I made a point of walking for the first time across a new bridge, the one once again carrying northbound SE 17th Ave. over Powell Blvd. This bridge will also carry the new Max line (Portland-Milwaukie) over it come 2015. It was built higher and with more of a curve than the previous bridge; it feels even more like a freeway on-ramp leaving my neighborhood. I like this.
I got coffee shop time, at Southeast Grind (still one of Portland's relatively few 24-hour establishments) a few blocks from that bridge. I experienced quiet dignity and gra-- no, I can't lie, I knocked over my ginger tea, jumped back, said a strangled almost-swear and got my shirt wet. Wasn't burned -- this shop doesn't super-heat its hot drinks, which is what got McDonald's into trouble -- but I felt dumb and clumsy. The guy who came over to clean up was understanding and nice, at least. "Happens all the time," he says. At least I didn't hit my book or my iPad. PRIORITIES.
I then walked more. Good thing, as it was a sunny day. Good thing there was plenty of shade, because sunburns. As in, I'd rather not get them. I wandered through Ladd's Addition, some blocks north of Southeast Grind, looking at the cute homes, the foliage, the roses (yay nice smells), and the book: Bloodshot, a fun vampire novel by the reliably fun Cherie Priest (cmpriest). Urban fantasy about a vampire, Raylene Pendle, who works as a thief for hire. It's first-person from the point-of-view of someone generally amused and occasionally confused by humanity, who winds up going after a military attempt to make use of vampires. Raylene digresses a lot, in amusing ways. (Out-Of-Context Theater from the book: "Maybe I'm confusing [General Patton] with John Madden.")
Last stop while lollygagging -- after my second-to-last stop, watching bar patrons climb onto the PedaLounge, then pedal the contraption away -- was Double Dragon, a banh mi place I've been meaning to go to. ("Banh mi": Thick-filled Vietnamese sandwiches. You know more now. Portland has a lot of good banh mi places.) I ordered a roasted duck sandwich, wondering if I was a bad Oregon Ducks fan for doing it. (Idle thought while eating: Roasted duck probably sells better in Corvallis than Eugene.) No spilling. I'm regaining my dignity.