As I mentioned on Monday, I went to Portland, Oregon on a whim. Simply put, I wanted to see the Portland Beavers minor league baseball team, at their own place, PGE Park, before the season ended, and Monday was the only plausible game that I could have a chance to make it to. Fly in the morning, take advantage of the time change, watch baseball, wander around the city for a few hours, take red-eye flight back home. Everything went exactly as planned . . . except for that last part. I guess it’s not a baseball season until I get stuck somewhere far the fuck away from home at least once. I think I’m really going to reconsider standby flying when it comes to the West Coast for future reference. But it was still an awesome trip. I’ll probably write more about it later on when I finish up my backlog of things I want to write about.
I really think there are actual squatters living in the foreclosed home two houses down from mine. They’re often outside, to the point where they’re putting benches underneath shady trees to get reprieve from the sun, and one of them is always on his laptop outside, like he’s leeching off of someone’s WiFi. The lights are never on inside the house, and the state of the plumbing is definitely questionable. More than a few times, I have jogged by the home, with the alarm system being audible, since they run on auxiliary power. I’m not exactly sure what protocol is with this kind of situation, calling the HOA is useless since Zombieland’s HOA is about as competent as a quadriplegic track star, so I’m actually thinking about calling the cops at some point. Is that even logical?
Don’t ask me why, but I’m posting from Portland, Oregon, and I’m at a minor league baseball game. Details will come later.
Out of all the available seating in this spacious terminal, why does the equivalent of the black Violet Beauregard after turning into a giant blackberry in need of juicing have to sit right next to me? In just a minute, I will be forced to “check the standby list” in order to get away from this mammoth behemoth monstrosity so I don’t have to smell her McDonald’s breakfast any further.
Today, I went to a Borders, because I have absolutely no books left to read, and there was no way I was going to hop on the plane back to Atlanta tomorrow morning without something to read. Firstly, I guess this is one of those regional differences that differs noticeably between Atlanta and Fairfax, but there are a lot more people who occupy the courtesy chairs and are actually reading. Instead of looking for places to lounge while their significant others are scouring for books. Asian kids, Indian students, and various other people of Middle Eastern descent are scattered throughout the store, with actual books, and not a bunch of fake Goth teenagers reading manga in the chairs and aisles.
Here’s my thing – I’m not working right now, and my funds are dwindling and honestly making me worry a little bit these days. The count of white hairs on my head is distressing, and has become like this Ouroboros of anxiety that just creates more. I haven’t really relaxed in quite some time. But all those factors considered, I realize that I just can’t sit down in bookstores and read entire books. I’m the fucking customer that book stores should love. I don’t treat them like libraries and sit around and loiter and get my fill of reading without paying for it.
Yet it has nothing to do with reading in public, because when I’m at the airport, or Starbucks, or even any sit down joint during lunch, I have no problem pulling out a book and reading in front of other people. I guess I have this idea that the concept of sitting around and reading at book stores is kind of what hopeless people do. If you have the genuine interest in what you’re sampling, take it to the counter, and purchase it, and read what now belongs to you. I don’t have a ton of money these days, but I still can’t fathom actually taking advantage of the unwritten honor system of book stores, and trying to fill my head and kill my time for absolutely dick, inside the confines of a book store. I think it’s a cheap thing to do, and that’s something I don’t really want to come off as.
But to each their own, and if my life keeps heading in this dry spell, then even getting to the book store in the first place is going to be the least of my worries.
Brog, Photos | dannyhong | 
August 19, 2010 9:34 pm | 
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