There is no greater sensory adventure to be had than in Portland in Autumn.
Every morning I get to see the streets bracketed by the golds and reds of the trees, and see and hear the skittering of crisp leaves – when they aren’t stuck flat by rain – along the pavement. Seems a pity that half the time I’m boxed away from most of it when driving; walking and cruising on a bicycle are preferable by far. Smell the damp air. Listen to the gulls and crows. Notice how the bright colors don’t seem to clash with the industrial gothic forms of bridges and railways, but how they instead seem to enhance each other.
I’m working at the job I had to leave before we moved to Albuquerque. Full time and (the godz willing) permanent. We’re living in the same apartment community we’d left. I drive and bike and walk the same routes in the neighborhoods. It’s like I’m Bobby Ewing in the shower. Or maybe I mean Pam Ewing discovering Bobby Ewing in the shower? Whatev. What’s cool is that it feels to us as it did when we first moved here in 1992. Obviously we missed this place so much more than we realized.
It’s squeaky, this economy of ours, and my work environment has changed enough to really make me feel stupid for ever grousing about being busy. We’re missing a lot of folks, and business hasn’t improved enough yet to erase the lines from people’s faces. Still, it’s pinch-myself wonderful to step back into a life I’d thought gone and irretrievable. We’ll hang on with fists knotted in the mane.
This next week the missus will need the car most days for appointments and shopping, so I’ll be on the bike a lot. Why do I wait until it’s just more convenient for her when it will always be better to ride regardless? I have no excuse other than the prep time is a pain in the ass when I’ve already squandered valuable time in the morning getting caught up with the television shows we’ve recorded earlier. I have become a television junky. Dammit.
This is harder for me to admit than you might think. I really don’t like the idea of sitting in front of a box that throws pictures at me while my imagination withers. Even the computer (my second love, my mistress) is at least interactive. I have to touch her, pet her, caress her so that she opens her charms to me. She’ll go wherever I want and makes it all about me. Television? Peep show. No touching! And every few minutes the hotty has to step aside so that some shill can scream at me to buy crap. But as one character said on one of my favorite shows (if I may go meta here for a second) “Television is just crazy-good this year!”. So now a night out (as we did this last Wednesday night, me to The Horse Brass with friends, the wife to a pub quiz downtown with acquaintances) translates to a DVR half-full of stuff we feel compelled to watch all at once just to catch up.
Don’t misunderstand; nights out with friends will always triumph over staying home, but the point is that television has become a form of duty. When did THAT happen? I used to say “Television? Yes, we watch PBS don’t you know, perhaps a bit of The Learning Channel (back when it WAS The Learning Channel and not the Watch-This-Poor-Lady- Sit-On-Her-Own-Spinal-Tumor-Like-A-Beanbag-Chair Channel), but really, we don’t watch television as much as most people do.” I would say this in a way that even I found obnoxiously condescending, but it’s just what one should SAY, right? Who wants to just sit and watch hours of television.
Well, I do, apparently.
I would seek to excuse myself because much of television IS crazy-good these days, but the fact remains that after dinner in the evening we troop into the living area to plop down and briefly debate what to watch first, and one of us always says “Geez, we have a LOT of stuff to catch up on!”
She: And oh my God, you should really be watching “Rubicon”! And “The Event!”
Me: I’d have to quit working. I’d be on the street downtown with a cardboard sign, “Will Work For Cable”. We need a 12-step program here, this is really getting out of hand.
But then “The Walking Dead” premiered.
I’m screwed.
