Detroit, home of Robocop and Eminem. That sounds like a great horror shortstory.

In our part of the world, the year can be divided up into two seasons. Those happen to be listed as winter and construction, both of which vary in length and intensity.

During winter one must contend with the possibility of encountering snow and ice on all of the surfaces. But these tend to be passing conditions. Where as during construction season, those surfaces onto which you so gingerly ventured out, may be missing entirely. Hey, that road that leads exactly to the destination which you are so desperately trying to reach? Well now it's a 10 foot deep trench that stretches for blocks at a time.

Free on street parking though. Come on down.

We made the mistake of visiting during the first or second worst season for travel, depending on how you reckon such things. I have some disdain for traveling in 90 degree weather when I'm being forced to navigate an ever-changing gauntlet in a new city.

I would like to take this moment to say “Fuck you Siri, in all of your incarnations.” You know that asshole who swerves across 3 lanes to turn? Yep, probably listening to Siri.

For our collective birthdays this year, it was some how decided upon that we would visit Detroit. I missed the committee meetings on this one, so I cannot explain the rationale behind the choice to you. Yeah. Detroit. The murder capital of the universe! . Happy birthday to us!

Do you want to see urban decay and street crime? Well come to sunnyish Detroit! The Crown Jewel of the Rust Belt. Shells of houses that have tasted the kiss of Arson? Check! Miles and miles of decaying concrete? Got that too! The shattered remnants of what America used to be? We're having a sale! Make sure that you stay on the highways that run 4 lanes in either direction and have a posted speed limit of 55mph(which everyone ignores and opts for the more conventional 70+).

Detroit is a modern wasteland known for the ruins porn in a way that has moved past trope and into cliché. Rotting infrastructure that is so beloved amongst urban explorers. People who explore the remnants of our once mighty industrial base and stick their noses into the crumbling past and document what has befallen the American Dream. People who aren't me.

But hey, Detroit is a place that exists and surely they have some gems. So we did our research and came up with a list of places to do and things to visit – I think. I'm not sure that our thinking was straight.  After all, Detroit is one of the cities that I used as the basis of Jefferson(Chicago being the other) - the fictional necropolis in which I set part of my zombie series.  Good times.

We were mostly there to see friends and find some of the sights that might be worth seeing.

As a species part of our shared humanity seems to be intertwined in the appreciation of food. Many cultures are, at least in part, defined by their cooking. So you will forgive us if food is one of the driving factors in our travels. We jot down any interesting restaurants that we encounter and store them for future consideration.

Detroit had several such entries. So we met in a place called Fall's Sports Lounge. I don't know who picked that one. On google they rate between 3 and 4.5(out of 5). And are supposedly renowned for their hamburgers, the best in Detroit(a lot of ground to cover). I love hamburgers. I did not protest.

I won't review them into great depth. The food was good, especially the fries, but I cannot imagine that they were the best in all of Detroit. We have several joints here in my hipster-infested burg that are superior to the fare. I don't know if I would ever sample them again – not a dis, It's just that there have to be other places to try in my rare visits to Detroit.

Enough of food. I can eat well here. On to activities that my current home town doesn't offer!

This was in our hotel room shower -

I have no Idea what it is for.

The Detroit Institute of Art. A few months back, when the City was going through bankruptcy, the DIA was on the chopping block. Until the State of Michigan stepped in to save it. Good call Michigan. The DIA doesn't really stack up to museums in grander cities such as the Chicago Art Institute. But it is still a wonder to experience. The founders collected some amazing artifacts from around the world and houses them in a wonderful warehouse of ingenuity. The building alone is worth visiting for the architecture. The treasures within are priceless.

The campus of Wayne State University seems to be a trendy and revitalized part of Detroit, this is almost a facade, or maybe an Utopian island. A mere handful of blocks away the city seems to fade back into it's seedier side with the graffiti and abandoned houses. We accidentally found ourselves wandering through as we searched for a place to park.

 

Wayne State home of this African Batman mask!

Onwards!

I love me some books. I may have mentioned such a sentiment before. On par with food, I am a bookstore tourist, and have been since high school. In fact, I first visited this place back when I was in around 11^th grade. That was at least 20 years ago. And the place hasn't changed much since(though I believe that it has become more cramped and packed with printed goodness.

 

Here there be Treasure!

John King books... where to start? First, it is entirely a used book store. All four stories of it. With books overflowing the shelves and lying in stacks and boxes around the floor. In fact I suspect that they have several annex buildings to house their stock. The store is so big that upon arrival a member of the staff will hand you a map. Imagine the library of a large city, and that all of those books are for sale. Everything from ancient classics to the most recent smut. I found a full two shelves dedicated to carving duck decoys – just to give you an Idea of what this place is about. Boooooooks!

Joygasm!

There is the wonderful book must that permeates the air. I don't like aftershaves or body washes or what-ever. But if someone would make an old book cologne, I think that I would wear it daily. (Note, I won't be searching google for this product, I have spent enough money this weekend.) Days could easily be whiled away wandering the shelves of John King. Sadly we took less than two hours before moving on.

One of the best finds was This - 

Oh yes, I am reading it now!

There. The rest of the day was spent eating, hanging out in the hotel room and drinking bourbon homemade wine. All activities that need little mention.

hey baby baby baby

dear sobre self. my very deepest apologies but clowns ard dirty dirty creatures.  morib curoisity stopped by, and you know what kiund of sick bastard he can be.  sorry about the tacobll. Heh. did ou know that they makje tacos with dorito shells?  if you dxidnt before, you are going to find out in the AM, if not befor.  I used before twice, suckatude.  wepll pip pip and such.

Hey there handsome-ish-notreally...

Dearst Sober myeself. Firstly the wine waws ok. I dont remeember what it wazs as the bottle is in the other room. So success. Anyhow, we should like to remdind you that you need to remember to hide your psswords better. Sens e of humor and I tuely hope you enjoy your newish coipy of Microwave Cookery for 1One. We think that is what ist called, it has a picture of a chick on the cover. You'll sort it all out. Anyhow, also enjoy the ramifications of our tacobell runn, as poor decision making skills has just awokn and he is hungr. Cheerio you sad sack!

Knight to queen 3. King me!

I am saddened that I did not think of This first.

Moving on. Or not.

Today I was asked by my co-worker how I put up withe the  laziness and stupidity that I am surrounded with while on the job.  He was surprised that the co-workers just seemed to mindlessly wander around and disappear like the randomly spawned positron pair at the event horizon of a black hole(shit yeah I've been reading physics books!).

Simple, said I:  I daydream about dropping everything, loading up my Aveo(I assume I bring get one small suitcase and an extra pair of socks) and moving west.

What will I do for a living?  They asked.

Simplier:  With the assistance of my cat Zuul, I will travel between small towns and solve mysteries/fight injustice/drink smoothies.  Like so many 80s television protagonists before me.  No case will be too small, so long as it is pitched by the beautiful love interest of the week.  I may even consider getting a proper van.

If you have a mystery or injustice to solve, Zuul and I may be out there. Unless it's taco night.  Then you'll have to wait.  Unless you're a buxom beauty and also have tacos.  Then step right on up.

Fear us evil doers.  Fear us.

Well, I went somewhere and then came back. Amazing.

Greetings and hello from someone who is spinning his wheels! Lemme check my backlog, yep, it's been damn near a six months since my last post. And by that I mean over six months since my last dropping of wordage. Here's a longish one. And if you're lucky, I might even write some of this while imbibing.

Now? Now you get nonsense and gibberish. Worth waiting for huh?  Pull up a chair and listen to the tale of something I did back in June.

I visited Portland Oregon in June(over the solstice to be precise). I figured that I had been wingeing on about the North West, now was the time to actually pick up and visit. First, buying airline tickets is a pain and rather different than any of my previous life experiences. This was my first solo visit, I say this as a man in is early 30s, who has graduated from college with a degree in useless. I have proven myself to be a maker of poor choices.

Now let me enlighten you!

Potland is a city known for food and hipsters. A city that is cool and progressive. I wanted to sample the fare and experience the culture. I invited a couple of friends along, but that fell through. So I was off to do so myself. I have a mild case of the travel bug, but the infection is suppressed by my burning desire to save money and pay down debt.

First of all, buying airfare is not at all like buying a ticket on the train. I've purchased train tix in the past, and all you do is say “this is when I want to leave, here is my money.” Bam, you got yourself a ticket to ride. Not so with the airlined arts. There is a good deal more security, for obvious reasons. Not to mention the greater number of decisions.

Train? Get on and find a seat. Any seat. Plane? None of that sir, you sit in your assigned place like a peon! Oh, you are first class? Step this way your majesty, and sit in your assigned seat!

I went the Google route when purchasing my tickets. As I thought at the time, why not, it's google, google knows all. I am no longer sure that this is true, and wonder if it would have been easier to use a different site. Something more specialized. We live we learn, or we fail to keep living. I think I'm of the second group.

I went with a big no-no and split airlines, Delta out and American back, but the purchases were made through the site of the former. Hah! Crown me king stupid!

My shopping experience ended up with an angst-filled call to American Airline's help center – what must have been their version of the classic “which one is the any key?” exchange that haunts the IT world's nightmares. As the poor lady on the other end tried to tell me that this was a lot like purchasing train tickets(in Europe). Lady, I am a loser and a shut-in, I have not been to Europe for the riding of their rail system.

We eventually got it cleared up and they gleefully took my money with a good chuckle about the dupe that they just rolled. But I had my seats and was ready to go. And so I did. Wednesday evening, after a full day on the job, I boarded the plane that would take me across the enormous stretches of the midwest all the way to the coast.

With my backpack(you can travel light when you accept that you're only going to wear one pair of cargo shorts[yes, I am the type of dork who wears overly be-pocketed legware – I am wearing cargo pants now, ladies calm yourselves as you think of my pale legs being clad in the seductive sway of the baggy practical garment] all weekend) In hand I left my city behind. Swoosh! At least until I landed for my lay-over in Minneapolis. Then there was more of a flump, but only after the less describable sounds that one makes while devouring some rather disappointing airport Kiosk pizza.

All along the way, severe thunderstorms were forecast all across the planes, and we actually re-routed over the Dakotas in order to avoid the worst of the maelstrom. Actually I was excited about this. Thunderstorms are a blast to watch(from a distance) and I was itching to see some from 35,000 feet. The awesome power as the lightning cuts through the clouds and then stabs the earth, all from Zeus' throne.

Well, fate, thanks for the giant steaming crap on my chest you German hussy. I got the middle-seat, and a neighbor with a giant head. I only caught glimpses of the light show, but the images are still rather strong in my mind.

I don't sleep well when I'm nervous, and new experiences leave me feeling nervous. So I had been operating on around 4 hours of sleep(if I was lucky). Oddly enough I didn't feel tired. I was just going forward, not quite on auto-pilot. Maybe I was wired on adrenaline. We landed in Portland around 11pm local time. I had been awake since around 3am Portland time. I just wanted to check into my hotel – nix that, get to my hotel.

My first hour in Portland involved waiting for a hotel taxi that never came. Followed by Another first. I took a cab to the hotel. Whee! Shit that expensive, for the amount of distance covered. I paid less for my bus ticket between Portland and Eugene, a trip that was around 24 times longer. Do I sound like your dad yet? Close the door, we're not heating/cooling the neighborhood! Yeah, I didn't climb into bed until around 1am. Long day.

I was awakened the next morning by a rousing call of “Fuck you mother-fucker!” and a door slamming. Just kidding, I barely slept. Largely due to the door not quite closing and letting in the traffic sounds, combined with my being in a strange room, and worrying constantly about missing my bus the next morning. Yay stress!

On the upside, I was awake early enough to go out and enjoy that fine Portland cuisine! I hit up the free continental breakfast. Oh yeah, I'm living large!

I grew up in Alaska, and the first thing I noticed was the scent of the city. Pine trees, It smelled right. Like home. That was my first impression of Portland, that it just smelled and felt right that morning. The weather was gorgeous and sunny, and the forecasts had promised temps in the mid 70s all weekend. I lucked out with that.

All that was left was to catch a train downtown to find my bus to Eugene? Why am I going to Eugene instead of staying in Portland? Well, a friend from college offered me a place to crash for free. And to be honest I was more excited to see her than the cities/countryside. All I needed to do was get there.

I really liked the Portland train system. Buy a ticket, get on and sit down. How traveling should be. Ahem. But I got to sit back and get a quick tour of the train tracks of the city and get a feel for the place. I loved the geography, but the city itself was much larger than I had imagined. Honestly, I need to stop imagining the future, as I ALWAYS get it wrong. I came away from Portland wondering if I would ever actually want to live there.

Using the netifiationsuperhighwayoftubes back home I worked out about where I needed to be to catch by bus. Mind you, that 'about' isn't really even a kissing cousin to 'exactly'. An equation which lead to my walking around in circles as I waited for the crapptappular GPS in my phone to pick up a signal. More wandering as my phone decided that signals are overrated. All of which killed my further plans of visiting the famed Voodoo Donuts. On the upside I got to see Hipsters and hippies. I think.

Spoiler, I went to Voodoo Donuts down in Eugene. Alas, I only tried the Voodoo Doll. It was good, but like just about any other jelly donut. You go for the experience I suppose. Maybe I could have gotten something wilder, but there were too many choices and I was getting cash-poor at the time.

The Willamette valley reminds me a bit of East Michigan that has been penned in by mountains. I expected more rolling hills I suppose. Maybe I was in the wrong part of the state for that.

Eugene is a good sized college town that sits on the southern edge of the Willamette valley. It has about everything that anyone would need. All of the modern amenities of shopping, plus a small town feel. I liked it immediately. I spent the next couple days sleeping on a futon in my friend's basement as she showed me the ins and outs of her adopted town. And as she did chores. Man, that was so like our friendship of years past, down to the visiting of the local thrift stores. I flirted and she laughed and told me nothing would ever come of that.

The city seemed to be speckled with mountains and trees and held a laid-back vibe that kind of gave me the creeps. Maybe I'm just too midwest.

I spent solstice wandering around downtown Portland and ineffectively(the only kind I do) flirting with my friend. Can't help it(or didn't want to), her company brings that side of me out. She teased me some, and I deserved that. We hit up the science museum(was free day) and then the foodtrucks, all while popping in and out of shops. All in all it was my favorite and most cherished part of the trip. Even the part where the grungy hippie in the grungier blanket tried to sell us (grungiest?) granola.

The trip back? Well that involved a 5 hour delay out of Portland. To combat the boredom I considered buying, and then consuming, a bottle of wine as I wandered Portland's airport. Only the certainty that I would have broken out in a rather poor rendition of Sexy and I know it – possibally one without my beloved cargo shorts. I was already late enough on my return trip, without further contemplating a well earned night in the klink and no doubt some worldwide youtube fueled kleos.

Instead I just walked around in circles, cursing American. Then there was more disappointing pizza in Chicago(Really Chicago, Pizza Mecca of the universe, you should be ashamed), as I got myself switched over to an earlier flight. Finally walking into a wall of humid air and getting hailed by a local police officer who was wondering what I was doing walking away from the airport at 10pm.

Don't quite know how I feel about Western Oregon, but I would like to go back. Next time I'd like to take charge and get a car so that I could wander at my own pleasure.

He's here? This place is over.

Oh, I've not written one of these in a while have I?

Ah yeah, that's because I've not done anything. Anything worth prattling on about. I can only say so much about the variety of ciders I've tried(now I'm branching out to wines too – still hate beer) Mostly work. No travel. More work. There is an old saying: time drags slowly when you're having pharm. By old, I mean that I made it up earlier this week. That feels like ages ago. Ages.

The new job turned out exactly as expected. Dull, repetitive, and loaded with interpersonal drama of the stupidest sort. You would think that Pharmacists, being a highly educated group of people, would be prone to acting like adults. But Pharmacists be crazy. My ex-comrades in delivery used to ask whether or not I missed driving.

Yes, I do, every day that isn't pay day. And on paydays, only when I'm not thinking about my check. With overtime I'm making about $400 more a month than I was as a driver. That means a lot of ten and twelve hour days. Standing all that time sucks and the tedium grinds me down. I've spent some 50 hours a week in the pharmacy since December. But the pay is nice, and I still have student loans. So I keep on trudging on.

When I first got the job, I was asked by a couple of the managers how I liked it. I told them that it was boring. If I had my way, I would be making my living as a hack novelist. But I need to eat and so I'm here. Some folks consider telling the CFO of your new company to his face that your job is boring is a bad idea. They are probably right. I got called into my manager's office and bawled out for being 'negative'. Negative is what they call honesty when they don't want to hear what you have to say.

Or maybe I just have poor attitude. I try to keep a big-picture outlook. I have a job, it pays better than anything I've had before while killing me less slowly than others. I don't despise the company that I work for, and well enough like most of my co-workers(though I wish that they would just shut the fuck up!). These are all things working in my favor. A solid understanding that I'm not alone in disliking my job helps too. All in all I'm supposed to be in a good place.

Our company was bought out by a larger pharmacy that was seeking to expand into this state. Said larger pharmacy was then purchased by an company that runs retirement homes all across the region. We've been going through enormous changes since I started the job. Constant changes. I've tried to roll with them, shrug my shoulders and keep going.

I try not to get angry or upset. Usually I can just remain detached. At least one co-worker is impressed with the skill. Some days it is the only thing that keeps me from giving up and quitting. Those days that we are just so damned overwhelmed with the constant deluge of work that seems to accumulate into a larger and larger pile as our little company takes in more business than we are equipped to handle. As all of the bugs in our new systems bite. Despair is held off by my thin veneer of calm.

Ever heard of a shitstorm? Sounds unpleasant yes? Well I shall introduce a new term, the Fecaelstrom. The eternal whirlpool of excrement that powers the surrounding shitstorm. We're ever closer to going over the edge.

Every now and again, when I can summon the energy, I look into applying for jobs elsewhere. By elsewhere, I mean both out of town and away from Pharmacy. I have three filters on all of the jobs I apply for. The first is that I need to feel qualified. Second, that I would want to do the work. Finally, that I can afford to live on what it pays. I don't apply often.

In the end, I'm looking to trade up over the current job. That is the goal we all share isn't it? This isn't even about money. I just want to make a living doing something I don't actively dislike.

I found a fantastic job for the BLM in Portland Oregon. The position was for a writer-editor, and they were looking for someone who knew photoshop and dreamweaver. I am a master of photoshop, and have a passing acquaintance with dreamweaver.

I've many reasons to want to head out in that direction. Some I admit to, while others I keep close. Private. All in all, I've had little real direction, only an urge. Portland seems as good a place as any, I have seen Portlandia, and it neather attracts nor repels me. I am not one to make the scene.

Mostly I just wanted the job. And a better climate. And a few other things to boot.

After applying though, I spent a lot of time thinking about it, and grew to like the idea. It has been ages since I was excited about a project. Really, truly excited. The thought of escaping to something better has been driving me for the last three weeks. I checked the application status more than I check my book sales. I imagined what the interviews would be like. And living in a new city. Plans were made. I started working on the logistics of the move, what more I was willing to part with. I looked at apartments near the office. I found one that I liked and stopped looking(only partly because it was premature).

Because this is how I am. I wrap myself in fantasy. Maybe you are this way as well.

One side of my brain, the realistic side, grumbles that I'm not likely to get the job, that I'm not qualified enough. Then there's the part that says “Buying a lotto ticket is a brilliant idea! This plan can't fail! Woooooh look a shiny thing!”

I applied. I waited. I watched.

I try to stand at the edge of the two sides, in that shadowy edge were light meets darkness. The optimism keeps scourging me forward, while the pessimism allows me to remain grounded in the disappointment to come.

Got an email today. I was passed over, as more than enough qualified Vets applied. Now I am disappointed, but not surprised. Back to looking. Sometimes I catch a bit of glint. Hope is addictive.

As a note, today's blog title was the one I was planning to use when writing about my arrival in Portland.