June 2nd, 2007

Whale fluke

I Choo-Choo-Choose You To Answer Questions

Because octoberland (hi again, octoberland) asked nicely, that ask-you-28-questions meme:

1. Your Middle Name:
2. Age:
3. Single or Taken:
4. Favorite Movie:
5. Favorite Song or Album:
6. Favorite Band/Artist:
7. Dirty or Clean:
8. Tattoos and/or Piercings:
9. Do we know each other outside of LJ?
10. What's your philosophy on life?
11. Is the bottle half-full or half-empty?
12. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest?
13. What is your favorite memory of us?
14. What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
15. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you:
16. You can have three wishes (for yourself, so forget all the 'world peace etc' malarkey) – what are they?
17. Can we get together and make a cake?
18. Which country is your spiritual home?
19. What is your big weakness?
20. Do you think I'm a good person?
21. What was your best/favorite subject at school:
22. Describe your accent:
23. If you could change anything about me, would you?
24. What do you wear to sleep?
25. Trousers or skirts?
26. Cigarettes or alcohol?
27. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together? (If you have no idea, just say something crazy, it'll entertain me!)
28. Will you repost this so I can fill it out for you?
Whale fluke

Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!

Good guy and good TV critic Peter Ames Carlin is also a good music critic.

Here's what he wrote about the 40th anniversary of the release of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. This was published on Page 1 of The Oregonian yesterday, and I wanted to preserve a link to it.

A quote that happifies me: Corin Tucker of Sleater-Kinney on the impact of hearing Sgt. Pepper's in the 1980s:
In the ’80s all the music on the radio was hot girls and fast cars. But the Beatles told great stories. Anything could be a song. And the music is so layered and interesting; it’s like an odyssey, with all these things happening. It’s like the bedrock of how to make an album.

Edited To Add: puppetmaker40 also had memories she shared of this album, and I chimed in with additional memories on her entry.
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Walking

Saturday night's all right for walking

I walked tonight, ambitiously.

It’s a comfortable night, with a twinge of breeze, and I started walking to enjoy it. And I kept walking…and I kept walking…and now I’m home, having gone over three miles total. I walked and read – I’m talented that way – the first volume of Anais Nin’s diaries. Milwaukie Ave., to the 9th Street Pedestrian Bridge over Powell, through industrial areas, and finally to the Eastbank Esplanade. Which I hadn’t been to in years, and which was on my mind, and now which I’ve walked along again.

The 100th Annual Portland Rose Festival is happening on the west bank of the Willamette, but from the Esplanade, only the loudest noises from the festivities were audible. Boat traffic and, when the boats were elsewhere, the lapping of small waves were the main noises, with occasional bicyclists chiming along as they shared the path. Above all of this was a messy checkerboard of small, splotchy cumulus clouds, catching the sunset colors; the sun was already well behind the West Hills that are the backdrop to downtown. Looking east, I could see thunderheads along the Cascades and other large clouds, also catching the night’s final sunlight. I sat down once to appreciate the view.

I did not linger when passing under the Morrison Bridge, however: I do not like that bridge. It’s a bridge where too many people have died – most recently this Monday, when a motorcyclist fell from a ramp above it. It is the equivalent of a freeway bridge right out of downtown, and scary for pedestrians (also, unfortunately, the victims of multiple fatal accidents on the bridge). It is not a human-scale, “friendly” bridge, the way the Hawthorne Bridge manages to be. So, not wanting to be near it for too long, I continued north on the Esplanade.

I got as far north as the Burnside Bridge, then returned to SE Grand and started south for home. I detoured slightly to go past Le Bistro Montage, near and almost under the east end of the Morrison Bridge and one of the few high-profile late-night eateries in Portland. Mainly I wanted to remind myself it was still there; I’ve only been there once, for a good group meal in spring 2001. I stopped walking, temporarily, just south of the Hawthorne Bridge, and I rested and read and waited for the #33 bus, which got me to within reasonable walking distance of home.

I have treated myself since then: grape juice, a shower, and ice cream. And taking time to write as I wind down from the day.