Portland

Hello loyal readers. Ok it's been a while since I've written but the posters below count for something right? Been busy...really busy. A few weeks ago I made my first trip to Portland. Now as an accomplished road warrior I have all the tricks down:

-Sandals for getting through security
-T-shirt with pocket for keeping ID and boarding pass handy (luggage ticket on back of boarding pass of course)
-Check in online 23:59 hrs before flight to get best seat (check seatguru.com for secret best seats)

I could go on. Here's a couple to add to the list. When going to Portland PACK AN UMBRELLA OR AT LEAST A HAT! A humbling road warrior mistake. To compound the problem there wasn't a beanie to be had in the entire city of Portland. My ears get cold easily and once cold it's over. As you may have guessed it rained THE ENTIRE WEEK. For a smart guy I am pretty stupid.

Found a smokin' deal at the Hilton downtown so I was downtown on foot all week. Cool town. On foot I had to choose between dozens of restaurants and bars. From really old wood carved bars to ultra swanky contemporary joints. Went to my first fondue restaurant. Lessons learned: First, don't go to a fondue restaurant alone - it's like sitting alone in a heart shaped jacuzzi...which I've also done sadly. Secondly, skip straight to dessert. The main course is glorified cheese dip - dessert is a steaming pot of happy. I didn't feel alone anymore. It was so good I felt dirty. Portland is a beer town. Micro-brews everywhere. In Malibu you get dirty looks for ordering a beer. In Portland you get dirty looks for not ordering a beer. I never got a chance to test my theory but I am pretty sure that the kids in the park had a nice thick porter in their sippy cups.

One thing I have to say bad about Portland: I have never had so many people beg me for money in one week in my life (close second to San Francisco and Houston). What was really aggravating about it is that most of them were perfectly healthy kids in their very early 20's...if that. I would like to get my coffee in the morning without having to put up with, "Hey Big-Baller, spare a dollar?" from a 19 yr old girl. That's a quote - I couldn't make that up. At risk of sounding like my right-wing conservative friends I wanted to say, "No Moonbeam, I can't, unless you promise to invest it in soap to wash that rancid patchouli funk out of your hairy armpits."

Took a drive over the mountains in the rented Caddy DTS (piiiiiimp) to the shore (see picture above). Highly recommended. Monterey it is not, but it makes southern California coastline look like the kiddy pool at Sunsplash. Desert rats don't get to drive through snowy forests often either. Snow is slippery if you are curious.

Great town, great time, too many hippies. Definitely check it out if you get a chance. Come thirsty and bring plenty of singles...but not for the hippies...

I Crack Myself Up

The Internet is Dangerous

50,000 Milloinaire Hippies Can't (always) be Wrong

Ah Monterey.... Probably my favorite place in the world. This picture doesn't begin to do it justice. Any beautiful place you've been to you can forget about. Seen the Rockies? -frozen rocks. Been to the beaches of Florida? -muggy sandbox. Fall in New England? -dead leaves. There are beautiful places and then there is the central coast. Meg Ryan is a pretty woman but stand her next to Heidi Klum and she might as well be Roseanne Arnold.

My hotel was called Butterfly Grove because it is the largest butterfly sanctuary in America. A couple mornings I had to shoo away a deer from my car. There are otters and seals playing in the water below you and whales in the distance if you pay attention. The most beautiful golf courses in the world are there and the world's most exclusive auto show in the world is held ON a fairway. Are you getting my point? I could go on but I'm sure It's getting tedious.

Every night I soaked in my jacuzzi tub watching the fireplace listening to the waves crash and thought, "Who do I have to kill to live here?" If you made the list you'll know soon. I spent a lot of my spare time climbing around on the rocks looking in tide pools. Not something you can do in Arizona. On a drive south towards Big Sur I saw a sign that read "Coastal Access" that led to a footpath as it turned out. I have since written a letter to the Coastal Commission of California explaining that in the interest of public safety it should read "Coastal Access (not you fat boy)" During the parts when I was sliding down the hill on my ass I should have been thinking of how exactly I was going to climb out in loafers but I didn't let something as petty as survival instinct get in my way.

After my little brush with natural selection I stopped at Rocky Point Grill which is where I took the picture above. That has to be the most enjoyable beer I've ever had. I was overlooking the most famous spot on the PCH, glad to be alive (and picking gravel out of my elbows) and watching whales work their way north. You can't actually see the whales just their puffs as the cruise by in the distance. What was neat about that was watching the infrequent big puffs interspersed with the more frequent little puffs as the mothers guided their calves up the coast. Sigh.....

I've done the math and if I sell my condo and my car, sell my plasma weekly and adapt to a diet of ramen and Totino's pizzas I can afford to live in a converted port-o-john in Carmel. After a couple years I could sell and use the equity to move into a tool shed in Pacific Grove. If I keep it up by the time I'm 80 I can sell my condo and buy South Dakota. Plan B: Practice until I can do origami with my tongue and cruise the bingo parlors looking for a "sponsor". Don't judge me people - Anna Nicole Smith's husband looked like a turkey neck in a wheelchair.

Orange Diego

Today's entry is a combination of Orange County and San Diego. Are they the same place? - No. Are they close enough and am I so lazy that I'm not going to write individual posts - Yes. Come on, I'm not the first guy to squish similar places together - worked in Yugoslavia right? For a while anyway.

Let's start with a basic premise: L.A. sucks. What it lacks in hospitality it makes up for with pollution, traffic, expense and crime. Everyone in L.A. has some grand scheme that isn't working out somehow. And you, having stumbled into their lives through some cruel twist of fate, are dirtying their ambiance with your presence - or so their look tells you. "I said no foam Trevor - remember, great art comes from suffering so suffer your way over to the latte machine and try again. And here's a tip, take out the eyeball piercing before your next job interview."

That being said Orange County is not L.A. It does have some of the faults - Traffic can be rough and it is expensive. But traffic isn't that bad and it's not too insanely expensive. I spent a good chunk of my week at the Newport Pier. There's a great little bar/grill at the end of it. Primary difference between O.C. and L.A. is the people and that's what matters most wherever you go. I had so many good conversations there. And you feel legitimately welcome there. The J Crew model bartenders even invited me to go wounded bunny hunting Valentine's night. I've never been one for victimizing emotionally vulnerable women but it was nice to be invited.

San Diego is a beautiful city and holds a lot of fond memories. As a kid growing up in Phoenix San Diego was the obvious escape from the summer blast furnace. My first pro baseball game with my dad was in S.D., my first swim in the ocean was in S.D., my first visit to a restaurant more fun than Village Inn was in S.D. - I could go on. Stone brewery, bistro and gardens was awesome! San Diego zoo was a kick. Ocean Beach was a lovely collection of head shops and mostly naked girls strolling by. Killer mexican food everywhere. In short I could be very happy in S.D. - if somebody paid my rent.

When I find myself getting frustrated with California traffic I put on the shades, roll down the windows and roll back the sunroof to let the 75 degree salt breeze blow through and crank up the stereo. I'm gonna get sick of California if they keep sending me there...but not yet.

Vegas baby!

First let me apologize as I have taken procrastination to new heights in not writing for 2 months. No excuse. I finally turned my procrastination against itself and convinced myself that if I don't write I have to do something responsible.....like my taxes. Blog it is.

A few weeks ago I was sent to "work" in Las Vegas. Just to clarify: I was paid to go to Vegas on the company dime. Forgive my uncontrolled giggling. For the record I did do my job. Stayed at the Flamingo - can't beat it for the money. The view from my window were the Caesars fountains. The Bellagio fountains were a little to the left. Every morning my breakfast of a diet coke and croissant was eaten outdoors in the flamingo gardens 20 feet from the exotic bird collection and waterfalls. Sigh...... Though I do have one major complaint for the Flamingo: If one of the cheeses in your "Four cheese pizza" is blue cheese that is VITAL information that should be on the menu. If I am selling you daycare and I say we have four staff members to keep an eye on your kids I would tell you if one was Michael Jackson.

The unusual becomes commonplace in Vegas. You have to pay attention not to take it for granted. One night I was wandering looking for dinner in the Caesars mall and came across Wolfgang Puck's asian restaurant. I say "Asian" because there was a full sushi bar and full chinese menu too. I was one of 3 customers there. Probed the staff for local knowledge and recommendations. Nice conversation with the bartender and a waitress so sexy that 20 or so IQ points were instantly sucked from my head every time we made eye contact. Once I scared her away I was given the remotes to the plasmas and left to my stir fry - the best stir fry I've ever had. That is a normal Sunday night in Vegas.

Part of what I love about Vegas is that everybody is there to have a good time. I don't mean tetanus shot and bail money good time - just enjoy themselves. You meet lots of fun people. Though a downside is that every extroverted mouthbreathing dolt you sit nearby seems to think that being in Vegas means you want to talk to them. During the entire week not once did the phrases "So what do you do" or "Have you been winning" escape my lips. They didn't even cross my mind. And yet I can go into detailed explanation as to the progressively tragic vocational paths and gambling habits of about 5 people I ran into there. This is where iPods come in handy. I often leave my earphones in even if it's not on. Even that doesn't stop everybody.


So I had never seen a cabaret. Isn't that a reason in and of itself? I thought so. An hour and a half, $50 (not counting 2 $8 bud lights) later I had seen a cabaret...and wanted my money back. If you are nauseatingly wealthy and your wife keeps you under 24 hr surveillance yet seems to think a cabaret is somehow different than a strip club than I can see the appeal - maybe. Watching girls try to turn stripping into a performance piece was painful. The good news was that $50 is much less than the $130 it would take to watch a good show so in my mind I now had $80 to try something else. Plan B: Hypnotist comedian! Saw Anthony Cools' show at the Paris. THAT was funny. Unfortunately it was 'you had to be there' funny. Somehow watching someone audition for a porno under the impression that a chair is a beautiful woman is humor that gets lost in translation. And it was only $60. See - I saved $20! If you subtract the $20 from my gambling losses I was only down $80 for the whole week. This is the logic that keeps the lights on in Las Vegas casinos.

My dog is cuter than your dog

I've received many well-wishing condolences since my post about Rug dying - more specifically, the joy of getting to kill your own dog. I appreciate them very much but thought that I should throw in a post about "Big Boo" so it doesn't seem like I am crying myself to sleep at night on my huge pillow (we'll see how many people get that reference).

Maggie is am 18 month old Olde English Bulldogge.

No, she isn't an English Bulldog and yes I can spell. Basically she is a taller healthier version of the English Bulldog. As for the title of the entry let's cut the crap - you know it's true. As I type this she is sleeping next to me suckling in her sleep. A 65 lb bulldogge suckling in it's sleep is just below bunnies sneezing and above baby deer on the list of the world's cutest things. Don't be too jealous, I said cuter not better. She is afraid of her own shadow and frequently mistakes my loft for a fire hydrant. Her taste in chew toys ranges from designer clothes to remote controls to walls. But she is my dog and I wouldn't prefer any other.

She is named Maggie after Margaret Thatcher but I soon realized that Maggie is the most common name of dog. Didn't see that one coming. So Bulldogge was gradually shortened to Boo. Not too macho, I know, but I didn't get my dog to look tough.

Strange animal in many respects. Having a face that looks like she was hit with a shovel makes her sound like an 80 year old man during his afternoon nap much of the time. Flatulence is something else she borrows from 80 yr old men. She rarely makes a sound (besides snoring), in fact I've never heard her yelp. I've seen her fall from the couch and crack her head on the coffee table yet not a squeak. Once hiking with me I noticed that she wasn't at my heels which was unusual. I turned to see her hanging from a 10 foot drop by her front legs. But she patiently clung waiting for me to come get her - not one sound. You can walk her up to a chicken coop or herd of kittens and she shows no interest. During a car ride she just sleeps on the floor.

Many people think she's retarded. It's not a bad theory. But she was the star pupil in her obedience class. She just doesn't care about chickens or cats or physical pain for that matter. She only cares about people. She enjoys the Discovery Channel - especially dog shows. Only one major allergy thankfully - the planet Earth. Every day is a battle against some rash or infection.

And again I wouldn't trade her for the world (although all reasonable offers will be considered). Here's a little wisdom for you: Never trust someone who doesn't like dogs. Think about it, a dog-hater is someone who finds no value in unconditional love and endless entertainment and instead sees only inconvenience and a cramp on their style. You have to have some wires crossed to think that way. Entering a relationship with someone who doesn't like dogs is knowing that it is more important that you provide convenience to the person than love as this is how they prioritize. They can fake it for a while but in the end their true self must come out. Maggie makes me laugh everyday. Put a price tag on that.