It’s a little concerning that the missive I began Saturday, while battling insomnia and drinking beer, is not to be found on my hard drive. Perhaps its disappearance into the ether is a sign it wasn’t worthy of your time.
I’m sitting in the historic Governor Hotel in downtown Portland. I just made a pilgrimage to Powell’s Books and managed to escape only $13 lighter. I’ve purchased books from Powell’s online and their PDX store, but this was my first trip to their world famous hub store in downtown Portland. They have something like a billion books. Well, “more than a million” according to the Portland guide book I’m looking at. Like Portland itself, it feels like a blown up version of something you’d find in a college town. The entire store smells of incense. The majority of the patrons could be described as “artsy” based on their outward appearance. Most importantly, it’s an independent bookseller and thus has great deals on new books and a significant stock of used books in outstanding condition. I purchased a used copy of The New Father, A Dad’s Guide to the First Year and two books about penguins for the Little Girlfriend. Did I mention I spent $13? The dad book alone was more than that new at traditional bookstores. I highly recommend checking Powell’s online out. Purchase more than $50, and shipping is often free.
Tornado warnings in Central Washington, according to the weather man I’m watching. Really? “If you’re in a mobile home or a vehicle, find good cover immediately.” Even in the Pacific Northwest, trailer parks are target #1.
Since I lost my draft from Saturday, I’ll summarize my brush with fame last Friday. We stopped into a liquor store to purchase a present for a friend and some O’Doul’s to take to the party for S. While paying, and making jokes with the guy behind the counter about a pregnant woman buying liquor, S kind of poked me and nodded her head behind us. I looked over my shoulder, and approaching us was the local weather hottie. She looked much different in person. The TV makeup was laid on pretty thick, her hair sprayed to concrete levels of stability. On TV, as I said last week, she appears hot in the wholesome, good looking mom kind of way. In person, she looks more like someone who’s a little older and trying hard to keep the youthful look. Blame the makeup. Also, she had this pissed off look on her face. We scampered out, trying to steal glances and not trip over ourselves. As soon as we got through the door, I asked S if she noticed what Weather Lady was buying. She said no, so we hustled to the car so we could circle back and get another look at her (Further evidence my wife rocks; she’s giving me permission to check out another woman!). We start to slowly pull through the parking lot when we see Weather Lady walking towards us. Still had an awful look on her face, large bag of purchases under her arm, kind of walking in the path of traffic. It was amusing to see three cars, all driven by men, each driver checking her out, sit and wait while she strutted across to her car. I wondered aloud if it had been an especially tough weather day (It was 80 and sunny) and she needed to go home and get loaded, which S thought was pretty funny. We did not see the 11 o’clock news to see if she was hammered or if she had the night off.
I picked up an outstanding Midwest beer sampler as well, which has been added to the log on the right.
So two weeks ago we’re at Costco and I decide to check out the office chairs, as we’re in the process of replacing mine. I’m about to sit in an especially comfy looking black leather model when a guy says, “Are you in sales?!?!” 15 minutes later, I’m not exaggerating, I finally tear myself away. I can’t tell you exactly what we talked about, although I recall meeting his wife and son and noticing my wife turned tail and disappeared rather quickly. Anyway, guy gives me his card, and asks for mine. Luckily, I don’t carry cards with me. I gave him my cell phone number (Why didn’t I just make something up?) and he said he’d give me a call sometime. No clue why. Saturday my cell phone rings and it’s some local number I don’t recognize. Thinking it’s a sales call, I let it ring through. As soon as the message indicator pops up, I dial in, and hear my buddy from Costco. He said he’s looking forward to talking to me and leaves his number. “What does he want to talk about?” asked S. “I have no idea,” I said with some concern. She thought that was hilarious. He called again Sunday. I’ve put him in my phone as Freak Boy, so I don’t accidentally answer sometime.
No matter what you thought of Ronald Reagan, his passing is obviously a huge event. I don’t have the exact words, but I saw a recent quote from Nancy Reagan that basically said Ronald had slipped to a place where they could no longer contact him. What a sad reminder of how horrible a disease Alzheimer’s can be.
Long client meetings tomorrow, followed by (hopefully) some micro brewed beer and fish & chips for dinner. Wednesday, I head out to Astoria, which is at the mouth of the Columbia River on the coast, and the spot where Lewis & Clark ended their journey. And hopefully some more beer and fish & chips that night. Thursday, I fly home first class!