We went yardsaling today. Well, it wasn't really a yard sale, there was no yard, more like an apartment sale. One of our neighbors is moving back to wherever she was before she was, well, here. Kansas or somewhere. Like us, she decided to sell most of what she owned to make the move easier. Unlike us, she ordered an ABF moving crates to help, not packing her car with as much crap as possible and driving thousands of miles. We got a bureau, of sorts, a laptop station, on which I am now typing, some decorative flower pots and some plants. Her stuff has made or apartment feel homey. Cheap and helpful. We spent less on all this stuff than on any one thing we've bought so far.
Tonight, for kicks, we went to the Laurelhurst Theater and saw a documentary on Hunter S. Thompson and Gonzo. I really wanted to see it and Amber acquiesed; she enjoyed it, or so she says. The theater reminded us of the Pleasant Street Theater back in Northampton, small, vintage, kind of indie, and full of nerds. It's been good to get out and explore the city to see what it offers.
8.27.2008
8.25.2008
Stop and Smell the Roses
After a few hours of job hunting and studying for a gruesome Phys-Dis placement, Amber and I picked up the tourist map of Portland and chose to visit the Portland Japanese Garden in the Southwest section of the city. We had visited the 
Seattle Japanese Garden and I was a bit apprehension; the garden in Seattle was well cared for and very attractive, but I was bored most of the time, except when I spotted a turtle or unusually large koi. However, we decided to give Portland’s garden a shot. It was only 6 bucks with a student ID, and if you missed it above, I’m still looking for a job.
We hit the highway at two, even though the gardens are about eight miles away and found our way without issue. The day started out sunny, but like many here, there would be a shower in our future. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The garden was zen-tastic
and chi-mazing. The association of caretakers, Samurai gardeners as I call them, has created a relaxing balance between the natural conditions of a hilltop in Portland and the often stringent requirements of a formal Japanese garden. Paths wind through outcroppings of rock and Japanese maples cower in the shadows of ancient, indigenous deciduous trees; the Northwest mist hangs in the green and tint the air with a scent of purity.
Poetic, huh?
But the gardens were gorgeous. And, oh yeah, they also had gargantuan koi fish, but no turtles. I would suggest a colony of turtles if I were on the garden board, and I would have business cards read, “Matt Lobo: Head Pinecone”. Maybe I’d use my whole first name.
As we set off, neither one of us wanted to go back home and kept walking. Unknowingly, we stumbled upon the International Test Rose Garden. Thinking about it now, it makes sense they were near each other,
but at the time, we were both very surprised. I’m not going to surprise everyone and admit to some secret affinity with roses like Hightower in Police Academy, when he turned out to be a florist. But, again, I was surprised at how nice the roses were, considering they have only one full-time gardener. We saw prize roses going all the way back to 1919 in all different shades and shapes. They call Portland 
the City of Roses, and since we’ve returned from the rose garden, I’ve noticed several more yards with large rose bushes that I ignored before. Do roses like rainy, cool weather? Maybe they just like the coffee around here.
We also visited the Pittock Mansion, a big house on a hill that was owned by people I don’t know that are now long since dead. The reasons I mention the mansion in a brief and distracted manner are two-fold. First, upon arrival in the parking lot, we were surrounded by panting, sweaty teenagers that, I assume, had run up the steep hill atop which the mansion sits. If you visit a mansion, like the Breakers, you don’t expect to see half-naked teens running through the parking lot, unless Boy George has rented the place. And second, the view from the property opened just north of the city and sent us reeling.
Portland sprawled out before the mothball mansion and the light showers painted a rainbow across the business district. It was worth the five minute drive up.
Seattle Japanese Garden and I was a bit apprehension; the garden in Seattle was well cared for and very attractive, but I was bored most of the time, except when I spotted a turtle or unusually large koi. However, we decided to give Portland’s garden a shot. It was only 6 bucks with a student ID, and if you missed it above, I’m still looking for a job.We hit the highway at two, even though the gardens are about eight miles away and found our way without issue. The day started out sunny, but like many here, there would be a shower in our future. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The garden was zen-tastic
and chi-mazing. The association of caretakers, Samurai gardeners as I call them, has created a relaxing balance between the natural conditions of a hilltop in Portland and the often stringent requirements of a formal Japanese garden. Paths wind through outcroppings of rock and Japanese maples cower in the shadows of ancient, indigenous deciduous trees; the Northwest mist hangs in the green and tint the air with a scent of purity.Poetic, huh?
But the gardens were gorgeous. And, oh yeah, they also had gargantuan koi fish, but no turtles. I would suggest a colony of turtles if I were on the garden board, and I would have business cards read, “Matt Lobo: Head Pinecone”. Maybe I’d use my whole first name.As we set off, neither one of us wanted to go back home and kept walking. Unknowingly, we stumbled upon the International Test Rose Garden. Thinking about it now, it makes sense they were near each other,
but at the time, we were both very surprised. I’m not going to surprise everyone and admit to some secret affinity with roses like Hightower in Police Academy, when he turned out to be a florist. But, again, I was surprised at how nice the roses were, considering they have only one full-time gardener. We saw prize roses going all the way back to 1919 in all different shades and shapes. They call Portland 
the City of Roses, and since we’ve returned from the rose garden, I’ve noticed several more yards with large rose bushes that I ignored before. Do roses like rainy, cool weather? Maybe they just like the coffee around here.We also visited the Pittock Mansion, a big house on a hill that was owned by people I don’t know that are now long since dead. The reasons I mention the mansion in a brief and distracted manner are two-fold. First, upon arrival in the parking lot, we were surrounded by panting, sweaty teenagers that, I assume, had run up the steep hill atop which the mansion sits. If you visit a mansion, like the Breakers, you don’t expect to see half-naked teens running through the parking lot, unless Boy George has rented the place. And second, the view from the property opened just north of the city and sent us reeling.
Portland sprawled out before the mothball mansion and the light showers painted a rainbow across the business district. It was worth the five minute drive up.
8.23.2008
A Long Walk
We've spent some time here in Portland and the city is growing on Amber with every step. We bought a bed and some other living room furniture, so the place is a little more comfortable. Most importantly, however, we bought a television. Sure, we can sleep comfortably at night on a real mattress fill with springs and padding rather than one filled with air, but we have a TV! Best Buy and Comcast have made my day.
Oh, and we've begun exploring the city. We stopped downtown for the Saturday/Sunday Market and visited the acclaimed Voodoo Doughnuts. I ordered the Voodoo Doll (shown below) while Amber played it safe and had a doughnut coated in mini M&Ms. Both tasted extremely delectable but were insanely sugary. I think eating that little doll made me diabetic; maybe Voodoo and OneTouch should sign some sort of partnership and expand nationwide.
Anyway, we spent nearly five hours walking downtown, through the Pearl District, an area of the city full of expensive condos and high-priced, specialty boutiques, this morning. The other day, filling some of our free time and venturing beyond the immediate neighborhood, we navigated the shelves of Powell's Book City on Burnside, the largest bookstore in Portland and, perhaps, the WORLD. A great bookstore in the heart of the city that stacks countless titles at very reasonable prices. Sounds like an ad, I know, but the book city deserves some e-ttention.
There's a lot more to explore about the city and we are both itching to get out on the few sunny days we'll see in the next few months.
Oh, and we've begun exploring the city. We stopped downtown for the Saturday/Sunday Market and visited the acclaimed Voodoo Doughnuts. I ordered the Voodoo Doll (shown below) while Amber played it safe and had a doughnut coated in mini M&Ms. Both tasted extremely delectable but were insanely sugary. I think eating that little doll made me diabetic; maybe Voodoo and OneTouch should sign some sort of partnership and expand nationwide.
Anyway, we spent nearly five hours walking downtown, through the Pearl District, an area of the city full of expensive condos and high-priced, specialty boutiques, this morning. The other day, filling some of our free time and venturing beyond the immediate neighborhood, we navigated the shelves of Powell's Book City on Burnside, the largest bookstore in Portland and, perhaps, the WORLD. A great bookstore in the heart of the city that stacks countless titles at very reasonable prices. Sounds like an ad, I know, but the book city deserves some e-ttention.
There's a lot more to explore about the city and we are both itching to get out on the few sunny days we'll see in the next few months.
8.20.2008
The Chronicles of Oregonia
The Trip
Settling in Portland has been a difficult process and is by no means complete. Our apartment is smaller than the one in Westfield but has more amenities, like a dishwasher and washer and dryer, so the trade off is tolerable. Portland is also a lot noisier than Westfield, but we’ve never lived in a city before so we’ll have to adjust. Everything is very similar but slightly different, and those differences have been unsettling. Enough about Portland, we’ll get to that later.
Our trip was an astounding adventure that Amber and I both enjoyed; the whole trip was like a big vacation. All tolled, we drove 3, 422 miles from Grafton to Portland and spent seven days on our journey. Leaving Grafton was the most difficult thing I have ever done, and I already miss my family and friends. It’s frightening in a city you’ve never seen or haven’t explored, but everything takes time. We drove through Massachusetts along I-90, the old, reliable Mass Pike, into New York. If you ever have the chance to avoid driving through the entire state of New York, I would recommend it. The state never ends; it drags on and on and on and on. There is very little to look at, and the only activity that kept us from turning back was license plate collecting. Over the whole trip, we tried to collect as many of the fifty states as possible and Massachusetts and New York held the greatest bounty. We saw nearly half of the states in the first day. Sadly, we never saw a West Virginia or Hawaii plate but I’m still searching the streets of Portland. **Correction: we saw a Hawaii plate at IKEA. They have to be around here somewhere. The game was intense and every time we spotted a new state, either Amber or I scrambled to find our scratch pad to record the momentous sighting. The rain, however, repeatedly paused our exercise in visual aptitude. Downpours followed us through New York and were so intense at one point, we had to pull off the highway with throngs of other travelers due to poor visibility; we couldn’t see the hood of the car. As the weather cleared, we made our way through Pennsylvania and into Ohio. This first day of travel was the most ridiculous; between the rain, the emotions and the endless state of New York, it felt like we drove forever. Nearly fourteen hours after leaving my folks back in MA, we hit our hotel in Ohio and crumpled into the stagnant Best Western accommodations.
The second day brought us through the rest of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa and into Nebraska. I lump all those states together in one sentence because that’s all the space my memory had devoted to the second travel day. I’ll be the first to admit it; I was bored. We tried our best to keep amused. The i-Pod worked hard that day and we buried our faces in the Trip-Tik to busy ourselves on the road, but there was little else going on.
Once we stopped in Nebraska, we began a brief respite from the road. We stayed with Danielle, Amber’s close friend and Matron of Honor, and her family for a day. We helped weed a garden at her son’s school, played with a hunting dog that lived for attention, and tried to play a game of Life. That short stay was a wonderful break from the road, separating our first two driving days from the more vacation-esque end of our drive.
After the break, the journey starts to pick up. We headed out before the family rustled their duvet covers and headed north on 26. Driving into South Dakota, the trip took on the greater feeling of exploration rather than responsibility. NPR played Classical as we sped through Dakota and into the Black Hills. South Dakota held some of the greatest scenery of our trip and spanning the panoramic shell of a bug-encrusted windshield presented pristine vistas and eye watering views. The West opened to us in South Dakota and we hadn’t even stopped at the sixty foot effigies of men responsible for the preservation of our country. This span of open road was undoubtedly the greatest stretch of highway we trampled during the week.
Mt. Rushmore, home to the heads of America’s tallest leaders, held a greater impact than I had anticipated; I abandoned my ties to communism in my late teens but never blindly embraced the notion of bleeding red, white, and blue. However, the mere sight of the four sixty foot faces and the understanding of the work and dedication invested in that particular monument sent shivers along my seditious spine. We impatiently stood on the rain slicked concrete awaiting the lighting ceremony, which included some presidential trivia, a history of the monument and its maker, and a brief film outlining the four depicted presidents. The ceremony, while informative stretched on until its culmination: a pre-programmed, ranger rendition of “Proud to be an American”. The lights drew up in the darkness and slowly illuminated the towering sculpture. We returned the next morning to take pictures of the monument in full light and headed west.
Through Wyoming, we drove through the Granite Pass beyond Sheridan, WY on Dave’s advice. The views were well worth me striking a mystery bird on the way up the mountain. Wyoming unfolded below the road, and we pulled off several times to see sights like the Fallen City, a number of granite boulders that had tumbled part way down a hill in a formation similar to, you got it, a fallen city. We forced our way through Wyoming to get to Yellowstone National Park, and as you can see below, everyone should see this park. Roosevelt made an essential decision in dedicating this land to preservation and the Travel Channel selected it as the second wonder of the west. Personally, it should be number one, but the Grand Canyon has some powerful friends in the television industry and you shouldn’t argue with it.
I hadn’t created a picture of Yellowstone in my mind, just a collage of images thrown together from brochures, calendars, and TV spots. I half expected an open plain, trampled by bison, stalked by wolves, and grazed by elk. I was wrong. The East entrance is nestled in the mountains, and around a hairpin turn, a buffalo sat greeting entrants from its tree-lined knoll. This was the first of many. Driving through the park, we visited the Dragon’s Mouth formation and the sulfur pools before pulling off to see a small herd of buffalo across the river romping in the dirt. It was a wonderful mass introduction to the brute of the western plains, but it was only an introduction. After several pictures and a few more minutes of driving, we came into contact with the largest herd of the day. This group provided the most interaction as they stopped traffic to cross the street or to use the asphalt as a recliner. Our buffalo exchange stayed with us the entire day and each time recalled made us smile. Following our encounter with some of the largest wildlife in the park, the natural, hydrothermal features of Yellowstone left little to quibble about.
Amber’s favorites were the Paintpots, puddles of mud heated by the inner earth that bubbled in an amusing fashion. I most enjoyed the Grand Prismatic Springs and the Excelsior Geyser. The deep, rich colors contained in the hot springs were the most vivid natural hues I could ever dream up. Gorgeous. The entire park was awe inspiring.
After leaving the park, we stayed in West Yellowstone, MT; the biggest disappointment associated with the name Yellowstone is this town. The whole place, consisting of nearly 1,200 annual residents, maneuvered around deep-fried, low quality food and tourist attraction, shoddy merchandise. We were glad to rest up and get the hell out. From here, we again pointed westward and drove through Idaho; no, you da ho. Sorry.
We saw more corn than potatoes and more desolate dirt farms than corn. Boise was a treat, but only because we had been reassured of the existence of other human beings. It is a bodunk town crowned capital of a depressed state. Their city slogan should be: Boise, if you’re going west, you’re almost out of Idaho. Glad to be beyond Boise.
Finally, driving through eastern Oregon was pretty unexpected. Not that we didn’t expect to drive through Oregon after Idaho, but because the landscape was so desolate. More dirt farms and fewer people. It wasn’t until we hit the Cascade Mountains after a night’s rest in Pendleton we saw the Oregon of the mind’s eye. Green landscapes and dragging clouds. Portland has been an inviting city and we hope to explore more each day.
Settling in Portland has been a difficult process and is by no means complete. Our apartment is smaller than the one in Westfield but has more amenities, like a dishwasher and washer and dryer, so the trade off is tolerable. Portland is also a lot noisier than Westfield, but we’ve never lived in a city before so we’ll have to adjust. Everything is very similar but slightly different, and those differences have been unsettling. Enough about Portland, we’ll get to that later.
Our trip was an astounding adventure that Amber and I both enjoyed; the whole trip was like a big vacation. All tolled, we drove 3, 422 miles from Grafton to Portland and spent seven days on our journey. Leaving Grafton was the most difficult thing I have ever done, and I already miss my family and friends. It’s frightening in a city you’ve never seen or haven’t explored, but everything takes time. We drove through Massachusetts along I-90, the old, reliable Mass Pike, into New York. If you ever have the chance to avoid driving through the entire state of New York, I would recommend it. The state never ends; it drags on and on and on and on. There is very little to look at, and the only activity that kept us from turning back was license plate collecting. Over the whole trip, we tried to collect as many of the fifty states as possible and Massachusetts and New York held the greatest bounty. We saw nearly half of the states in the first day. Sadly, we never saw a West Virginia or Hawaii plate but I’m still searching the streets of Portland. **Correction: we saw a Hawaii plate at IKEA. They have to be around here somewhere. The game was intense and every time we spotted a new state, either Amber or I scrambled to find our scratch pad to record the momentous sighting. The rain, however, repeatedly paused our exercise in visual aptitude. Downpours followed us through New York and were so intense at one point, we had to pull off the highway with throngs of other travelers due to poor visibility; we couldn’t see the hood of the car. As the weather cleared, we made our way through Pennsylvania and into Ohio. This first day of travel was the most ridiculous; between the rain, the emotions and the endless state of New York, it felt like we drove forever. Nearly fourteen hours after leaving my folks back in MA, we hit our hotel in Ohio and crumpled into the stagnant Best Western accommodations.
The second day brought us through the rest of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa and into Nebraska. I lump all those states together in one sentence because that’s all the space my memory had devoted to the second travel day. I’ll be the first to admit it; I was bored. We tried our best to keep amused. The i-Pod worked hard that day and we buried our faces in the Trip-Tik to busy ourselves on the road, but there was little else going on.
Once we stopped in Nebraska, we began a brief respite from the road. We stayed with Danielle, Amber’s close friend and Matron of Honor, and her family for a day. We helped weed a garden at her son’s school, played with a hunting dog that lived for attention, and tried to play a game of Life. That short stay was a wonderful break from the road, separating our first two driving days from the more vacation-esque end of our drive.
After the break, the journey starts to pick up. We headed out before the family rustled their duvet covers and headed north on 26. Driving into South Dakota, the trip took on the greater feeling of exploration rather than responsibility. NPR played Classical as we sped through Dakota and into the Black Hills. South Dakota held some of the greatest scenery of our trip and spanning the panoramic shell of a bug-encrusted windshield presented pristine vistas and eye watering views. The West opened to us in South Dakota and we hadn’t even stopped at the sixty foot effigies of men responsible for the preservation of our country. This span of open road was undoubtedly the greatest stretch of highway we trampled during the week.
Mt. Rushmore, home to the heads of America’s tallest leaders, held a greater impact than I had anticipated; I abandoned my ties to communism in my late teens but never blindly embraced the notion of bleeding red, white, and blue. However, the mere sight of the four sixty foot faces and the understanding of the work and dedication invested in that particular monument sent shivers along my seditious spine. We impatiently stood on the rain slicked concrete awaiting the lighting ceremony, which included some presidential trivia, a history of the monument and its maker, and a brief film outlining the four depicted presidents. The ceremony, while informative stretched on until its culmination: a pre-programmed, ranger rendition of “Proud to be an American”. The lights drew up in the darkness and slowly illuminated the towering sculpture. We returned the next morning to take pictures of the monument in full light and headed west.
Through Wyoming, we drove through the Granite Pass beyond Sheridan, WY on Dave’s advice. The views were well worth me striking a mystery bird on the way up the mountain. Wyoming unfolded below the road, and we pulled off several times to see sights like the Fallen City, a number of granite boulders that had tumbled part way down a hill in a formation similar to, you got it, a fallen city. We forced our way through Wyoming to get to Yellowstone National Park, and as you can see below, everyone should see this park. Roosevelt made an essential decision in dedicating this land to preservation and the Travel Channel selected it as the second wonder of the west. Personally, it should be number one, but the Grand Canyon has some powerful friends in the television industry and you shouldn’t argue with it.
I hadn’t created a picture of Yellowstone in my mind, just a collage of images thrown together from brochures, calendars, and TV spots. I half expected an open plain, trampled by bison, stalked by wolves, and grazed by elk. I was wrong. The East entrance is nestled in the mountains, and around a hairpin turn, a buffalo sat greeting entrants from its tree-lined knoll. This was the first of many. Driving through the park, we visited the Dragon’s Mouth formation and the sulfur pools before pulling off to see a small herd of buffalo across the river romping in the dirt. It was a wonderful mass introduction to the brute of the western plains, but it was only an introduction. After several pictures and a few more minutes of driving, we came into contact with the largest herd of the day. This group provided the most interaction as they stopped traffic to cross the street or to use the asphalt as a recliner. Our buffalo exchange stayed with us the entire day and each time recalled made us smile. Following our encounter with some of the largest wildlife in the park, the natural, hydrothermal features of Yellowstone left little to quibble about.
Amber’s favorites were the Paintpots, puddles of mud heated by the inner earth that bubbled in an amusing fashion. I most enjoyed the Grand Prismatic Springs and the Excelsior Geyser. The deep, rich colors contained in the hot springs were the most vivid natural hues I could ever dream up. Gorgeous. The entire park was awe inspiring.
After leaving the park, we stayed in West Yellowstone, MT; the biggest disappointment associated with the name Yellowstone is this town. The whole place, consisting of nearly 1,200 annual residents, maneuvered around deep-fried, low quality food and tourist attraction, shoddy merchandise. We were glad to rest up and get the hell out. From here, we again pointed westward and drove through Idaho; no, you da ho. Sorry.
We saw more corn than potatoes and more desolate dirt farms than corn. Boise was a treat, but only because we had been reassured of the existence of other human beings. It is a bodunk town crowned capital of a depressed state. Their city slogan should be: Boise, if you’re going west, you’re almost out of Idaho. Glad to be beyond Boise.
Finally, driving through eastern Oregon was pretty unexpected. Not that we didn’t expect to drive through Oregon after Idaho, but because the landscape was so desolate. More dirt farms and fewer people. It wasn’t until we hit the Cascade Mountains after a night’s rest in Pendleton we saw the Oregon of the mind’s eye. Green landscapes and dragging clouds. Portland has been an inviting city and we hope to explore more each day.
Images of an Open Highway
My dad. You can see where I get my good looks.
Ummm... is it that easy?
The Badlands National Park
but she ain't messin' with no broke... in Wall, SD
Mt. Rushmore lighting ceremony
Mt. Rushmore lit
The Buffalo Bi-way
Hydrothermal Hijinks8.17.2008
Yellowstone
I feel a bit inadequate posting about Yellowstone National Park without the accompaniment of photos. The truth is our cable connecting the camera to the computer is packed deep in the belly of the Fit and I can't be bothered with digging it out. Anyway, the park was amazing; in fact, amazing doesn't seem to fit. The park is a crucial space in the American tapestry and needs to be seen, experienced, felt, smelled by everyone with the power to get there. Fly; drive; bike; thumb a ride; walk. The trip is worth every second. I know I sound like an enamored child staring into the streak-free shine of a candy shoppe window, but that is the effect of the park. From the roaming bison to the hydrothermal geysers, each sight and attraction leaves the jaw slacked and the eyes wide. It's more than words, more than pictures, more than the imagination can put compose.
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