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What I did with my weekend: a Portland trip with Dee to see the Decemberists
Hello, internet. Did you know that there are some places without internet? I spent last weekend in Portland with Dee (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
century_eyes) and we stayed at a downtown Marriott that wanted to charge $13 a day for internet connections in the rooms, to which we said: fuck you, and also no. There was wifi in the lobby, and this is hardly the end of the world (I tend to travel internet-free anyhow); what's horrible is the principle of the thing, the every-last-cent principle. My Starbucks have free wifi. Hell, Shari's has free wifi. They wanted $13.
So we used the downstairs internet connection and then snubbed their in-house restaurants, too. On principle.
This is not the important thing about the trip. The trip was a last-minute decision: Dee had a pair of Decemberists's tickets and then her mum decided not to go to the show so I had the chance to attend instead, and so we were in town from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon. Friday was rain, endtimes rain and heavy traffic; we hurried under cover and an umbrella to Restaurant Murata for incredible miso—and some other Japanese food, too.
Saturday we spent exploring downtown Portland, walking in half-intentional circles from the central public library branch to explore the places where I used to hang out, to the Waterfront Park for some people watching, and then back again to make sure we could find the concert hall and get some well-earned food at Pastini. The weather was surprisingly, delightfully, fantastic. Fantastic for winter edging up on spring, I mean: cool and clear, weather for layers and sunny walks and warm food. That evening was the show. Mountain Man opened, and they were new to both of us and wonderful—their sparsely-instrumented, folky, offbeat female voices perfect fit the music profile I've been listening to lately. The Decemberists were almost entirely new to me, but that didn't make the live show any less enjoyable. A diverse group showed up to see them, but we all ended up on our feet and chanting along; they seemed to love playing for a hometown crowd, and the energy was contagious. I'm still going to have to give them a listen on a recorded, non-deafening level, and I don't know if the lead's voice will always work for me, but I had a fantastic time.
Sunday we went to visit the neighborhood where Dee is looking to move. The weather was cooler, more overcast, a few sprinkles, perfect for a quiet day. We drove by her prospective house, and then to the neighborhood's main strip for all of the essentials: Starbucks, a bookstore, and an organic and veg*n grocery/café. It's a quiet, diverse, growing neighborhood—you can tell it was a bit rundown before but it's going places now, it has an welcoming and offbeat* atmosphere, and I can certainly imagine being at home there. (Just ask Dee about the way I was searching for outlets at Starbucks and eying the prime window seat at the restaurant.) Then we drove down to Corvallis, listening to the Decemberists and Florence + the Machine (of course!) along the way, and then she made the drive back home.
I was telling Express—who is making tentative plans for a Portland visit—about this future potential home, that Dee will have, that I can share. About how strange it is to think that such a place exists, could exist, will exist—the house hovers in the subjunctive right now, the neighborhood is an eventual certainty, the specifics are unnecessary: it is a form of home. About how strange it is to know a place is open to me, to know that it may be a central hub for this growing, scattered, social spiderweb that stretches over the Northwest and further still. About how strange it is that that exists: a social circle, a social web, so fragile yet so strong; about how strange it is to have friends at all.
It is advice I give to other people, people like me, people who also think that they don't deserve these things and that the people who give them their love are mistaken and should be corrected: We are all able of making our own decisions. We own our love. We owe it to each other to respect what we give—even if we're the recipients, even when we can't understand why.
I tell that to others because it's true.
Now I'm starting to live that myself. I don't think that I deserve winter-sun days in downtown Portland, surrounded by beautiful variety and places I fondly remember; I don't think that I deserve subjunctive houses or good friends. But I am thankful, so thankful, for it all—and I won't question why I have it, or try to push it away.
So that was what I did with my weekend.
* One day I will find a better word than offbeat—something that more precisely means "unusual in the good, quirky, maybe a bit raw at the edges, my-people sort of way." For now, I'll keep reusing what I've got.
century_eyes) and we stayed at a downtown Marriott that wanted to charge $13 a day for internet connections in the rooms, to which we said: fuck you, and also no. There was wifi in the lobby, and this is hardly the end of the world (I tend to travel internet-free anyhow); what's horrible is the principle of the thing, the every-last-cent principle. My Starbucks have free wifi. Hell, Shari's has free wifi. They wanted $13.So we used the downstairs internet connection and then snubbed their in-house restaurants, too. On principle.
This is not the important thing about the trip. The trip was a last-minute decision: Dee had a pair of Decemberists's tickets and then her mum decided not to go to the show so I had the chance to attend instead, and so we were in town from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon. Friday was rain, endtimes rain and heavy traffic; we hurried under cover and an umbrella to Restaurant Murata for incredible miso—and some other Japanese food, too.
Saturday we spent exploring downtown Portland, walking in half-intentional circles from the central public library branch to explore the places where I used to hang out, to the Waterfront Park for some people watching, and then back again to make sure we could find the concert hall and get some well-earned food at Pastini. The weather was surprisingly, delightfully, fantastic. Fantastic for winter edging up on spring, I mean: cool and clear, weather for layers and sunny walks and warm food. That evening was the show. Mountain Man opened, and they were new to both of us and wonderful—their sparsely-instrumented, folky, offbeat female voices perfect fit the music profile I've been listening to lately. The Decemberists were almost entirely new to me, but that didn't make the live show any less enjoyable. A diverse group showed up to see them, but we all ended up on our feet and chanting along; they seemed to love playing for a hometown crowd, and the energy was contagious. I'm still going to have to give them a listen on a recorded, non-deafening level, and I don't know if the lead's voice will always work for me, but I had a fantastic time.
Sunday we went to visit the neighborhood where Dee is looking to move. The weather was cooler, more overcast, a few sprinkles, perfect for a quiet day. We drove by her prospective house, and then to the neighborhood's main strip for all of the essentials: Starbucks, a bookstore, and an organic and veg*n grocery/café. It's a quiet, diverse, growing neighborhood—you can tell it was a bit rundown before but it's going places now, it has an welcoming and offbeat* atmosphere, and I can certainly imagine being at home there. (Just ask Dee about the way I was searching for outlets at Starbucks and eying the prime window seat at the restaurant.) Then we drove down to Corvallis, listening to the Decemberists and Florence + the Machine (of course!) along the way, and then she made the drive back home.
I was telling Express—who is making tentative plans for a Portland visit—about this future potential home, that Dee will have, that I can share. About how strange it is to think that such a place exists, could exist, will exist—the house hovers in the subjunctive right now, the neighborhood is an eventual certainty, the specifics are unnecessary: it is a form of home. About how strange it is to know a place is open to me, to know that it may be a central hub for this growing, scattered, social spiderweb that stretches over the Northwest and further still. About how strange it is that that exists: a social circle, a social web, so fragile yet so strong; about how strange it is to have friends at all.
It is advice I give to other people, people like me, people who also think that they don't deserve these things and that the people who give them their love are mistaken and should be corrected: We are all able of making our own decisions. We own our love. We owe it to each other to respect what we give—even if we're the recipients, even when we can't understand why.
I tell that to others because it's true.
Now I'm starting to live that myself. I don't think that I deserve winter-sun days in downtown Portland, surrounded by beautiful variety and places I fondly remember; I don't think that I deserve subjunctive houses or good friends. But I am thankful, so thankful, for it all—and I won't question why I have it, or try to push it away.
So that was what I did with my weekend.
* One day I will find a better word than offbeat—something that more precisely means "unusual in the good, quirky, maybe a bit raw at the edges, my-people sort of way." For now, I'll keep reusing what I've got.