No, Thursday's Out....

I  don’t get out much, in terms of pop culture, or really, any culture other than my own little bubble. So I heard a new (to me) Christmas song last week when I was shopping. The lyrics that snagged my attention went:         Could’ve been the sun,          Could’ve been the sea,         Could’ve been my childhood fantasy,         But I saw Santa in his bathing suit …. My very first reaction was, “I’m asleep, and this is not a real song.”  The next two reactions were “When did this song come out??“ and then “That image was definitely never a fantasy of mine, but okay….” (You may think I'm oozing depravity by assuming this childhood fantasy was unwholesome, but have you heard this song? "You look naughty, but I'm sure you're nice." There's a a bit about being left breathless. It's not just me, I swear.) Anyway, I looked it up. “Christmas in the Sand” came out in 2012, sung by one Colbie Cailla...

We went chanterelle hunting with a friend of Rick's yesterday. I'd never met him before, but Rick had told me that he usually wore a MAGA hat, and - unlike some of you - I have no one in my current crew who does, so I was a tad nervous. Rick also said he (the friend, let's call him Dean) had a good heart under a gruff exterior, and that had to be true, because in the hunter-gatherer subculture, taking someone to your chanterelle spot is an act of supreme generosity.  I was determined to show my gratitude by being a good sport and not a woke liberal elitist snob, and I jumped out of our truck the minute we saw Dean, and ran over to shake his hand. He must have dressed up for me, too, because his hat was plain brown, no decoration. Good omen, and off we went, and the day went without a hitch except for that one outhouse incident where we set off.  (Please n ote both messages, including the one in red. No signal. The guys waited patiently for me for a while.) You may not know ...

                                                                                                (The interactive map is at BridgetownBites.) Portland has had a blissful few days out of the news, or at least in the news for happenings unrelated to the ICE facility, inflatable costumes, and the threat of National Guard deployments.  About a week ago, when it became clear that SNAP benefits were really going to be cut, Portland food purveyors began to offer help – free kids’ meals, free clam chowder, free chili, free fresh-baked bread, free donuts, free oatmeal, ten free squash or pumpkins….  One of the first people to offer help, and I think by now the most famous, was Josh White , owner of Her...

Before joining the Emergency Naked Bike Ride last week, my youngish friend called her HR department, just to be sure there wasn’t some policy against such things, and she wasn’t putting her job at risk. The HR person told her she was free to participate, but they would appreciate it if she didn’t wear any merchandise sporting the organization’s name or logo. She said Okay, will do! That’s because she has amazing self-control, and could somehow resist the urge to explain what “naked” means. She wore a helmet, glasses, and a mask, and when she showed me a picture, I couldn’t have identified her. She said the Ride was great except for two things: 1) she didn’t enjoy the rooftop guys pointing guns at them as they went past the ICE building, and 2) she hurt one nipple, can’t imagine how. Didn't see that coming, did you? Me neither. I know the algorithm sends each of us crafted info, so maybe you aren’t getting deluged, as I am, with ADVICE about what to do, or not do, for the No Kings ...

We’ve had helicopters over Portland for ten nights, counting tonight. No, they are not news helicopters. And yes, they do not appear on Flight Tracker apps, which means (say those in the know) that they have their transponders turned off, which means they are military. I complained about the noise to the FAA, and got a case file number, but right away I was told (by those in the know) that the FAA has no control over the military. (Well, that came from someone ex-military and in-the-know; meanwhile, my lefty friend said the FAA does not work for America, so I was getting discouraged from both sides. I Googled the FAA in case I’d missed some privatization, and was greeted with “The FAA works for YOU, the American taxpayer.” Seemed a little overeager.) I made a note of how to complain to the Port of Portland (as if they were to blame, ha!) and how to complain to the National Guard (might work, said ex-military, if I wrote someone by name).   So noise complaints didn’t seem purpos...

On top of everything else going down, this week appears to be Peak Fruit Fly Season.  I can throw out all fruit, but that doesn’t get rid of the flies that are already here.   This happens every fall. It will pass.   I know fruit flies are harmless. And they make me smile sometimes, because of an interlude back in college. My pre-med pal was taking genetics, and one day, when I was felled by a sudden panic attack (first time, no idea what had hit me), she swept in to my dorm room. “How are YOU?” she asked, and from my fetal curl on the bed I said, “I’m really bad, I’m… terrified…” Unimpressed, she said, “Oh, YEAH? Well *I* just spent all afternoon in the fruit fly lab with Bill Rosenthal!” And then she shuddered from head to foot, and pretended to wipe her hands, because a) fruit flies and b) Bill. In the small handful of panic attacks I’ve had since then, I’ve learned that, like the fruit flies, they always pass. It’s a matter of time. But that day, her Oh, YEA...

Act I: We have some new neighbors, and they are young (but everyone is younger than we are) and delightful. On one side, we’ve got Mitchell, who moved in almost instantly after that house went on the market. We met him and a friend in the alley the next day, carrying stuff in the back door, and we introduced ourselves, and said Wow, that was FAST. Mitchell said Yes, his parents had bought the house for him, and paid cash, and now he had to pay them back, and he had no furniture and how was he going to buy any if he was paying them back? We offered some extra chairs, and a bed in the attic, and he said, Text me some pictures, and we did, and he said, Um… Thanks, but that stuff is not my style. From all of which I realized that Mitchell is an open book, and he was going to make me laugh. It’s a big house for one guy, but Mitchell has a strong friend group, both local and visiting, and he and his big, sweet dog are rarely alone. Also, he throws parties, and decorates to each party’s t...