of my lowly opinion.
A hick at heart is a hick at heart......and no reason exists to be ashamed.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Rain
"Why look up? There's no point." M.E.
Rain
The utterly lost forlorn feeling that rain creates as it permeates the citizens of Portland must come to an end...someday.
Typical Oregonians wouldn't be caught dead complaining about the weather. The other day two women were walking in the rain without umbrellas. I passed them on the street, also without an umbrella. We caught each other's eyes and I commented on our mutual lack of covering. They laughed and said they were from Oregon, implying they didn't need an umbrella!
I couldn't help thinking that the women did too need umbrellas, they were drenched.
I kept walking.
Overcast Skies
At first no one even notices. Gray is gray, so what? After a while, the never ending need for sleep, constant shallow mood and pessimistic outlook start pointing fingers at each other, each blaming the other for his presence. I have heard an Oregonian or two say if you make it through a winter, summertime will never let you leave. Since only the strong survive, it is no wonder Portland is full of such warm hearted people.
I may be forced to leave after all.
Puddles
You know those ugly plastic barn boots that you see out shopping? That you used to wear when you were little solely for the purpose of Saturday morning puddle pounding? Yeah, people wear those here. Not because they want to either. My poor suede scrunch boots will never see the light of day, not that light exists to be seen anyway. Deadly holes have taken over the soles and when worn outside the rain seeps in and climbs up my leg soaking my sock and leg of my pants.
Happy? Not so much.
Rain
The utterly lost forlorn feeling that rain creates as it permeates the citizens of Portland must come to an end...someday.
Typical Oregonians wouldn't be caught dead complaining about the weather. The other day two women were walking in the rain without umbrellas. I passed them on the street, also without an umbrella. We caught each other's eyes and I commented on our mutual lack of covering. They laughed and said they were from Oregon, implying they didn't need an umbrella!
I couldn't help thinking that the women did too need umbrellas, they were drenched.
I kept walking.
Overcast Skies
At first no one even notices. Gray is gray, so what? After a while, the never ending need for sleep, constant shallow mood and pessimistic outlook start pointing fingers at each other, each blaming the other for his presence. I have heard an Oregonian or two say if you make it through a winter, summertime will never let you leave. Since only the strong survive, it is no wonder Portland is full of such warm hearted people.
I may be forced to leave after all.
Puddles
You know those ugly plastic barn boots that you see out shopping? That you used to wear when you were little solely for the purpose of Saturday morning puddle pounding? Yeah, people wear those here. Not because they want to either. My poor suede scrunch boots will never see the light of day, not that light exists to be seen anyway. Deadly holes have taken over the soles and when worn outside the rain seeps in and climbs up my leg soaking my sock and leg of my pants.
Happy? Not so much.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
To the Old Blood of Portland
Portland, Oregon. Hipster kingdom. A city too young to be called solidified, and not old enough to be wise beyond years.
Me? An immigrant hipster perhaps. When I moved west, I did not know what lay before me. I was fresh out of college headed for the mountains of Summit County. Oregon was never meant to be more than a pit stop at Mount Hood and was only to last for the summer.
Never did I expect to find my love here. I did not know Portland is rated in the top ten cities in the states to visit, I did not know of the possibilities of catching early morning runs at Mount Hood, a late lunch of sushi in Portland, and a wave or two at sunset in Pacific City, all in the same day! I did not know of the area's exotic wild beauty, the city's artsy environmental focus, or the people's liberal lifestyle.
What I'm trying to say is I did not seek Portland out. It just happened. Portland and I met unexpectedly; we had mutual friends and mutual interests. We had never heard of each other so everything was fresh, wild, and exciting; our relationship just fell into place. Our young love was beautiful, and we decided we wanted more. We wanted a future together, but we did not know how we were going to make it work because our pasts were worlds apart.
We had our falling outs and I even left for awhile. The time apart only served to strengthen our bond because the feelings did not fade. That was when I knew: Portland and I, our love was real, as real as it was new.
I mean no disrespect. Being young, hot, and seemingly available, I know Portland attracts many. Special treatment is not expected. I know I am new, I know I have to wait my turn, and I know it might be a long time before you can accept me as true, as part of Portland. The initiations have only begun. Swanky frados telling me I can't have that job in that pathetic dump of a restaurant, telling me I can't have that room in that cracked out garbage sty are only meant as a test of my true character. I refuse to let these, or any other clenching jaws tear me down.
Just so long as you know I am here, you can ignore me and push me away all you want. I want to be of Portland, and my hipster heart will not be leaving anytime soon. Portland has given me an ideal, and I will not settle for anything less.
Me? An immigrant hipster perhaps. When I moved west, I did not know what lay before me. I was fresh out of college headed for the mountains of Summit County. Oregon was never meant to be more than a pit stop at Mount Hood and was only to last for the summer.
Never did I expect to find my love here. I did not know Portland is rated in the top ten cities in the states to visit, I did not know of the possibilities of catching early morning runs at Mount Hood, a late lunch of sushi in Portland, and a wave or two at sunset in Pacific City, all in the same day! I did not know of the area's exotic wild beauty, the city's artsy environmental focus, or the people's liberal lifestyle.
What I'm trying to say is I did not seek Portland out. It just happened. Portland and I met unexpectedly; we had mutual friends and mutual interests. We had never heard of each other so everything was fresh, wild, and exciting; our relationship just fell into place. Our young love was beautiful, and we decided we wanted more. We wanted a future together, but we did not know how we were going to make it work because our pasts were worlds apart.
We had our falling outs and I even left for awhile. The time apart only served to strengthen our bond because the feelings did not fade. That was when I knew: Portland and I, our love was real, as real as it was new.
I mean no disrespect. Being young, hot, and seemingly available, I know Portland attracts many. Special treatment is not expected. I know I am new, I know I have to wait my turn, and I know it might be a long time before you can accept me as true, as part of Portland. The initiations have only begun. Swanky frados telling me I can't have that job in that pathetic dump of a restaurant, telling me I can't have that room in that cracked out garbage sty are only meant as a test of my true character. I refuse to let these, or any other clenching jaws tear me down.
Just so long as you know I am here, you can ignore me and push me away all you want. I want to be of Portland, and my hipster heart will not be leaving anytime soon. Portland has given me an ideal, and I will not settle for anything less.
Haiku
January 10, 2008
I need an image
You do not like my picture
Paint me a portrait
Haiku
I do not relate
No, not in this point of time
And maybe never
Haiku
Two forces clashing
Painfully aware is one
Deathly unaware
Haiku
Low on life again
What a terrible mind frame
Circumstances change
Dirty stretched jeans
Knarled hair and smudged looks
I know I am poor
Haiku
Why are my feet wet?
Holes are in my shoes again
I know I am poor
I walked too far today
I am so tired
Out with the old stuff
Phoebe chops, Melissa snips
My hair is like new
One is in my car
The other in someone’s house
Where are my headphones?
Trying to ignore
Killing feelings inside me
When will I face hate?
Do you understand?
Painfully small these haiku
Ideas fall short
If I could convey
My feelings in these few words
I would feel so wise
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
First Day(s)
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