So we went to a charmingly goofy opening at Monograph. While we were there, availed ourselves of an old typewriter by the door. True to form, Hazel wrote something sweet, and I wrote something standoffish.
(standoff fish?)
Pictures from that cool little park at the end of Skidmore.
Here is Yoshi stepping on my face.
This appears to be graffiti of a yakking bird, over stencil of a raccoon head.
I’m not sure what exactly this sculpture that someone near Alberta had in their yard says about man’s inhumanity to man, but it’s certainly something.
I got a rather severe spider bite on my ass last week. Attributing the incident to pants that had been sitting in the back of the closet for some time, I took everything out and washed it. Unfortunately, there isn’t a conveniently-located dry cleaners, so my 1960s Brook’s Brothers suit is still sitting around for Yoshi to use to demonstrate his habit of sitting in the worst possible places.
After avoiding the inevitable for months, maybe years, we finally caved to the food cart craze. Our first cart: Eurotrash, where I had a waffle with two pieces of bacon inside it, and eggs, and J had a sort of breakfast quesadilla that benefited from a healthy dose of hot sauce. It wasn’t great (nor was it exactly Euro-anything…), but it was cheap, tasty, and fast. That last bit is pretty impressive, if you consider that our other major brunch contenders often ask a good 45 minutes of waiting for a table.
The other exciting (?) innovation was at the coffee cart, where we picked up strong french press — the stir sticks were buckwheat linguini (ahem, uncooked). Oh, Portland.
While we ate (and tried to avoid getting mauled by toddlers and their SUV strollers), we admired the building across the street, and daydreamed about buying it and living on the top floor, with a second apartment converted to an office studio. I would manage it and teach ceramic workshops and write articles for magazines, and J would do something brilliant and computery.
Then we decided to walk over a bridge; we picked the Hawthorne. It’s a good thing we like it, because we were on it for longer than expected — it went up to accommodate a (presumably) very important sailboat.
It was hot.
Sunday, today, we almost didn’t leave the house, but hunger and peanut butter toast fatigue set in, so we went to a second cart, um, grouping or whatever, and had fried fish. Fine cuisine it was not, but satisfying, yes.
P.S. Sadly, I have no pictures to represent the other notable part of our weekend, which was spent spacing out to the Eluvium album over and over and over again.
Pictures from the window of a friend’s place in North Portland.
We were at Hollywood Vintage and we saw these sweet Jantzen’s trunks:
They were unlined, made out of wool, and were intended to be worn into the water. It boggles my mind that this was a thing that people were willing to do at one time.