Portland: Riches of a City

I'm about to board the plane to head to Portland.
I just had a realization this morning about a new show on IFC called Portlandia. A friend made me aware of it a few weeks ago and since then I've been counting the days to see/discuss it in person with another favorite person in one of my favorite cities, Portland, OR.

I'm about to approach my gate when the following thought hits me: "Wait, that's Carrie Brownstein! She's in Portlandia" Wonder why I didn't become aware of it when I first saw the clip. Hmm. Brownstein developed the show with Fred Armisen. Duh! I absolutely love Brownstein. She gets music! And she most certainly gets the West, the Pacific kind. How did I not make the connection earlier?! It's funny that I'm able to do so only as I'm on the way to the very city the show portrays.

I scratch my head trying to think of when it was that I read her inspired piece on the 'soundtrack of a city'. "I wish I could do a search on my blog right about now..." I think to myself as my hands are frantically searching for my wallet in my bag as I'm about to board. I can't believe I'm such a forgetful klutz, always looking for things as I schlep myself from point A to point B. Sigh....

Relief!
I find my wallet. I stand before my gate, go to my blog site on the iPhone, do a search on 'Carrie Brownstein', pull up a reaction I wrote to her reaction piece to music, put some Magnetic Fields on, and start re-reading a piece dated December 20, 2007. I was feeling similarly to now back then. My Februaries tend to resemble other Februaries, not Decembers. Not this time around, however. I wonder why.

I read some of the comments on that 2007 piece and a note by my friend and musician Liam, rings especially true. Liam, a fellow Portland lover who also lives in another Western city, gets things similarly. I was transported to a chat we had when sitting under some tree, sipping some hipster java in the Western city where he currently resides and I used to call my own as we discussed sociality, independence of spirit, life and, of course, music. We see some things fundamentally the same way because we see music's impact on life fundamentally the same way. Again, all roads lead to music.



...
I'm told I usually quote past experiences only when about to embark on new experiences. I reckon, I am told the truth. There's no real reason to revisit the past, as far as I'm concerned, unless it helps shed some light on the present.

Experiencing, as Henry James puts it, a 'sense of visitation' is inevitable when in the presence of strange familiarity. That's exactly what the city does to me. It makes me feel strangely at home even though I always saw it as a great place in which to knock off my boots and fall off the grid for a few hours and nothing more.

I'm about to consume a rather large amount of art in it this weekend. I'll be seeing the new exhibit at the Portland Art Museum (PAM) with my best friend then we'll head over to 12th Ave. and Glisan St. and have some fantastic crème brûlée.
Twice.
Once is never enough.
I'm not a foodie, but, by Jove, when crème brûlée is done right, it needs to linger in your mouth, slowly as your mind revisits any and every great memory worth revisiting, and your taste buds are about to reach the full purpose of their creation.
Yuuuuuum!
Twice!!

....
I'm having a hard time deciding what to watch during the flight.
Odd, because when on flights that last between 1-3 hours, I usually opt for the following bundle:
1) Entourage, usually episode 7 of season 5, "Gotta Look Up to Look Down."
2) Curb Your Enthusiasm's episode "The Therapists."
and
3) The last 15 minutes of Steve Martin's Shopgirl.

Then the pilot will inform us that we're about to land and my ear buds will take leave of the laptop and will latch themselves on to the iPhone as I go to my contacts, hit the phone icon, and utter: "oy, I'm here!"

In a matter of minutes we'll be heading to Powell's, order some java, exchange some proper 'hellos', talk about the exact same things we have been talking about in the not-so-distant past, comment on new hairstyles, eyeware, travels, why Lucky's makes the best-fitting boot cut pants, and consequently tackle something of actual substance like HBO programming, new writing, when we'll be brunching the next day, and whether we should have others join us as we see the new exhibit at the PAM called Riches of a City.

I'm not keen on having a crowd when looking at some art but then again, Warhol kind of, sort of begs for some crowd attention, right? It's not like Caravaggio who begs for solitary admiration, after all. Warhol's work is meant to be discussed by more than just two people. It's only apropos, after all, that an attention seeker be given just that, attention. And the more unusual the bunch, the better. But then again I'm not in a Warhol frame of mind these days. Last February I was. A whole lot. Then again this February is nothing like the last one. It's not flat here anymore. My new geography has curves. And the ocean.

I have yet to say 'no' to a Portland trip. I remember my first experience in the city rather vividly. It was eight years ago and I was on the PSU campus marveling at the dewy flowers on the immaculately kept side gardens. The air felt crisp and I couldn't sense any worries at all. I remember skipping while walking and the reason I provided for such an activity was quite simple, 'I skip because I'm digging it here, 'k?'

This is how I define space. If it makes me feel at ease so much so that I can skip with no worry in sight then the space is good. If there is no possibility of skipping, then the space won't get to have me. Simple as that. After that first trip, the place kept calling me and one thing's certain, I'm completely powerless to siren-type callings. I can't say 'no' to it. I can't even say 'no' to a dreadfully boring 6-hour drive through the Nevada dessert, let alone ignore the possibility of scoring some class A crème brûlée. They truly rarely make it that good elsewhere.

I kept going back to Portland every few months for years. It also happens to be the place where my best friend hails from and currently lives. Another reason to make this a place of high interest and high frequency. And yet, I'd never live in such a place. Some places are meant to be visited and taken in small bites like a perfectly made crème brûlée.

Ode to Silence

One of the reasons I love Portland, OR, well, other than it being home to the best bookstore I have seen in North America, Powell’s, is how quiet it is.

The people have a certain placid quietude about them that I have yet to observe anywhere else. As a matter of fact, I don’t recall seeing anyone speak loudly on their cell phones or to actual people. Soft speech is musical and Portland has long been on my top 5 for a multitude of years thanks to its ‘vibe of silence,’ as I tend to call it.

There is nothing like the sounds of silence. And for someone who likes to listen to a lot of Verdi and a lot of punk that is quite a statement. In the company of almost utter silence is where the true gems of creativity are found. At least, that’s where my gems are to be located. I have the utmost respect for silence because it is very kind to my creative process. And I know better than not to pay homage to those things that shower me with creativity.

There is nothing like noise. Nothing like the aggressive noise that is determined to penetrate the realm of one's creative space. I do think that noise needs to be contained most actively as it can be a truly vexing distraction. Let me note a couple of things here.

Cell phone conversations in public.

Now, I understand the phone needs to be used. It can’t all be like Portland, OR. Some emotions might translate to louder speech, I suppose. However, why is it that one needs to raise the voice so much when on the phone? Especially when one is in public? Granted, I find myself raising my voice when switching to a language I have not used in a few days. For some reason, speakers do that at times, especially when Code Switching. But that is why, I would submit, one needs to divorce one’s self from a crowded space and go in search of more privacy so that the conversation can ensue.

What is the appeal of conducting private conversations while waiting in line for one’s grande soy latte? Now, it can be entertaining to learn that some people out there are distraught over the new plot developments of this TV series on ABC called Lost.

And it might even be educational to some to learn that the Dharma Initiative is featured profusely in the new season. If these references mean nothing to you too, do not worry. They will make sense to you if you are forced to participate in a stranger’s phone conversation who over the course of three little minutes has managed to edify you extensively about their nature. You know that they like to order the grande soy latte, they really love TV, and their colorist is semi decent. You also know that they resort to the kind of flowery detail that would make the most prolific of Baroque writers blush.

Yet, the [forced] gazers/listeners/audience members (whose consent to participate in the ‘conversation’ was not obtained), are perfect strangers to the phone speaker. Being forced into linguistic participation is the worst kind of noise, I find. Manners are a good thing. Respect for the private domain is a very good thing. And just because we occupy public spaces at times, doesn’t mean that we can forget the rules of decency and respect for others’ privacy.

Remember the phone booths? That notion might be too hard for us to masticate at this point in the year 2009 since there aren’t any around.
Modernity doth come with a price, after all.
But they are featured in old films from, uhm, the 80’s. A phone booth is an alternative space that oozes privacy. It says, it’s ok to place your call now. It’s appropriate to verbally relate to the other party and inform them of such private things as why you thought the party you all went to was a royal waste of time or that you, as much you don’t want to, dislike a few people. Or that you think so-and-so’s book is overrated and your in-laws get on your nerves. You may do so because the only audience you have is your chosen party on the other end.

So, today, today I give a tip of the hat to comprehensive silence. Not just a lack of sounds, mind you. I’m, after all, an ardent fan of my kinds of micromanaged, uber-controlled sounds. I’m referring to the kind of silence that’s applicable to each of our unique spaces of thinking, creating, working, living, that very special space where idiosyncratic creativity can be actualized.

And another tip of the hat goes to those who get its importance and follow the good instinct to respect the space of other people.

Good thinking resides in quietude. Let us all strive for the latter and, in the meantime, earphones and, at times, ear plugs are a godsend. As is texting.

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