Out of Sorts

Recently, the weather has been slowly changing. I have complained several times about the unexpected heat here in the city; this is Portland, Oregon, renowned for its dreariness and subsequent dependence on caffeine and hops, not the Mojave. However, more rain has begun to fall and more days now dress in draping, grey cloaks. We were caught in a rain storm over the weekend and every travel book that states Portlanders don't mind the rain or own umbrellas needs to be shredded and used for gerbil bedding. Even though the rain came suddenly and heavy, it felt like we were the only two drenched idiots without an umbrella. The broken streets filled with run-off as more people darted between raindrops than I could have expected. I suspect the stories of Oregonians braving the torrents of fall is mere bravado, something to tell tourists to get them soaked, something every transplant tells family to shake off the burdensome weather. I don't care who you are or where you're from, getting rained on, especially cold, Northwest rain, sucks. Nobody wants to be wet; we're not seals. Even after suffering through a drought, the first raindrops would be pleasant relief, reassuring, and then you would find shelter. We don't sit in puddles if we don't have to. Even those hippy yoga-ers abandoned their oneness with nature when it cams pissing down. Buy an umbrella; don't show off.

I am also caught off-guard by the city's exhibitionism prompted by aforementioned yoga-ers. I have so dubbed them because I don't know what else to call them. I struggled with the idea of practicing a form of physical exercise and meditation in the center of a busy city and still cannot grasp the idea of finding the Eastern peace required for such a pursuit in Pioneer Square. It's like the wisdom of a fortune cookie, somehow unfulfilling. But they're not the only ones. The city is home to fire dancers, rag-tag musicians, magicians, escape artists, vagabonds mumbling through song, and countless others performing for attention and the shower of coins that never seems to fall. It may be my virgin(c)ity, but Portland has an odd demographic running right through its identity that cannot be ignored, however hard I try. They aren't frightening, and like a sad Elvis impersonator, can be off-puttingly entertaining. Maybe that's just city life: pack in some weirdos, some activists, a strong contingent of working stiffs, sprinkle with unemployment, and bake, decorate with concrete and steel and serve.