Portland, Oregon

Wednesday, July 20th: Woke up one-eyed and slightly wilted. Said goodbye to Lesley and were off to buy some glass. Immediately enjoyed the prospect of a short drive—less than 300 miles to Portland. Relatively easy and traffic-less until the city center. Bumper-to-bumper. Checked in to the Jupiter Hotel. Swank, unassuming spot. Chalkboard doors. Backlit walkways. Doug Fir Restaurant and Lounge attached. Jenna was out of her mind to pick up her mates. Picked up Ali and Rob from the airport. Back to the hotel and then a short walk across the Burnside Bridge to Portland proper. Found a little deep dish pizza/microbrewery. Sat, stuffed ourselves, and drank two happy hour pitchers. Headed back to the hotel where we realized a band was playing later. The Volumes (unnecessarily loud and performance antic-ie) opened for Weird War (good tunes but an awful, short front man who resembled a cross between Jim Morrison and Elvis with a bad toupee). Fell into bed fast. No awkward silence of adjusting to new people before sleep. Comfy mattress with down pillows☺

Thursday, July 21st: Got a couple excellent Café Americanos from the Doug Fir. We’ve got all day to burn before the show tonight. Walked across the Burnside Bridge. Had breakfast. Wandered around downtown. Came across a beautiful park; people jogging or eating their neatly bagged lunches. Ran into two crunchies with a petition against John Roberts. They pointed us toward Hawthorne and 30th. Checked out a free trade shop, some novelty crap and got thirsty for a mid-day pint. As I’m moving the car, I see Powell’s Books and my heart starts pitter-pattering. I’m such a nerd! We split up. The kids went in search of a cheap pawn shop guitar. I went to Powell’s. Felt overwhelmed, but hung in. Found a copy of The Thurber Carnival. On a whim, remembered the EMP Dylan exhibit and had a lady look up all Dylan listings. Ten minutes later, found a mint copy of Tarantula, the only work of fiction that Dylan ever wrote and grudgingly agreed to have published after his motorcycle accident. That made my year. Moved the car again. Ate a burrito the size of my head at the Bagdad Cafe. Strange mumbling man ended up eating the leftover half as well. That evening, off to our show: Liz James opening for Sufjan Stevens. Both are religious—not imposingly and ignorantly so, but wholesome, beautiful, well-done music. Surprisingly enjoyed myself. Had my first patriotic moment when Sufjan covered The Star Spangled Banner. I guess now that I’ve seen most of my country, the song can mean more to me. “Love your country. Fear your government.