Portland, Ore. Notes

by Patrick Bailey

10/8/03

This shop has a two garage doors that are open onto the sidewalk during business hours and any pedestrian can peek in.

It's on the edge of the Pearl District, but it looks more like a replica of Hades. It's dark and the men have dirty, oily uniforms. Huge stacks of old rusty radiators are all about. Several "torches" burn, probably from oil. Slowy, lazy flames, like hell would have, I'd guess.

There's a little desk off to one side that I've never seen anyone sit at. All the men stand. The desk has a grimy swimsuit calendar on the wall, but no nudity. Even hell-fire shops have recognized that times have to change!

I wonder if Allen's Radiator opens for the First Thursday art walk in the Pearl. You could imagine the atmosphere in there with a little wine and soft music. Very "hallucinatory." But it is a place of hard work and grime, not bearded, self-absorbed artists. Maybe they could win a prize for their "found art" by virtue of their radiator collection. I hope not. I wouldn't want it to change.

11/11/03

[Ed. note: The following entry is not about Portland, per se, but it is about "place," and since writing about Portland can be hard, since nothing much happens here, I'm opting to write about Andy Griffith, since I saw that there is a television special coming up, even though I don't watch television anymore.]

Andy Griffith Show vs. The Wizard of Oz

Dorothy goes to Oz and Opie never leaves Mayberry.

But isn't there a parallel here anyway?

Andy the sheriff is one of the good witches. Deputy Fife is the wizard, who plays his role "exposed" throughout, reversing the trajectory of the Wizard of Oz, where the wizard is all-knowing at first and only later exposed as lame. Deputy Fife "knows nothing," but thinks so highly of himself that he is easily duped into thinking he is a "wizard." (In fact, this is the plot of several episodes: Deputy Fife's ego versus his actual ability and status.)

Opie is on a quest; that of growing up without too much pain and suffering. The small town of Mayberry can almost be thought of as a "kind of Oz." There is little contact with the outside world. Opie is seeking his bearings in a small non-descript southern town. Opie is not beguiled by witches, or munchkins, or the tin man, but he is puzzled at the adults in his world.

The "Wicked Witch" in Mayberry is not a woman or a person at all. The Wicked Witch is represented by the outsiders who come to Mayberry. The con men, the vagrants, the wild hillbillies who come in from the "netherworld." For in Mayberry, anything out of the ordinary is suspect and usually turns out to be "tainted" somehow, misshapen, unhappy, wrong. It has to leave Mayberry at the end of the episode so Mayberry can resume its normality. Mayberry has a series of "Wicked Witches" which all have to be exposed, threatened, and eventually banished.

Aunt Bea presents the character of the lion. She is large and she rules the roost. But, she has deep-seated anxieties and worries. She is not really sure of her status in her household, since she is not Andy's wife. But Andy defers to her and she manages to keep it together. It's not really courage she wants, of course, and not even youth or beauty. Aunt Bea wants stability and happiness for her family. She is the barometer on the wall; when Aunt Bea is "worried," then surely there is a drama to be played out.

Floyd the barber is the scarecrow. But with a difference. Floyd serves a purpose in Mayberry. He cuts hair and collects and disseminates gossip, giving himself an informal role in the town's affairs. The scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz is "unemployed." Although scarecrows serve a purpose, this scarecrow refuses to recognize his role and seeks higher things. He cannot be satisfied with his small role to play, and does not know that a lack of intelligence does not preclude one from "getting involved in the world around one."

Both the Andy Griffith Show and The Wizard of Oz are fables about people and their roles. They are about the difference between what can be achieved and what can be "settled for." They are about young people being introduced to this world, and how the adults interact with them. Neither manage to include "world affairs" since neither are about the world we hear on the news.

They are about what a child might think, might want, might seek, and might find interesting for a time. Until they get older and they change. Maybe they go to college outside Mayberry. If they do, they won't recognize it when they return. They will have "new ideas," which don't fit. New ideas which make them unsuitable for the closed society in which they were raised.

1/12/04

Thinking About Continuing Education

Looking back on my college days, I left some things undone. I need to go back for a few years or maybe about 20.

I didn't study rocks at all or anything about the earth's crust. If someone took me out on a field trip in New Mexico, I couldn't identify any of "the layers" of evolutionary cycles. That might be embarrassing.

I never studied foreign languages and now I can't even translate the instructions on the MAX line. I need to study up on Spanish, at least until I can hold a decent conversation at about warp speed, which is slow for them.

I didn't take any art classes, where you learn how to draw naked people. It might not be my forte in the long run, but it's seems like a rite of passage for any "sensitive person." I mean if I am embarrassed about drawing a naked person, then I have "hang-ups."

Which leads me to psychology which I did study, but it changes every few years. Things that were in the "crazy" category then, are now considered normal. And they've added a bunch of new categories of disorders that an educated person should be aware of, at least before they go to their family reunions.

I might dabble in "electives" as they used to call them. Stuff you learn because you actually want to know about it, instead of having to. The pressure is on there, though, because after figuring out how much I don't know about what I need to know, I don't have any energy left to think about what I want to know.

But they say that education is the key to success, and I would toss in a few business courses just to be on the safe side.

I could just get a catalog and check it out. I think you need some basic computer science courses now to figure out how to register for classes. I could maybe go back for some "remedial courses" on that first, maybe at a local high school.

But then I would stick out. Look funny. The desks are so small.....

Maybe I need to just "bluff my way through" some more.

2/8/04

I Didn't See Them When They Came to Portland!

The news media has made some retrospective remarks on Beatlemania since it was 40 years ago that they "landed" here. The media loves anniversaries, of course, as if that were the only time to reflect on important things.

I didn't get Beatlemania at first. I watched Ed Sullivan and I saw the girls screaming in the audience. I knew The Beatles were different, but I didn't "get" why they were so special. I figured they were up there with English accents, cute uniforms, long hair, and they had a hit record. No big deal. There are a lot of "one-hit wonders." The girls will be buying up someone else's records in a few months. Hey, didn't America already have The Beach Boys?

It turns out that "the girls" knew a lot more than I did about The Beatles. It wasn't just the hair, or the Beatle boots, or their accents. It wasn't just media promotion. In fact, I don't think the media has ever understood The Beatles or Beatlemania. It was a grassroots thing and the media was left out. There was nothing for them to say. So they wait 40 years and now they "weigh in" with their thoughts as if their thoughts mean anything now or could add anything to that special time. (That can be truly nauseating. It's like a counselor telling you about how your "first love" was just a crush, as if that person knew how you felt about it!)

I can't add to it. I don't pretend to analyze it. I know it's history now. I don't think it symbolized the beginning of the turbulent 60s, like I read in some essay. It's pretty simple: They made good records!

The only way I can "get my head around" the topic of The Beatles is to ask myself if anything like that has happened again in my lifetime. The answer is no. Michael Jackson's "Thriller" period was pretty special, and he had the advantage of MTV to promote it. But that was "theatrical and heavily produced." The Beatles came out with just their instruments and voices. They didn't choreograph dance numbers for themselves.

The Beatles came on stage and the crowd erupted. No one heard them sing since the yelling was so loud. But the audience had their 45s at home and they already knew all the words. "Looking" at The Beatles was enough to get them in hysterics.

You have Bob Dylan and Elvis. You can go back to Frank Sinatra. But The Beatles were different. They were four individuals who rocked. One person can't shake like four can. If you watch Dylan with a back-up band, who cares about the back-up band? But with The Beatles, you cared about each member.

I wish we could get another phenomenon like The Beatles. I guess only about 4 billion bands have tried. You'd think one could maybe come close. But it hasn't happened.

So maybe that can serve as my definition of Beatlemania. That something which happens once in my lifetime. I feel so lucky to have lived through it!

3/28/04

I Have the Floor But I Don't Use It Much

Some people are comfortable sitting on the floor. They also put things on the floor like coats, purses, umbrellas, papers, etc. The floor is "part of their living space."

I avoid putting personal belongings on the floor, and I never sit on the floor. The floor is just to walk upon. The floor exists to catch the crumbs of my meal and to allow my feet to feel grounded as they walk.

"The floor" is just another way of saying "the earth"; it's the flat space underneath us. It doesn't matter if it's on the 50th floor of a building; it's still the bottom, the underneath, the "plane which complements the sky or the ceiling."

We have the top and we have the bottom. We have the up, and we have the down. We are "sandwiched" in between.

I think as toddlers we "know the floor" more than as adults. It's to crawl upon. But it's something to "rise above" when we learn to walk. We want to forget our roots.

Some people still are comfortable on the floor. They spread things out on the floor to work on them. They might even sleep on the floor.

The floor to them is a comfort zone.

4/30/04

Technology

Somewhere in a cemetery in the middle of the night
Woke Marty McIntosh, who was buried with his cell phone
At his request.

He had a bad heart and was prone to black-outs and feared
That he might be interred too early, and so he was.

Waking in his casket,
He dialed 9-1-1.

"Hello, this is Marty McIntosh. I am buried in Pine Crest
Cemetery and am in need of assistance."

"Sir, you're breaking up badly.
Please move to another location and call back...."

7/7/04

I Like Walking By It

The Willamette River is not wide or deep enough
Except for ducks and boats that aren't sea-bound.
It's a river that doesn't have to try very hard.

When I see the seagulls in from the coast
I know that they feel silly sitting on it.
It's like a bathtub for them.

The pigeons swim on our river and aren't afraid.
They don't have to worry about some giant snake
Eating them, like in the Amazon.

The Willamette doesn't do a lot of swirling
Or even seem to be moving much.
But a bit of wind will give it a nice frothing.

The Willamette River and Portland
Don't make a big stir as such.
But if they weren't there, I'd miss them so much.

7/29/04

Morning in the Park Blocks

The little toddlers ride in their day-care carts
The foreign students hold their colorful brochures
The old men and women lounge on benches and talk
The preacher yells while the homeless man looks in the garbage

The grass-cutter makes a lot of noise but wears headphones
The squirrels hang out by the old Oaks.
Nearly a third of the people talk on cell-phones
And tell someone somewhere where they are.

I walk past the busy Starbucks and get my coffee.
Somebody orders something that confuses me
But I don't have to worry since I don't work there.
I'm too old to wear that green apron anyhow.

A boy holds a skateboard like it was
Some sort of way out of where he is.
A fat teenage girl shouldn't be wearing those pants
But I try not to be too critical in my thoughts.

I see a man with a beard and briefcase and he's
Probably a professor since he seems dead to the world.
I see a pigeon trying to eat a cigarette butt and
Wish I could just tell him to "forgedabboutit."

The sun feels good, what comes through the tall trees
And already somebody is setting up a food cart.
I don't eat at food carts since I like tables where I eat.
I don't like plastic chairs with windblown plastic tablecloths.

I walk quickly since the whole scene requires motion
It's not a "set-piece" but more of a mobile dance.
If I stop, maybe someone will look at me and wonder
What in the hell I'm doing.

8/12/04

The Runners

Be it a woman or a man, alone or in conference,
Beating time to a non-existent rhythm,
Unraveling my slothful peace by their incessant
Pantings, spittings, and restless twirling of limbs.

I watch stunned and appalled as the sweat gathers,
Tugging at their clothes as from a delirium.
Taken aback in my slow meanderings, I feel aghast
As I watch their progress into the void they seek.

Surely someone could counsel this gross drive
Into something more like an amble, civilized
And open to the outsider as a clock that is telling time,
But this spectacle is an affront to ease and a beastly trek

Countering all companionship and mocking fraternity
It wears down all those who watch it.
Pushing the body until it is but a mere piece of cloth,
A dead withered thing, a sail that caught the wind.

I abhor the idea of squandering my daily energy
I husband it like I do my spare change.
Not to be flung madly and in all directions,
But to chime in its place as I do my daily visitations.

1/15/05

Ice Dance

The swaying of my hips is unevenly rhythmic
The squirrels watch, trapped in their trees,
Life's clingingness gone, as from an ex-lover,
And the music is absent.

It's a dodge-and-swirl world,
Returning to infancy, though gray with age,
I think and feel that to fall would be a failure
Of my great experience.

And if this slippery skin forbade my mind
Of its control, I would be at sea forever.
Bobbing in the waves in an endless fog
With only memories, dreams and prayers.

...More Later...

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