ONE. I thought forgetting a pen in my pants when I did laundry was the worst possible luck I could have, washing-machine wise, until yesterday. Yesterday, I got some serious perspective on the issue. Yesterday, I discovered that I had left my DIGITAL FREAKING CAMERA in my pants. Like the fucking absent-minded champ that I am.
Mercifully, the memory card is unharmed. So that’s 600 (in focus, more or less!) memories I still have access to — including the pictures from the Gorge excursion with my mom, which I’ll be posting later in the week.
TWO. On that note, I would just like to take a moment to declare that the Gorge is by far the best thing I have encountered in this state so far. Previous visitors, we’re gonna have to have do-overs; you missed the main attraction. The giant rock at the beach is nice and everything, but it’s no Hood River. I apologize for my failure to be a better host. If only I had known what we were missing. I would offer to help cover the cost of your plane tickets, but I now have a digital camera to save up for in addition to massive oral surgery and the wood to build a private Vicodin Cellar.
THREE. But so yeah, my mom’s visit turned out really well. She turned 54 while she was here, and I think it’s the best birthday she’s had in a while. I learned a lot about how much energy and planning it takes to entertain someone for three days when my dad and Pat came to visit last year, and this time I was much better prepared: I had a rough itinerary with a back-up plan for every day she was here.
And my mom (as I’d surmised) was much more taken with the Portland vibe than my dad and Pat were. She was amazed by how easily everything grows here. She almost wept when I brought her to the Rose Garden. She actually walked through and smelled every single different variety, all the while giving me a well-versed commentary on the different qualities people emphasize when breeding them. We discovered a rose named after Reba McEntire. Now every time I see roses around town, I have to stop and examine them. I miss you, mom.
FOUR. Major gratitude goes out to Erin, who sent me one of the most perfect (if extremely belated) birthday presents I have ever recieved last week. This guy writes like a less self-indulgent, more literary Chuck Klosterman, and he has better taste in music to boot. Mega cool, Erin. As soon as it’s built, you’re invited to come tour the Vicodin Cellar and sample some of the vintages.
FIVE. I’m going to Vancouver next week. Sadly, there will be no pictures. It’s probably for the best, anyway. I mean, did you really wanna see me and Will having staid conversations in assorted Canadian Thai restaurants? Or me and Will not getting any play in various Canadian bars?
Of course you do — sure as I’m a raging narcissist. That’s why I’m getting a new camera as soon as I possibly can.