I want you to talk to me. There’s no reason you can’t send me an email or text me to let me know how you’re doing, to let me know you’re ok.
On Thanksgiving Day, an uncle I’ve been trying to avoid for months finally succeeded in cornering me. He had left messages on my phone saying he needed to talk to me because he had some sort of mission or assignment for me. Meanwhile, family members had told me that he had become a Nazi. I
The Fresh Pot on Mississippi Avenue in north Portland.
Miss Delta on Mississippi Avenue in north Portland. I can’t say enough good things about this place. I had the chicken and waffles – which are very different from the “Nashville-style” chicken and waffles at Zeus Cafe downtown, and more like Roscoe’s in Los Angeles. Everything was wonderful, and the place has a perfect ambiance
Southwest Morrison this morning, looking east.
Brian LeMasters, an artist here in Portland.
The Green Horde descended upon us this afternoon, and now they will not leave. They’ve witnessed a “victory,” and they are sure it has made their lives better or validated their strength or prowess or the geographical location of their residence or whatever the fuck it is they think just happened. They’re convinced they’ve won
A couple of pictures from the rally held today in front of City Hall. I hadn’t taken many pictures before a woman slid up next to me and asked me who I was with (for whom was I taking pictures). The conversation quickly devolved into accusations that I was a Nazi and I was taking
I’ve always been disdainful of the idea that a person’s hairstyle or sartorial choices were ways of asserting individuality. Being an individual, I’ve always thought, requires something more substantial. I’m reading a book on subcultures and it’s providing me with a more nuanced view of the question. The book is an influential work from 1979