April 21st, 2012

Blow My Mind

WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN know what all my dreams mean

Dream-Me was accosted by a belligerent shirtless guy hiding under a Portland viaduct that I'd somehow wound up under when trying to get to Portland's Can't Stop the Serenity screening. Which I finally got to, but when I sat down in my theater seat (one next to the screen and facing the audience; it was that crowded) the seat turned into the passenger seat of a car driving somewhere with someone who didn't know me. I didn't want to say anything to that driver so as not to scare her, but how do I get out? HOW DO I GET OUT?

I woke up before I found out. Damn you, unfulfilled suspense!

(Title partly inspired by docbrite)

A fictional exchange

Her: Are you gay?

Him [eyes widen]: My God! I've been getting the wrong porn all these years!

(Inspired by how a few people in the past have mistakenly thought I was gay.)

(Also, I decided it's funnier if you imagine his line being said in the voice of Quagmire from Family Guy.)

4/23/2012 Addition: Goddammit, there are no new ideas or something. Or maybe I'd seen the bit from a Family Guy episode where the guys Peter, Cleveland, Quagmire and Joe are talking about which women they'd like to sleep with, and Quagmire names Taylor Hanson. The guys point out who he is, and Quagmire, well, Quagmire starts sputtering. "My...my God! I've...I've got all these magazines!!..."

Yeah, I probably saw that scene before. *shrugs, amusedly*
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Summer Me

"Time to stay pale!"

That's what I said to myself as I put on sunscreen for, I think, the first time in 2012 for a long walk in that NO-CLOUD WEATHER WE'RE GETTING WOO HOO. (Yeah; I'm excited about the change in the weather.) I wanted and likely needed to get out in this, but being mainly Swedish, Irish and Scottish in my background, my options are either "pale" or "burnt." And I'd rather be pale.

My path was: down from my apartment to Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, up through the Springwater Corridor (no, apocalypsos, not the stretch where Leverage shot the stunt of Aldis Hodge and Beth Riesgraf running on top of that train -- I was north of that) past the Ross Island Bridge, up to the new viaduct carrying SE Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd. and Grand Avenue over the rail tracks -- on sidewalks that didn't exist a year ago -- then over to the Ford Building*'s neighborhood before heading south to my place again. And, again, there were NO CLOUDS BETWEEN ME AND THE SUN WOO HOO.

Can you tell I'm pleased?

I did make sure in higher-traffic areas to not keep my nose buried in the book Pack of Lies by Laura Anne Gilman (suricattus); I stayed aware of how close all of us people were, instead of walking into any of them. About half, no, I exaggerate, about 37.146% of Portland was walking, jogging, or biking the same path. No crashes happened where or when I was, I'm happy to report.

I'm also amused that on one of the quieter, more secluded parts of my walk, in Oaks Bottom, I saw two ducks getting it on. (Notice I'm avoiding the obvious rhyme I could use. You're welcome, I think.) Those ducks, paddling in a puddle, used the water from our recent rains for good.

I was ready for it to be warm and sunny again, and I'm grateful it happened.

* Indeed, it's called the Ford Building because it was a Model T factory starting nearly a hundred years ago. It's been repurposed nicely.
Portland Timbers

Sport yells

Ideally I'd've watched tonight's Portland Timbers-Sporting Kansas City game at Beulahland with friends, but I didn't move with enough of a purpose after getting home from this afternoon's long walk and I realized I wouldn't make it by bus-and-foot before the start of the game. So I watched closer to home at Blitz Ladd, about 20 blocks north of my place. Three-quarters or more of the screens were showing UFC pay-per-view mixed martial arts (MMA) bouts.

The MMA crowd and the football crowd (represented by a fair number of people in Timbers green, including scarves) co-existed more or less OK; we just yelled at different times for different reasons. As long as it was happy and/or impressed yelling, which it was all the time I was there, things were good.

I've yet to really "get" MMA. It's hella athletic, obviously, and there's a theatrical quality similar to boxing, with how important the build-up to each bout is, but what makes me more fond of pro wrestling -- really (see? I can enjoy people pounding each other!) -- is that it can have more of a sense of humor. It can be so smart-assed (the wrestlers are encouraged to be so), and it can be really over the top; there's that soap opera quality and I've had some experience watching soaps, so I respond to that quality. Put more simply, I like it for the reasons Barry Blaustein talks about in his wonderful documentary Beyond the Mat, which I saw theatrically back in 2000. Maybe I'll "get" MMA more if I watch it more; and I did watch bits of some of the bouts tonight. Some impressive movement is needed when fighting. Much more impressive than what I can do. *smiles*

Let me never be a sports snob. I want to get behind anything that makes people happily yell, as long as it's not illegal.
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