i like doing stuff alone, but this is ridiculous
I had this thought, earlier today, to write a post called "i like doing stuff alone," because I was doing lots of fun stuff alone and I was thinking about the stuff I was doing and the aloneness of it, etc. But now, I find I am unexpectedly spending the whole night alone, and I realize I'm suddenly much less excited about my aloneness...
So here's my story. On very little sleep, I worked from 8am to 4:30pm today, functioning on a lethal combo of caffeine and sugar (bad for so many reasons). I had plans to meet up with SK at Powell's City of Books later to hear Alison Bechdel read from her new graphic memoir "Fun Home," leaving me two short hours to kill during which I needed to choose classes for next fall because my registration is due tomorrow. The bus ride home to get my car was daunting, and Old Town Pizza with it's delicious "magic cup" (Black Butte Porter with a shot of espresso, mmmmmmmmm) was so near and so tantalizing -- so I decided to stay downtown, have a magic cup, and work on my schedule there.
It was lovely. Old Town Pizza is in a gorgeous old building, on top of some of the infamous shanghai tunnels, and, sitting in some of their low-lit nooks and crannies, all adorned with antique furniture and decor, it's not hard to imagine a time when you could find yourself liquored up, dropped through a trap-door and spirited away underground to a waiting ship where you'd spend the rest of your days slaving away for some terrible pirate captain. I love Portland lore.
Anyway, I had my beer and enjoyed the atmosphere and picked out some classes I can live with for the fall, then I left. I decided to head over to the sushi-train at Sushi Takahashi on Broadway on my way to Powell's for a quick snack. Sushi trains are the perfect non-burger fast food. They're cheap, you can eat as little or as much as you like, and the food isn't all deep-fried and disgusting... though some of it is... and that's ok. I learned that I've been erroneously calling the sushi conveyor at Sushi-ville on NW 23rd a "sushi train" -- Sushi-ville just has a plain old conveyor while Sushi Takahashi has an actual train with a tiny little plastic conductor that runs around the bar on a real track delivering freshly rolled goodness, right on schedule. Choo, choo!
Ok... yeah...
Sitting at Sushi Takahashi, I started reflecting on how nice it is to have little downtown adventures alone. Going where ever my mood takes me, talking to strangers if I want, trying new things. I'm really good at bursts of aloneness. Long periods of sustained aloneness, however, are harder and can get me pretty depressed. Yeah. With all this on my mind, I headed off to Powell's to grab seats for me and SK before the teeming masses arrived. I'd expected a nice hour alone during which time I planned to read more of Bechdel's new, aforementioned graphic memoir (which I'd begun at Old Town Pizza), but as soon as I got there, I ran into a couple of old friends and we ended up chatting the whole time till SK showed up and the show started soon after.
I had no idea until today that Alison Bechdel had a new book or that she was coming to town. This morning, SK mentioned out of the clear blue that she'd gotten the book and read it all last night and that she was interested in going to the reading. I went to see Bechdel years ago when "The Indelible Alison Bechdel" came out (she's famous for her "Dykes to Watch Out For" comic strip, FYI) -- I bought one for my friend Bec (see old posts concerning Bec's recent visit for context) and had her inscribe it: "To Becky Jo," which was meant to irritate Bec, but she probably didn't even notice. SK loaned me the book today and I read the first chapter -- fascinating and touching, grim and gorgeous, it documents her complicated relationship with her father, their conflicts with gender and each other, their shared, careful study of the masculine, in fact, their shared queerness, and her father's (possible) suicide when she was 20. Wow. Don't worry, all that's in the first chapter, so I gave nothing away.
The reading was intense and Bechdel was quiet, shy, introspective, quirky and awesome. Oh, and also gorgeously, masculinely hot. She's really quite something. The audience brimmed with a genuine, warm affection and she was so humble and forthright, she deserved every ounce of their good attention. Wow. It was really something.
We left when the book signing started and SK and I parted ways. She cycled home and I headed towards the bus mall (stopping first to check out Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past," which figures in the memoir... Uh, yeah, it's in three volumes, all of which are very long... now I remember why I've been avoiding it all these years...) -- I was planning to catch the 8 back to my house to pick up my car and drive back over to SK's, but while I stood, waiting on the bus mall, SK called to say she was just going to take a bath and go to bed. Ouch. I was uninvited.
So now I'm home sulking and blogging and trying to decide if I should head up to the Pub to meet Fat Tony who called ealier and invited me. Apparently he was going to play bike-polo and then out for a beer with his buddies. Bike polo, according to Fat Tony, was invented so you could "ride bikes and break your clavicle... or something..." Whatever. I like keeping all my clavicles and somethings unbroken. And I think I'm too tired to drink a beer. Maybe I'll just read the rest of Bechdel's book and go to bed like a good girl. See what tomorrow brings.
So here's my story. On very little sleep, I worked from 8am to 4:30pm today, functioning on a lethal combo of caffeine and sugar (bad for so many reasons). I had plans to meet up with SK at Powell's City of Books later to hear Alison Bechdel read from her new graphic memoir "Fun Home," leaving me two short hours to kill during which I needed to choose classes for next fall because my registration is due tomorrow. The bus ride home to get my car was daunting, and Old Town Pizza with it's delicious "magic cup" (Black Butte Porter with a shot of espresso, mmmmmmmmm) was so near and so tantalizing -- so I decided to stay downtown, have a magic cup, and work on my schedule there.
It was lovely. Old Town Pizza is in a gorgeous old building, on top of some of the infamous shanghai tunnels, and, sitting in some of their low-lit nooks and crannies, all adorned with antique furniture and decor, it's not hard to imagine a time when you could find yourself liquored up, dropped through a trap-door and spirited away underground to a waiting ship where you'd spend the rest of your days slaving away for some terrible pirate captain. I love Portland lore.
Anyway, I had my beer and enjoyed the atmosphere and picked out some classes I can live with for the fall, then I left. I decided to head over to the sushi-train at Sushi Takahashi on Broadway on my way to Powell's for a quick snack. Sushi trains are the perfect non-burger fast food. They're cheap, you can eat as little or as much as you like, and the food isn't all deep-fried and disgusting... though some of it is... and that's ok. I learned that I've been erroneously calling the sushi conveyor at Sushi-ville on NW 23rd a "sushi train" -- Sushi-ville just has a plain old conveyor while Sushi Takahashi has an actual train with a tiny little plastic conductor that runs around the bar on a real track delivering freshly rolled goodness, right on schedule. Choo, choo!
Ok... yeah...
Sitting at Sushi Takahashi, I started reflecting on how nice it is to have little downtown adventures alone. Going where ever my mood takes me, talking to strangers if I want, trying new things. I'm really good at bursts of aloneness. Long periods of sustained aloneness, however, are harder and can get me pretty depressed. Yeah. With all this on my mind, I headed off to Powell's to grab seats for me and SK before the teeming masses arrived. I'd expected a nice hour alone during which time I planned to read more of Bechdel's new, aforementioned graphic memoir (which I'd begun at Old Town Pizza), but as soon as I got there, I ran into a couple of old friends and we ended up chatting the whole time till SK showed up and the show started soon after.
I had no idea until today that Alison Bechdel had a new book or that she was coming to town. This morning, SK mentioned out of the clear blue that she'd gotten the book and read it all last night and that she was interested in going to the reading. I went to see Bechdel years ago when "The Indelible Alison Bechdel" came out (she's famous for her "Dykes to Watch Out For" comic strip, FYI) -- I bought one for my friend Bec (see old posts concerning Bec's recent visit for context) and had her inscribe it: "To Becky Jo," which was meant to irritate Bec, but she probably didn't even notice. SK loaned me the book today and I read the first chapter -- fascinating and touching, grim and gorgeous, it documents her complicated relationship with her father, their conflicts with gender and each other, their shared, careful study of the masculine, in fact, their shared queerness, and her father's (possible) suicide when she was 20. Wow. Don't worry, all that's in the first chapter, so I gave nothing away.
The reading was intense and Bechdel was quiet, shy, introspective, quirky and awesome. Oh, and also gorgeously, masculinely hot. She's really quite something. The audience brimmed with a genuine, warm affection and she was so humble and forthright, she deserved every ounce of their good attention. Wow. It was really something.
We left when the book signing started and SK and I parted ways. She cycled home and I headed towards the bus mall (stopping first to check out Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past," which figures in the memoir... Uh, yeah, it's in three volumes, all of which are very long... now I remember why I've been avoiding it all these years...) -- I was planning to catch the 8 back to my house to pick up my car and drive back over to SK's, but while I stood, waiting on the bus mall, SK called to say she was just going to take a bath and go to bed. Ouch. I was uninvited.
So now I'm home sulking and blogging and trying to decide if I should head up to the Pub to meet Fat Tony who called ealier and invited me. Apparently he was going to play bike-polo and then out for a beer with his buddies. Bike polo, according to Fat Tony, was invented so you could "ride bikes and break your clavicle... or something..." Whatever. I like keeping all my clavicles and somethings unbroken. And I think I'm too tired to drink a beer. Maybe I'll just read the rest of Bechdel's book and go to bed like a good girl. See what tomorrow brings.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 9:34 PM
2 Comments:
Alison Bechdel. Sushi trains. Powell's. Bike polo!
Know of any job openings in Portland? I make great coffee and sharpen pencils like you wouldn't believe.
But I get what you mean by aloneness. You need some, but not too much. I've had too much for far too long.
Sadly, the job market is kinda tight in Portland, though we're always looking for on-callers where I work. And it's a fucking awesome job. But Portland is a fucking awesome town, and worth coming to even if you don't have a job yet. And it's a super-pedestrian friendly town, so if you don't have a car, it's not a big problem. You should come check it out.
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