User Profile

I grew up in Portland, Oregon. The entire world was painted in wide swaths of green and brown. They taught us all of the primary colors at Stevenson Elementary, but I thought it was a scam, more useless knowledge to be forced upon me, like fractions and the names of the 13,017 bridges that cross the Willamette River. It rained almost every day, a light drizzle that became barely noticeable over the years, just enough to moisten your face and, in some, induce crippling depression. Walking downtown was an experience unlike in any other city; every person would part to make room for every other person's path, smiling and apologizing for infringing on the other's space upon passing. When the red hand flashed on the stop light, people did not, no, they refused to cross the street. There were political demonstrations every weekend, organized by well-meaning hippies who wore torn, soiled clothing that smelled like marijuana and was covered in patches with slogans like "Save the Redwoods" and "Guns DO kill people, asshole." When everything else had shut down after ten o'clock, my friends and I made pilgrimages to 24-hour Starbucks, a half-hour drive into Beaverton, a city every bit as exciting as it sounds, or we went to WinCo, a 24-hour supermarket often populated only by people visibly suffering from bad drug trips.

Last year my parents decided that the green and brown, rolling hills, rain producing lush vegetation and, more rarely, catastrophic floods, nice people, and thriving downtown area of Portland were getting a little old, so they moved to a barren wasteland named Phoenix, Arizona. I thought it telling that the city was named after the fiery bird of death--or rebirth, whatever; it's on fire, and it rose from ashes, which could only be the remains of structures built in a fucking desert that endures 120-degree summers, and that's what matters. My friends, of course, all still live in Portland, with the exception of my best friend Dan, who lives about ten minutes away, in a cave he carved out of a large slab of red rock with his teeth. For fun, we hunt coyotes with stakes or we play frisbee with flattened carrion. There is also ample bowling and golf. This all makes me sad.

Will you be my friend?

Friends (25):

Friend of (26):