Stumptown Thoughts

I’ve been asked to cobble together my thoughts on my trip to Portland, to give my impression on the city, the state, and its people. It’s taken me a while to digest and put it into words, because the city doesn’t exactly have a strong flavor. In my five days of taste-testing, there’s just no singular flavor note on the palate that I can mark down in my notebook.

If pressed to find something, it’s this: Portland is a city of abrasive contrasts. That’s the biggest takeaway I have.

From the lips, it’s warm and inviting; from the eyes, it’s paranoid of everyone it doesn’t recognize. The people there will smile and are friendly to the end of the transaction, but behind it is a distrust. You have to be there long enough, as a neighborhood resident, as a frequent customer, to be welcomed and embraced, to be pulled into a long conversation about nothing. Otherwise, you’re just some guy from the street. The homeless problem there is so bad, the housing situation is so exclusionary, that as a tourist, walking around with my black hoodie and black backpack, I felt the side glances, the silent judgments, from those wondering if I was a danger or if I was going to ask someone for weed or bus fare.

The city is caught up in the act of change, like a film scene of a man painfully turning into a werewolf. Once upon a time, it was a manufacturing and shipping town, but with the decline of those industries, Portland’s manual labor workforce is hungry and bored, and all the warehouses, grain silos, docks, railyards, are slowly being emptied out and taken over by land developers. That’s a universal story at this point, but it’s strongly marked there in Portland.

So you have all these areas that are decaying, oily, dirty, fenced off, disused, or otherwise vacated. Contrast that with the verdant beauty of the place; the constant humidity and frequent rainfall means the botanical landscape is always exploding with everything green and orange. It’s a fantastic place if you like forests, hills, mountains, streams, rivers. I wish I could’ve taken more pictures that captured just how beautiful the place is. But in the big middle of it all is this gentrifying grease pit of iron and brick.

I guess with all the paranoia, hope, helplessness, overcast skies, furious growth, middle-class delusions, and distrust in everyone and everything despite all evidence, the city of Portland is me. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I do know that I have no desire to move there. It would consume me before I could ever take it all in. My life here in Austin is just as cold and distant as anywhere else I’ve ever lived, but at least Austin has warm days to help me ignore all that.

I could move there, I guess, but why? I dunno. That’s why my vacation there was more an expedition. I needed to know what it was about, and my five days there showed me, at least on the surface, what was there and gave me a peek at what was underneath. I could be completely wrong; I could find the greatest friends and the most wonderful loves of my life in that weird bond of shared meteorological and financial hardships, but I won’t know without enduring at least a year and a day in its city limits.

And that opens up an existential question that I should ask myself daily.

Phase Change

Chicken and gravyChicken strips and gravy: where you dip the solid chicken in the liquid chicken so you can dip the solid flour in the liquid flour.

Handle In the Dark

I woke up this morning. That in and of itself is a miracle, one that I daily take for granted. I also got out of bed. Even though I stumbled for the first 2 minutes, I still managed to stand in the bathroom and then walk with both of my feet to my desk. Tiny little miracles. Still clouded from the tiny little world of my dreams, I decided that today, just for once, I’ll deny the dark thoughts and do anything to deny them purchase on the mantle of my soul.

This holiday break has been a roller coaster with more downs than ups. Been playing the role of the moody gloomcow. I have every reason to dislike myself and my life, but for once this week, I’m choosing to ignore those reasons. I acknowledge that I’m manic-depressive, and what I have today is a mania, but if I can take this and rebuild myself to buffer against the darkness of the following night, then maybe that’s what I should be doing. I’m too much with the drab clothing. I’m too much with the negative talking. I’m too much with the sitting alone, hiding my face, and then feeling hurt when nobody comes over to sit with me.

I’ve had enough, at least for now. So if I avoid staring and thinking, I think I can keep the darkness at bay, I think I can trim back all the rough edges that the demons would grab on to, preventing them from latching on. I don’t want to be one of those scared people you see who run and talk and jump and do everything in their power to keep themselves away from their own scary dark thoughts, but at this point, the idea doesn’t seem so preposterous.

Some Thoughts to Occupy Your Mind

  1. The Internet is the worst place to go if you have something to say.
  2. Activity is not motion, but motion is an activity.
  3. Don’t bring signs to a battle of words. They are inflexible and can be used against you.
  4. If you’re fighting on two fronts, you’ll have to watch your own back.
  5. Keep off the grass, especially when requested. When asked twice, doubly so.
  6. Just because you’re seated does not mean you are immobile.
  7. Educate yourself about the enemy, but resist the urge to use that knowledge to become the enemy once he is vanquished.

Packs Much Back

As a man, I have trouble, physically and psychologically, with the spare tire I carry around. Sometimes I feel like I’m the fattest skinny man I know. When a man has excess fat, biology dictates that his body stores it first around his stomach and waist. If he puts on more, then it forms on his legs and pecks. When women’s bodies put on fat reserves, they’re primarily around their hips, butt, and legs. Biology dictates this.

Now, when a woman asks me, “does this make my ass look fat?” my first response is to check for traps and tread carefully (I’m not walking into that one blindly…again). It’s a strange and dangerous question, and the implications of it, and its answer, are a wildcard. But it can be asked due to insecurity. As someone who can’t control where his body fat piles up, I understand what girls mean when they need some sort of validation for their body shape. We all want to be attractive.

However, the issue with body fat on women is that it’s a secondary sex characteristic. Traditionally, fat on the hips signals to us that they have a diet good enough to support bearing healthy children, and sizable breasts show they have the capability to feed their newborn offspring and keep them healthy into childhood. As such, we men are drawn to women with the right amounts of body fat in the right places. It’s a physiological turn-on.

That being said, can the same be said for women about men? Do guys with fat bellies answer some deep physiological drive? Do they turn you on somehow? Honestly, I don’t think it works quite the same, but I could be wrong. Thoughts?