Nesting

For a while now, I’ve been meaning to go to Ikea and buy curtains. I guess it’s a nesting instinct. Winter’s coming; time to make my home a cosier place.

 Portland Ikea: Visible from space

So on a sunny day last week, wanting to get out of the house, I hopped on a bus and then a rush hour train out to the Cascades station, which exists only to serve a brand new, big box retail ghetto. There’s a Ross and Marshall’s and Staples and Sports Authority and, of course, an Ikea, which sits alone in its own sea of parking spaces. The doors of the train used to stay closed at this stop, and you’d look out the glass at vast, empty fields and wonder why we were even sitting here. Now, just two years later, there are streets and lights and banks and restaurants and an all-you-can-eat buffet of American binge consumerism.

And there I was, ready.

 Välkommen

 Träsh

Browsing through the example living rooms at Ikea, it at first seems like an affordable version of that most cruelly named modern furniture store, Design Within Reach. How exciting! Good, modern design actually within reach! But as everyone knows, a closer look reveals that virtually everything in the place is made of industrial glue held together with bits of sawdust. The stuff is cheap in every sense. And what I always forget to remember before I visit is that everything, but everything, is made in China. Basically, Ikea is just Walmart for city people.

Still, there I was, ready.

But first things first. I had actually planned, as part of this little four dollar vacation, to eat at the Ikea cafe. On previous visits with other people, I would look over at the wall of glass with the airport view and sigh longingly. I figured that this time, if nothing else, I could get, I dunno, tea or something. Actually, though, I didn’t have to pinch pennies. I ended up with a fresh veggie wrap in a whole-wheat tortilla with poppyseed dressing, and for desert, an almond cake. Both were relatively wholesome, filling, and enjoyable. Not bad for under five bucks. If I were a sales girl over at Dress Barn Woman, I would definitely walk here for lunch.

 Dinner

 The million dollar view from the Ikea Cafe

At the next table was a young rock hipster, all self-consciously cool, with furry mutton chops and a vintage suede bolero jacket. He was sitting with a much older couple who seemed quite conventional and very clearly Midwestern. I assumed they were his parents and that they would soon be footing the bill to decorate his apartment in a style to which he would like people to think he is accustomed. Later, I saw them all shopping. The son had a big bag bulging with goodies, and the parents walked passively behind him, side by side, saying nothing. I wondered what they thought. Did they get a vicarious thrill helping their son look cool? Or did they just philosophically accept more money down the drain?

Ultimately, I didn’t get any curtains; nothing was right. I just got a blanket (or is it a table cloth?) from the “As Is” section for three bucks. (Made in India.) And I got a box of imported Swedish cookies for one dollar. Clearly food is the best deal in the place; the lingonberry preserves ($3-ish, Sweden) are less than half the grocery store price. I made a mental note.

The trip wasn’t a total wash, though. I got a 2G XD memory card at Staples ($24, Japan). And at Ross, I walked away with a two pack of black Levi’s boxer briefs ($5, Dominican Republic) and a eight-piece placemat and napkin set, much needed, I assure you, and a steal at $7 (India).

(After writing about it just now, I feel the way I felt when I was actually shopping — kind of gross, like I’d just eaten fast food.)

 Ikea bike parking, 100% availability

It was dark when I left. The station was eerily quiet; the train, which was packed full of cell phone chatterboxes on the way there, was almost empty. All the way home, I stared at my sad reflection in the windows.

 Cascades Station

 Empty MAX

 Self-portrait

Back at the house, I knocked on my roommate Will’s door and asked him to give me a hand. With considerable effort, we slid open the dining room table and put in one of the leaves, transforming it from round to oblong. I placed the new placemats, neatened the centerpiece, and put the high back chair at the head of the table. Will and I both stood back and admired it for a while.

Growing up, all of our family meals were taken together at a dining table (and beginning, yes, with bowed heads and a prayer) — no eating alone in your room or over the sink or in front of the TV at our house. That place to sit and eat together has always been for me the hallmark of a healthy and stable home life. I had been wanting a real dining room table for a long time. Now, finally, here it was.

Happy Monday – Late Summer

Every Monday, except sometimes, I post photos of guys smiling.

 Christopher enjoying the nude beach.

On Saturday, I went out to Rooster Rock with my friend Christopher for maybe the 4th week in a row. (My eager nudist friend Andy came this time too. You can see him on the very left in the sunglasses above.) Christopher had such a nice time the first time, he wanted to go over and over. Cool with me.

Rooster Rock is a state park in the gorge with a nude beach. Sounds kind of sordid, and sometimes it is, but mostly it’s just sitting next to the water and looking at the beautiful scenery. The weather has been perfect every time, and we’ve eaten snacks and drunk cheep booze all day in the sun. Plus, Christopher and I are a good team; he’s quite happy to anchor the blanket while I swim over to the island and run around on the dunes.

Every week I’ve run into someone I know, someone I would never have expected to see out there, and usually someone I wouldn’t want to run into accidentally while bare-ass naked. Saw this guy Filemon two weeks ago. I said hi, and it took him a second to figure out who it was. He said, “I didn’t recognize you with that hat,” and then after a long pause added, “…and no pants.”

Usually I come home from roasting all afternoon and immediately take a nap. This week, however, I had to go to our company party, and I changed clothes and biked ten miles up to St. Johns way up in North Portland. It was a such a beautiful evening — 75 degrees, the setting sun, views of downtown from the cliffside road. So though exausted, I was glad to be on my bike.

At the party, we had all manner of natural snack foods: Newman’s and Kettle instead of Nabisco or Lay’s. I had the (great) vegetarian lasagna instead of the grilled burgers or chicken. Desert was homemade ice cream from a hand-cranked churn. There was a keg, but I drank the box wine. Several dogs patrolled the floors all night for dropped food.

In the garage out back, there was some cut-throat ping pong action. These folks I work with are nice as can be, but make no mistake: they are competetive. Everyone laughed and smiled and joked and talked good-natured trash, but you could see challengers shuffling impatiently while waiting to take another crack at Orion, the night’s reigning champ.

I was having such a good time that when the guy with a truck was leaving, I opted to hang around longer instead of toss my bike in the back and catch a ride. Eventually, people started setting up tents in the back yard, preparing to spend the night. Others opted to sleep right under the stars.

When I did finally leave at 1:30 a.m., the air was still fairly warm, and despite my casual pace, I got steamed up in the old Pendleton I had donned. On the ten miles south, the sidewalks outside of bars were still full of patrons enjoying the late summer night. It felt so good that I rode very slowly. My forty minute ride took an hour. I couldn’t rush it. There wouldn’t be many more nights like this.

Phallic Friday – Dickalicious

Thursday was my housemate’s birthday, and I thought to myself, “What does Will love more than anything else?” And so I gave him one.

It’s from Voodoo Doughnuts and is called, quite uneuphemistically, the Cock & Balls. Will got so excited when he saw it that I had to rush downstairs with the camera to get a picture before he shoved it right into his mouth. Guess I should have expected that since he really loves, you know, doughnuts.

Big huh? It totally fills that little pink box. And those balls are cream filled — of course.

Happy Monday

Well, here we go again…

Every Monday I post photos of guys smiling.

Great Tits

Headline of the month, from BBC News: Great tits cope well with warming.

I’m wondering if the guy who wrote that will be losing his job soon.

Reading in the Park

Sigh. Life just keeps going on.

More good weather. It’s getting to be that time of the year. I went to Laurelhurst Park to watch the boys with their shirts off and read a book. I’m getting started on something new. I was skimming an interview in BUTT Magazine recently, and the subject said something along the lines of “that book by Michael Hollinghurst with the rimming scene that won the Booker Prize.” Intrigued, I searched for more about it and discovered that the author, Alan Hollinghurst, aside from the tour de force with the rimming scene, wrote The Swimming Pool Library, which I’ve been meaning to read for, I shit you not, twenty years now. So I checked it out, and started it in the grass in the park on a lovely day.

 The Swimming Pool Library

In the evening, I did my gardening. This spring so far, I’ve put in seeds for snow peas, beets, heirloom Chioggia beets, heirloom fennel, basil, marjoram, tobacco, opium poppies, and cosmos. My rhubarb, strawberries, raspberries, irises, daisies, rosemary, thyme, sage, mint, lemon balm, Oregon Myrtle, and assorted other selected weeds and nameless flowers are all back this year in full force.

 The 40th purple & green house, on SE 51st Avenue

Today, I made black bean soup (sweet vermouth, Amantiado sherry, and cheap red Italian wine). I took the one millionth walk up Mount Tabor, and found two more purple & green houses, bringing the total so far to 41. After the sun went down, I caught up on episodes of The Office and 30 Rock. My roommates and I passed around files on ipods, and throughout the house, you’d hear laughing as we each sat alone in our rooms at our computers watching the same shows.

Late at night, I downloaded The Klaxons and then mixes by Simian Mobile Disco, both as glossy and shallow as an issue of Vogue. Felt as though I should be doing bumps and dancing with models at The Queen.

For some reason, it has taken days to get Ciao! Manhattan, and it’s not even done yet.

Same ol’ shit. Life just keeps going on, but nothing ever happens.