teeny tale: brighter view

she was a collector. besides the obvious saddlebags brimming with time & memories, she collected things: from coffee mugs & vintage tea cloths to gold chains & antique brooches. new to this incomplete list: large-framed sunglasses. a pair from the west. a pair for the east. both became final add-ons; polishing off outfits effortlessly, as their primary task was in fact to shield the sun's rays. both answered the demand upon them justly. that said, it was the orange heptagon-shaped frames that leaked a bit o'sunshine, even while she was trying to block it out. it gave her eyes a sparkle, as they graced each eye with their own gleaming ring o'sun. even on overcast days, the days one's face could go sans masking, she carried on her daily routine with sunshine upon her face. the sun of her eyes traveled to her lips & spread its rays there, too. & even on the dreariest of dank days, she & those who passed her enjoyed a bright view.

teeny tale: quick fix

she woke up with a giddy gait. it was the kind of feeling that felt so good she felt guilty holding on to it. so she passed it on. in smiles. in greetings. in words. & in song. all of which continued to share love throughout the day. the songs, however, began single-man raves in offices and apartments near & far. & that alone she decided was more than enough giddy good for one day.

get your giddy on with the Going the Distance soundtrack (up for a limited time).

teeny tale: her story

she read the works of others to find the words to write. and when she finally wrote, she wrote until night fell and morning rose. until nothing was left. leading her to another author. a list of new words. another birthed story--some premature, others induced. until one day she realized the words of her stories weren't sticking. they didn't feel at home, as they were words she had cut and pieced together. words detached from their orgins. each story: a waif. it was then she selected the belongings that were less likely to weigh her down. she moved. saw. did. and with each step she took and every corner she turned she gathered the words that made her life. she wrote them down. they were words that stuck, like a heavy meal to the ribs. she had built a home for which her words felt welcome. and those words lived together, telling a story all on their own.

the inner you.

I’d like to crawl inside and feel the inner you.

I’d like to look through your eyes to see what your sight is set upon when you look forward, what gets caught in it when you look back.

I’d like to feel you ache when you’ve pushed yourself too far.

I’d like to wander in the beyond of your dark eyelids when you finally stop to rest.

I want to read your thoughts for a better translation of what pours from your mouth.

I want to taste your sour that’s my sweet and my bitter that’s your blunt.

I want to hear the words that make your ears stop to listen, finally.

No one will ever know you like the way I wish I knew you.

teeny tale: short time 'til tomorrow

she knew there were 365 days in a year, & that each of those days had 24 hours—never more or less. & that sunlight or lack there of had nothing to do with it, as places in Alaska see the “midnight sun” for months. or maybe it does, but the decision to have 24 hours came before that which named the great peninsula “Alaska.” she never tried to fully understand it, figuring it all ticked down to some artificial explanation that would enrage her to know—know that if humans were born with more digits, there would have been more joints to count, which would have given her more minutes in the day. if only...


Sera Cahoone's "Only As The Day Is Long"

Say it right...

Disclaimer: I'm not up for fighting with auto spacing or whatever wacked-out coding Blogger has that splits words, plays with paragraph spacing, and makes posting photos a b****, so sorry in advance for some of the broken bits.

If you're planning to ever visit Portland, OR, I have a valuable tip 

for you: it'sOR-ə-gən, not OR-ə-gon. Say it wrong and you'll be quickly corrected--and it only takes one correction from a native, or one of the many transplants who've adopted it as 

their own, to remember to pronounce it correctly forever.

When I say Portland you say what? Maine. Or? Oregon. Yes! Is it 

a strange coincidence that these two cities share a name? Nope.Do 

you dare ask which came first? Portland, ME, of course...don't 

you remember anything from those lessons on Manifest Destiny? 

Interestingly enough, Portland could have been named Boston. But a good toss of a coin settled that decision and Portland it 

became--named after Francis Pettygrove of Portland, ME, who had 

claim on the land. Read up on the history for yourself and you'll become familiar with the names of some of the streets you'll 

encounter, when and i you make it to Portland: Couch (coo-ch), 

Stark, Lovejoy,etc.

Getting Around

Portland is pretty easy to figure out, and pretty easy to get around--thanks to its amazing public transportation system and abundance of bike lanes, many of them generous in size. It's split up into quadrants by the Willamette River which divides the east and west, and Burnside Ave. divides north and south. Southwest is the downtown quadrant with the taller buildings of the skyline; northwest is also "downtown" but is more of the apartment buildings/lofts shops, etc. Northeast and southeast you find your neighborhoods and eclectically populated streets like Belmont and Hawthorne--my personal favorites. 

A Few Recommendations

1.) Get a bike. Either rent one down by the waterfront or sign one out at the front desk if you're a guest of the Ace Hotel.

2.) Ride yourself over one of the many bridges lined with bike and walk lanes (I'd take the Hawthorne Bridge for this rec.) and make your way down Hawthorne until the bike lane ends...hang left...and take Salmon up until the 30s and then cut on over (right) to Hawthorne. What you seek: to get your fill at Bread and Ink Cafe, either at the Waffle Window for a quick bite or sitting down for a more casual pace.

3.) While on Hawthorne, leave the two wheels for your two feet and take a stroll to fully appreciate all that this strip has to offer. Pop in to some thrift shops, check out Powell's, and if you go a few more blocks down, you'll eventually hit the vintage motherload: House of Vintage. If you are anything like me, you are fascinated by the old, motivated by the hunt for that one-of-a-kind gem, and thus will find yourself wandering in and out of this store's many nooks for hours.

4.) Be adventurous: Wander off Hawthorne--with the possible motivation to grab a cup o' energy at Stumptown on Belmont--and take in the charm of the quaint neighborhoods that stem from these main streets.

5.) Drink beer. There are more breweries and brewpubs per capita here than any other city in the U.S. Now that's something to be proud of Portland. Which ones did I frequent? Rogue (was brewing a mean Shakespeare Oatmeal Stout--I'm a stout kind of girl); Deschutes (have a Sagebrush [if they have it on tap], a Black Butte Porter, an Obsidian Stout and don't look back); Bridgeport; Tugboat; and I sampled many others when given the opportunity while out and about. One favorite find was at La Merde: Session Black--A Full Sail brew out of Mt. Hood, OR. Best part, other than the taste being right up my alley: it was $2 and change. And after a great convo with the Brooklyn-native bartender, another was given on the house. 

6.) Eat food. One place that was visited on more than one occasion was Jam, another Hawthorne treat. The vegan options and the inventive cocktails are a match made in heaven. It's a must. As for a great dinner joint, on the other side of the river (that being west), Adina. It's Peruvian, and it's phenomenal. They're creative with their dishes, but not over the top. All I have to say is order their Choros a la Chalaca (the mussels), you'll be pleasantly surprised. Lastly, if you want a little Swedish in you, check out Broder--another East-side find. OH, and I almost forgot, the place that was suggested when asking others what not to miss in Portland: Voodoo Doughnut. After two attempts met with lines out the door, I convinced myself that I couldn't be missing out on too much, it's a freaking doughnut for gosh sakes. The lines? Those were just full of people who were feeding the hype that had been passed on to them, just as it had to me. I wasn't falling for it. Then again...I did. Come the morning of my departure, I sheepishly asked the taxi driver if it would be possible to swing by Voodoo for one last attempt. Even he was skeptical...which made him agasp as we turned to corner to see NO LINE and exclaiming that he hadn't ever seen Voodoo without a line in 10 years. (Note: It was Sunday around 7:30 a.m. set your alarms.) I left with a yellow snow doughnut, he left with a box full.

(I know what you're thinking. And I don't care, it was gooooood.)

7.) Take time to smell the flowers. Yes, at the rose garden. Portland's other moniker is "The City of Roses." Better yet, mozie through the Japanese Gardens. Take advantage of the public transit and hit the blue or red line to the Washington Park stop, then enjoy a little hike on the Wild Wood Trail to the gardens.

8.) Catch a show. It's Portland for goodness sake, which means there's no shortage of great music. Sign yourself up for alerts from TicketsWest or do the research on the various venues like Crystal Ballroom, Roseland Theater and Doug Fir and stalk their listings for that perfectly timed, must-see show. I caught some music, but unfortunately it wasn't the kind of I've-been-dying-to-see-them kind of music experience I was hoping would align. Nonetheless, Doug Fir was the venue of my chosen Portland concert, and if not for anything else, the beer selection was great and the space was awesome. (Back history: Portland has a lumber history, hence Stumptown Coffee, the Doug Fir, etc.) I'd highly recommend checking the Fir out, even if you don't hit a show.

9.) Hit up some or at least one of the natural wonders of Oregon, be it Multnomah Falls or Haystack Rock on the coast in Cannon Beach. The former was chosen on the last round in Portland, so this time around, to the coast! It's a beautiful sight, and for this East Coast girl, enjoyed the opportunity to stare into the white crests of the Pacific. As for Cannon Beach, it's quaint but definitely couldn't hold my attention for more than a day or two; therefore, I suggest making it a day trip.

                     

10.) Go. See. Do. Repeat. There's a lot to see. A lot to do. And a ton more to explore. Know you will not see everything and be okay with that. After two trips there, I'm still left with plenty to do upon Round #3 to the Northwest. For some great deals and tips, visit Travel Portland.

Cheers and safe travels.

Have you been? If so, what else would you suggest to others?

UPDATE: One very BIG point I did not make involves timing. Time your night out right, otherwise you may be caught off guard as I was. While sampling the night away at Deschutes, a ring of a bell and a quick yell of Gibberish hit the air and hit me cold. To which I, with slight sarcasm, ask the bartender "Did you really just say last call?" That he did. I went on to explain my disbelief is a result of living in a city where places don't close down until at least 1 or 2 a.m.--even our coffee shops. (Hit the bars and you're good 'til 4 a.m.) At that point the chick bartender replies "Well, I couldn't be here until 4 a.m., I wouldn't make it." Portland: You're weak.
Anyway, I suppose it's great for the staff, but unfortunate for select transplants, and visiting night owls like myself. My advice: divide up those breweries and conquer...early.
(Special note: Le Bistro Montage has some late/early hours for fellow night owls.)

renewed perspective.

can you have a renewed perspective on a person, place or thing that, until now, has only bottled up a feeling from a day long ago? just like the captivating power of our sense of smell to whisk us back to what may have been one pure second of our lives, so many other triggers present themselves before us. each tantalizing our inner strength, our ability to let go of the past and renew them for the future. in the end you may find some, in particular, have the means to break you down, slowly, only to reveal they have a stronger hold on the you you were then--holding you back from the present-day you  you could be today.

i have a lot of "bottles" that seem to clink around in the back waiting to be recycled. it's time to cash 'em in and turn them into something new. something concrete. something that lives in the now. not all memories are worthy of a life-long journey: they can carry us so far until the time comes when we must dispel them to make room for the new ones which shall unpack in their place.

test the person you are today. return to a memory you've carried close like a child clung to a mother's hip, or a scarf wrapped haphazardly up and around one's neck--what security has it brought you? how does it have the power to make you pause in a "world that spins madly on"? and is recalling and reliving it worth the price of missing an opportunity to fill the present seconds with what's more? some aren't. like everything else, not all memories are created equally. choose yours wisely: carry those which continue to help you define the person you are today and the person you'll be tomorrow, and release those that hold you back from becoming more than that.

a valuable lesson i once learned: in life, if you're not growing, you're shrinking; it would be a shame if you alone were the reason you've been stunted.

i'll be getting my chance to grow in a week. and i welcome it with open arms--i.e., open arms clutching an empty recycling bin, as i don't intend to throw away my memories, just renew them.

reduce, reuse, renew.

personal tagline.

An AAF (American Advertising Federation) SmartBrief e-mail reached my inbox today and its subject line made it worthy of a click: "25 greatest ad taglines." After right-arrowing my way through the likes of "Just Do It," (Nike) "Time to Make the Donuts," (Dunkin Donuts) and "Think different" (Apple), I began to think about the concept of personal taglines. And when I say personal, I mean for you. For me.

Maybe you'd argue that taglines aren't meant for people. Maybe it's because people shouldn't be sold. They are. Maybe it's because people are far more complex than a single business. Some aren't. I challenge your defiance.

I've never thought about what my own tagline would be; I've never tried to brand myself -- with words or tattoos.   I have, however, entertained the idea of stringing together an autobiography, one composed much like Hemingway's six-word story: For sale: baby shoes, never worn. Where did I end up?: After seven-grain bread, still left empty. Yes, that's the story of my life. I'm literally always hungry, but the seven-grain bread is just an analogy. It's the idea that even with all that I've consumed (again, not in the food sense), even with a keen awareness of the most dense aspects of my life, I'm still left wanting more. And the search for something to fill my "appetite" continues on. I don't see this ever changing; therefore, this six-word story fits the bill. But as a tagline? No.

Taglines. They can make or break you. Done right, they can be the cheapest form of advertising, and the best. Think about it. The taglines I mentioned earlier, did you need me to spoon feed which companies they belonged to? Probably not. Taglines can promise (and sell) you something before you know the "how" or "why?" They can offer you the benefits of using a company or product (tip: odd numbers work best, particularly three) --  or grab you by noting the risks if you don't. And some link a product with an abstract need, company address or logo.

Create your tagline. Make it clear. Don't try to get too clever. Reveal your personality, appropriately. Provide the answer to "why?" Sell it (you). Be it.

My personal tagline:
Because words deserve a creative future.  
And a motto that came out of this self-inflicted exercise:
Punctuating words in an unpunctuated life. 

What about you? Got Tagline?

what does your back end say about you?

When I was 16, my commute to high school was no more than five minutes. I noticed things like “Mean People Suck” bumper stickers and rows of Grateful Dead Bears dancing along rear windows. In college, from home to school was a four and a half hour drive. I primarily looked for college stickers, wondering where fellow born-in-the-80s college students were attending. Are they on their way home? Home for the holidays? Or heading back to school? My commute to my first job: my two feet. I recognized new pieces of garbage along the curb, who shovels their walkways and who doesn’t, and when flowers were beginning to spring from the ground. Now, my commute puts me in the car 20 minutes in the a.m. and 20 or more minutes in the p.m. That’s 40 plus minutes of music, NPR news...and staring at the backsides of cars. What I’ve realized – other than I should invest in an iPod adapter for my radio versus having CDs knocking around ever nook of my car – is that you can tell a decent amount about someone from checking out their rear (pun intended).

It’s not the make of a car, the year, the shiny paint job or the rust forming around the wheel wells, but what people physical choose to display. For example, a vanity plate can tip you off to a person's name, nickname, favorite sports team, lifelong hobby, profession or ill attempt at humor. And how about those white stick-figure decals? The other day I saw one of a woman and two dogs, not much ambiguity there: she’s single and lives with her dogs – that’s one way to get the word out that you’re available. Then there’s the car with the “Mom,” “Dad,” and three “kids” with each child’s top sport represented with the appropriate icon next to them: a soccer ball, baseball or football, etc. And yes, pets included. (It was a large vehicle; I could get why.) 


Moving on to bumper stickers – they’re out of control. You can find a sticky statement for just about everything: religious positions, political stances, movie quotes, bands, and the list goes on. What else? How about the dangly items straying from rearview mirrors: a garter (she’s either married or still hoarding possessions from high school); popsicle-stick crosses and hand-strung florescent colored beads (he has children); a Yankee Candle Jar air freshener (she likes things to smell pretty); ear pieces (they value safety); parking tags (he’s a student, then again, he could be a professor, hmm). Just the other day I saw a guy driving a car, no stickers or decals graced his vehicle, but what I did see was a mini boxing glove hanging from his rearview mirror and a silver-plated frame of palm trees surrounding his license plate. My immediate thought: he enjoys boxing and visiting the tanning booth – even in the summer.

In the narcissistic society we’ve evolved to, it’s hard to think that someone would decorate their mode of transportation without any thought as to what it would tell the world about them. That thought alone, paired with what I’ve seen on my daily commute is frightening. But as my Dad says: “To each there own and provolone.” (A statement created clearly for the rhyme rather than reason.) As for me, I like to take the "less is more" stance. The only thing my car "says" about me: ADK.

ro ro ro-bo-bots need love too.

and more here.