Portland Bullett Points

In my dream last night a very old Poodle crept up from the woods, at least 18 or 19, white and wobbly, skinny, mangy, and had black spots. He carried a piece of paper in his mouth, a report card, with several of different colored metallic stars, plenty of written praise for the year, but the grade was D+. I was with my half-sister, and we tried to find out about the dog and found pictures of him sitting with rich people and winning dog shows. This Poodle was barely alive and he had crawled upon a pedestal to die. Initial dream analysis states a dying dog means deterioration of instincts. In ancient times, dogs were viewed as keepers of the underworld and can be guides into the unconcious or land of the Dead. Dogs can also represent sexual drive (haha).

Today is my 11th day in Portland. It's also the first real Portlandly day, and I notice the world reigning in a little and people finding thoughtful quiet tones in the absence of sun. I have been hiking, exploring, camping, and some reading and writing (not enough). I even injured my finger -- probably broke it. Portland reminds me of a Western Greenwich Village, or Williamsburg, NY. Lot's of "cool areas" or "ecclectic neighborhoods" as they are described, which are really streets where 8-10 blocks are dedicated to groups of restaurants, pubs, cafes and galleries. They are tamped tightly into small, ancient buildings, or alleyways, or behind buildings, even a small building with a trailer behind where crepes are made.

My bedroll is in the basement of a house on Sumner and 29th, a nice home with a large garden full of tomatoes and plenty of things going on, parties, birthdays, outtings, church, what not. I saw a rat run across Alberta yesterday, stealing from South to North for a new life. People get along here. A man struck up a conversation with a lady at Concordia Coffee and they talked for over an hour while their dogs played beneath them. Then they sat together outside with another lady and laughed like English gentility.

There were two job offers, for those who really care. I turned one down, in effect, by calling up and saying I'd like to learn the business and learn sailing, since the guy had a sailboat. Probably didn't sound very eager. I haven't heard back. The other was more "we'll use you for various jobs that come up" which is more my speed and frees up time to write. I think of that movie, The Misfits, where Clark Gable keeps saying "it beats wages!" He sure was a funny old bastard in that movie, always drunk and happy.