Category — No country for old men

Oh MATT. I can’t say I blame him. We felt exactly the same way when we left Portland for San Francisco and now I understand the look in Matt and Sue’s eyes when we met them for drinks one night after moving back. It was a look that said “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS COMPLETELY RETARDED?” Also Dane had lost 60 pounds so that was part of it somehow too.

I wonder if everyone who trades one urban city for a larger, more legitimate metropolis feels the same way: liberated, disgusted, angry, excited, relieved, trepidatious, terrified, etc. ? Probably.

Dane and I talk about San Francisco all the time and we haven’t ruled out the possibility of moving back some day. After all, we know where we would want to live this time (near the Whole Foods). We know how the muni works (stinky but pretty convenient) and we know how the medical marijuana works (DELIVERED TO YOUR DOOR LIKE PIZZA OMG).

But we moved back to Portland because we missed seasons. We like the rain. We generally never complain about it unless it’s that mean, spitting kind of rain which makes me homicidal. And we missed our friends. it takes a long time to build a network of friends and I had just found Melissa only to leave her. It made me sad every day. I missed the comfy relationship I had with the Mercury. Whether I wrote for them often or not at all, they’ve always kept their door opened a crack for me and I will be forever grateful for that- especially as Dane and I’ve been through so many ups and downs over the past few years, my follow through rate on things has been pretty terrible. I will never know why they still listen to my ideas with an open mind and a willing ear but they do. I’m assuming it’s my hair. It’s pretty powerful stuff.

So. Matt. I don’t like that he took a shot at Backfence before leaving. It was unnecessary and mean, not to mention ungrateful. Or maybe I misunderstood what he said. In any case, I do understand the impetus to write what he wrote. Basically it’s something like “GAH hipsters, passive aggressive people, Portland has no idea what a real city is like, competition in [insert field of your choosing] here is non existent, allergies are bullshit, everything is too clean, I’m sick of food carts and all food cart related news, etc..” At least that’s what it was for me.

I think New Orleans will be amazing for Matt. I’m a little scared he’s going to piss off the wrong people and find himself chopped up in a pot of gumbo but that is his decision. I just hope his disillusionment with his new city doesn’t come as fast and as hard (or ever, really) as ours did with San Francisco. I doubt it will. We’re insular people and not prone to putting ourselves out there. And yet, right when we left I was working for the SFWeekly as their Tech Reporter, hanging out at City Hall, eating free Google cupcakes (heh) and introducing myself to the mayor like it was a normal thing for me to do and not TOTALLY OUTSIDE MY COMFORT ZONE. San Francisco was good for me. It was good for Dane. I think Portland is good for us right now. New Orleans will be great for Matt and Sue.

I don’t know…I guess what I’m saying is I hated Portland when we left and loved it when we moved back. I’m still happy here. Mostly I’ve transferred all my hate to Washington County and their bullshit broken system of DUI reform but that is another post for another day. Or never.

Oh and the food really is better here than anywhere else. Matt was wrong about that. EVEN THE BURRITOS. The burritos in San Francisco were really kind of upsetting in their crappiness. I know I’m going against the grain here but really…just not very good. I wish I could explain why I’m the only person in the world who prefers Portland burritos to San Francisco burritos but I can’t. Or, at least, I can’t without using my smart words and I’m sick of all my smart words right now. Suggestions for new smart words welcome in the comments.

Moving used to be much harder.

Well.

Things have finally settled down here at the O’ Hesselbees and I feel like we can FINALLY get back to business as usual on FOTC – i.e., hating things.

On today’s agenda of hating things is people at the dog park who do not want their dogs to play with other dogs.

Um.

WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE CRAZYTOWN DOG OWNER?

Seriously, I get that your tiny little teacup whatever is afeared of big dogs and my dogs CAN be assholes most of the time but they were not assholes today so why did you bring your little tiny bullshit dog to the giant dog park and then AND THEN throw a ball around for your tiny little fragile dog to chase after and expect EVERYONE ELSE TO FUCKING HOLD THEIR DOGS BACK BECAUSE YOUR TINY LITTLE ENTITLED DOG IS SO GODDAMN SENSITIVE?

I am just asking.

Tiny dog: Maybe put it in a hamster bubble next time

I had lunch with Lizzy Caston and Melissa Lion at Por Que No? on Mississippi Ave yesterday. I ordered a fish taco and a diet coke and they put a straw in the soda which made me feel either very ladylike or hospital patient-y. I haven’t decided yet.

Afterwards, Melissa and I went up to Muddy’s Coffehouse to talk about me and my stuff and my things because if you ever have the good fortune to sit and have a conversation with me it will always – ALWAYS – turn back around to the subject of me and my things. Good luck with that, future yous.

It was a really nice afternoon.

And then I drove fast and took chances in the rented Zipcar (I’m so maverick-y!) in order to be home and drunk in time for the Prezzy debate live blogging extravagasm with The Mercury people. We ordered delivered dish from Sansai (so many sushis), logged into the liveblog thingy, and then Dane and I ceased talking to each other for over two hours. Our plan was for Dane to feed me smart, political stuff to say when I started floundering but he got so involved with commenting under his pseudonym, that I WAS LEFT ON MY OWN TO BE SMART.

And I did just fine, thank you very much. Score one for feminism…I guess…I’m not sure. I’ll ask Dane if that’s right.

And finally, to kick your humpday in the pants, here is my very most favorite wardrobe_remix person. CLICKYANDSHIT.

My ex-husband, who is a musician, used to do a bang up cover of Sub Space Biographies by Guided By Voices. I don’t listen to them much anymore (for reasons too obvious to mention) but I dragged this song out today because it is our friend Nate’s birthday and he hates Guided by Voices (other than this one song) and I feel like it is my duty as an American with good taste in music to passive aggressively argue with him about this particular issue on the internets in honor of his 30th birthday. And I love this song, despite its being tangled up in some embarrassing emotions. Feelings are uncomfortable making.

I saw Guided By Voices at Berbati’s during their final tour and it was probably the best live show I’ve ever been to – save for seeing Duran Duran when I was 10 at the San Diego Sports Arena which doesn’t really count because I was pretty straight edge at the time, other than the odd cheeseburger or coke bump. Anyway, GBV fans are rabid, but rabid in a nice Joss Whedon-y way, where they hug you while singing along and make sure you have a beer in your hand and that no one hurts you with their imitation Robert Pollard high kicks. I think because Robert Pollard is such a rocky roll fan boy himself, he usually buys the crowd a bottle of whiskey and a case of beer and then lets them sing into the microphone with him. He gets just as wasted, if not wasted-er, as his audience and although he is dangerously close to breaking his hip while in high kick mode, he WILL NOT STOP DOING IT. For Portlanders, A GBV show is like when someone is doing the best karaoke you’ve ever seen at Chopsticks and everyone runs up to dance and like five guys are all hugging each other and singing the words really loud and breaking glasses on the floor…only 800 times better than that. And without the creepy staring dudes. Also, Bob Pollard has the softest hands I’ve ever felt on a man. I can only assume he moisturizes vigorously for some reason. Over and over again.

Anyway, what I am trying to say is Happy Birthday Nate, Happy Unofficial GBV Day Pip/Robert, and Happy Embrace Your Uncomfortable Emotions Day to everyone (okay me). Now, everybody better back the fuck up because I have some microphone twirling to do. WHAT? I work from home. ALONE.