These will get continually less and less self-involved, I promise.

A nightmare of a book, but impossible to put down. I can't imagine a more original mind that the one that can create a world like the world in this book. Of course, she's from Portland.

Katherine Dunn says Portlanders live at least three lives. She, for example, is a writer, a radio personality, and a boxing commentator.

Three lives! I love it! I'd be a writer, an editor, and a master seamstress.

The thing about Portland is that it makes one feel as if this is completely possible. It's a place bursting at its seams with art, music, film, nature, and people. People are very involved in things, and understandably so. How anyone could ever be bored here is beyond me. There is always something going on. There is too much to see and to do. Not enough time to fit it all in. You need three lives to be able to experience it all. No, you need nine, like a cat.

It's exciting! It's new and yeah, it's rainy but fuck it! Who cares? I'm from Ohio. (Oh, Ohio! Feels so far away now.) Everything is new and fresh. It's young and it's hip and there is potential to do great things, I can feel it. There is something to work with here.

My am inspired! I am bursting with creativity! I want to paint, to découpage things and make collages and write and read! To contribute to the creative flow of this community!

It is exactly what I was looking for. This is what was lacking in Ohio, and this is why I came here.

Also. . .

I felt bad about hating on Glee, so I thought I'd offer you up something that I do like.

Really, really funny.

Hello, Pittsburgh!

What the hell is going on out there? I read about the protests on BBC.com, something about the G20 summit.

Of course. The fucking anarchists. I should have known.

I shouldn't be getting into this right now. I haven't had my coffee yet.

There. Let's rage.

First of all, a word about the cause. These 20 politicians, they say, are responsible for the serious worldwide economic collapse. They are pissed off that these countries, the very same ones they (we?) hold responsible, are gathering in their city to fix the mess they've made. Or to say that they're thinking about ways to maybe someday, eventually, if the circumstances are right and they have enough money to do so, have another couple of meetings to talk about what they can maybe do to fix this shit. At some point.

http://www.organizepittsburgh.org/

So the anarchists put out a call of action on their Pburgh anarchy website. (See above.) I read it, and for a second I was impressed. There were only a few obscure grammar and punctuation errors (mistakes anyone could make, really), and for the most part, it seemed that this was a group of people who felt passionately about their motives. Who were fed up and pissed off and were gonna do something about it, as opposed to just sitting around bitching and moaning like everyone else (I mean you, Fox news) is doing.

But wait! What's going on here? What happens after the collapse of the infrastructure?

I once knew an anarchist who knew, I felt, what he was talking about. What it was all about. Small-scale, local, DIY-type government, where the government is the people (the real, actual citizens) and vice-versa. Yeah. That all sounds great when you and six of your friends are squatting in a tent you set up in someone's backyard, cooking vegan meals over a fire and publishing hand-drawn pamphlets at Kinko's.

But let's think about that on a national level. They don't really believe that this would work. (Do they?) Jesus, we can't even keep our shit together as it is. How can a whole nation, especially this nation, be in charge of itself? Nothing would get accomplished. Ever. People would sit around and scream at each other like in those town hall meetings. We'd kill each other. Then what? What's the jail situation like? Court? Trial? And who's to say who goes to jail and for how long? Do we abandon the jury system? Will there be any sort of punishment at all? Or just some koombayah-shake-hands-and-say-you're-sorry-type shit?

What happens to the media? Actually, never mind. Fuck the media, good riddance. But what about schools? Churches? Traffic laws? Credit histories? Banks? Taxes? (Oh, think of the taxes!) Mail systems? Social security? World trade organizations? The military? The millions of government jobs, both evil and nonevil? Insurance companies? (Though, once again, good riddance.)

If you are reading this and you have answers to these questions, even abstract answers, please please get ahold of me. I would really, seriously, like to know. Because the kinds of changes they're proposing are outrageous. Actually, I'm not really sure what they're proposing. Some sort of communal interest at heart, need-based organization and making sure people's needs are met and. . . So what happens after we dismantle?

I should say, though, that I'm glad someone is actually doing something. I don't agree with their motives, and I really really hope they don't get their shit accomplished, but I gotta support the dissent, man. The dissent. The actual organization of people who are pissed off, who actually got off their asses and tried to do something about it, even if they did end up tear-gassed and jailed.

Hey, I hate the government, too. Everyone hates the government. It's the American way. I hope soon you all become as jaded and unenthused as I have become. It's an easier life. And plus, I've never been tear-gassed or beaten by cops in riot gear. It's a win-win.

Or maybe. . .

I just get my kicks hating on stuff that everyone else likes. Maybe I'm doomed to a miserable, hate-filled life. I'll die young of stomach complications while everyone else is at home on their overpriced couches watching network sitcoms with their husbands and children and cats.

Glee Club Always Was For Losers

Everyone's raving (just RAVING!) about some new Fox show called Glee, so of course, I have issues with it.

First. I hate the name. "Glee" is a very, very uncomfortable word. It's ugly, phonetically, but I also am uncomfortable with what it represents. I picture giggling little girls, or happy pigs rolling in mud. I know, I know, it's about a high school glee club, you say. You may feel the name is appropriate. Well I cannot say out loud, "Oh my God! It's Wednesday! Gotta get home and catch Glee!" No way.

I should note here that I can't help but feel like Fox is aware of the stupidness of the word, and is using it for some sort of irony, or perhaps kitsch. Yes, kitsch. That must be the word I'm looking for. But still.

This was the initial reason why the show bothered me. But when I saw that everyone on facebook was watching it, I figured it'd be one of those things that I made fun of for a long time, that I resisted, but then in the end would wind up proven wrong about. Like Harry Potter. (I still carry around a lot of shame for denying Harry in the beginning. If I could I would apologize to him.)

So I watched it last night. I streamed the first episode. And I was right. Dumb name, dumb show. Sure, I got some mild laughs (namely from that lesbian cheerleading coach), but overall I thought it was just another mediocre Fox sitcom. Most jokes felt contrived. Most characters made me want to spit in their fictional faces (like the teacher's wife. Ugh.) and as far as a high school goes, completely unbelievable, and even if I could believe it, why the fuck would I ever want to relive those four years of my life? That's just the thing about high school. Everyone thinks that shit is better, more important, more defining, more meaningful than it actually is. So I guess in that way, the show's got it going on.

Yeah, yeah, it's real inspiring and all, seeing these teens (or twentysomethings) reject the social boundaries of high school and follow their passions regardless. Yawn. Or I just loved the part when the teacher rejects his wife's dreams and pursues his own, even if he does only make 20,000 a year doing it. Bore.

But I will say that that little redhead teacher's got a killer sense of style.

Now, now. It's the pilot, you say. They're still working out their kinks. Too fucking bad. If you can't write a show that keeps my interest the first time, I'm out. I've got more important shit to do and watch. (Will someone PLEASE tell me how to find the first season of True Blood online?) I gave you a chance to impress me, and you blew it.

However, I see that the gays are behind this one hundred percent. This, if anything, may cause me to reconsider.

Mixed Bizness

I like it here. It's young, clean, and friendly, as far as I can tell. People say "excuse me" when they bump into you, or almost bump into you. Cars always wave you the right of way, and people say hello and smile to you when you pass them on the street.

Maybe Northwesterners lack the vehement rage of the Midwest. Makes sense. Feeling trapped? Head to the coast (an hour west), or maybe to the mountains (an hour east). San Fran is five hours south, and Seattle is three hours north. There's no snow here. Maybe that has something to do with it.

But here's the kicker. I watched Stranger Than Paradise last night, some weird Jim Jarmusch movie about a road trip I'm not sure I understood. Point is that they drive from New York to Cleveland, and then down to Florida, trips I myself have made many times, but Oregonians probably have never. Their road trips are probably to California, Washington, probably Idaho, Arizona or Nevada. Most of these people have likely never been to Kentucky, West Virginia or even the Carolinas. Boy, they don't know what they're missing. I'd like to find a nice gay man to take home to Ohio. Introduce him to my parents. Take him around the Not-So-Midwest. Show him Cleveland and the Ohio Valley. Expose him to hillbillies. Maybe take him hunting.

Here's how it works in my neighborhood:

The Willamette river divides Portland into east and west. I live on the west side of the river. Burnside Street divides the city into north and south, and I live about 500 feet south of Burnside, putting me in southwest Portland. North of me is the Alphabet District, and two blocks to the west is Washington Park.

Today I'm finding Powell's. I hope that I can do it by public transpo, and I'm all beat up from walking so much yesterday. Also, I'd like to get to the river, as I haven't seen it since my Yugoslavian cabbie drove me over on my way from the airport. I'd also like to get to the other side of it, because I hear it's cool over there too.

Am still jet-lagged, but it's getting better. Today I woke up at 7:30 instead of 6:30. The rest of my stuff is getting here on Friday. Only two more nights on the air mattress.

Is this boring you? Did you even read this far? I know, I know. I'll step up my game soon. This post was dull, even for me and I wrote it. Sorry.

Damn, Those Are Some Big Ass Pine Trees

I made it.

On the plane I had a window seat. Both flights. The lady at Expedia asked me if I had a preference, and I thought it'd be fun to peek out and see the landscape. You know, like a little kid. Turns out I had to pee a lot and everyone in my row had to move every time.

But that's not the point. The point is, I saw fingernail chewings in the window. I know that they were fingernails because:

1) They looked exactly like fingernails

2) There were five of them

3) I could see chew marks

I couldn't let it go the whole flight. How (HOW?) did they get there? We're talking about heavy-duty double paned windows here. Airplane windows. You know what they're like. The clippings were inbetween the two panes, pressed up against the plastic (plastic, right?) just on the other side of me. Taunting me.

It wasn't until we were over the Rockies that it hit me. The hole!! That little, tiny hole that seems to serve no purpose at all. I hope that you're with me, that you know what I mean. I always assumed that there was some scientific reasoning behind it, pressure, temperature, aerodynamicness, whatever. Turns out it's for depositing your chewed fingernails. Who knew.

My allergies are out of control.

More to come. I would hate to think that you clicked this link thinking you'd be reading all about my exciting new life, and instead got some shitty story about fingernail chewings.

But I gotta figure out where this campus is.