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Oh Baby

I was walking across the Hawthorne Bridge last summer and saw an abandoned doll that had been thrown over the side of the bridge. It was lying face-down on a nearby rooftop. The doll was missing an arm and missing a leg. I have to say, it was a very creepy sight, and yet, I found it compelling. I couldn't help but stare.

OK, the truth is, I stared more at the photos I took of it. When I saw it on the rooftop, it was too small for me to see just how creepy the doll was.

I was surprised to find that it was still on the roof this past friday evening when I took a stroll over to the Lucky Lab. Since I'd bought a better zoom lens this past year, I decided to snap a few more photos.

The baby photos are definitely creepy, but I enjoy them nonetheless.

Here's the entire set of my weekend's worth of photos. The baby pics are in the middle. Click for a larger view.

It was nice to see the cherry blossoms blooming again... before the rain arrived... again.

Dear Sire Records

Dear Sire; There's an up and coming artist whose name is Valerie Poxleitner. She's better known by her stage name, Lights. She has a monster single that her record label has had sitting on a shelf since last summer. The song is a potential top 40 smash just waiting to be heard, but it's probably not going to be heard because her lousy label is promoting her with a bullshit single instead. And here's the nutty part: her record label...? It's you.

What are you people thinking? You've got a hit and you're sitting on it!

A Quiet Day

March 8th is a date that, for me, carries the weight of decades far in the past. On this day in 1983 my father died. I was eleven years old. I used to dread the arrival of this day, but now that I've lived longer than my father did, the date has taken on a different sort of significance. I suppose it's become a symbol of who I am rather than who my father was.

None of that has much to do with why this particular March 8th is a bad one though. My bad day today is really just the lingering of a bad weekend that was completely of my own making. I'll shake it off tomorrow because tomorrow is a new day. Today, however, isn't a new day. Today is March 8th, so I'll allow myself to feel crappy for just a little longer. Just for today. I'm not exactly sure what I'll do to cheer myself up tomorrow, but it doesn't take much. I'll treat myself to something nice. It could be something really simple. Maybe a late afternoon walk to Washington Park, or maybe I'll just pour myself a glass of wine tomorrow night and read something I've been meaning to get around to for a while now. I know I'd enjoy that.

Meanwhile, since today is Monday, here's a playlist that's perfect for a day when there isn't much to say.

The Texan's Deal

I'm going to tell you a story. Actually, I'm going to tell you a story about telling a story. To further confuse matters, I'll let you know up front that all of what follows is true except for one detail that is a lie. The lie is born of good intentions but it's a lie nonetheless.

Excluding the lie, this story of telling a story is absolutely true and I'll tell it all as it happened.

Still with me? OK then. Let's go back to the summer break before my senior year of college. I was traveling abroad with my then-roommate, Jeff. We were in Lima, Peru, waiting to pay a tax because we'd supposedly stepped outside of the airport during our layover between flights.

The tax was bogus and we weren't going to pay it.

I'm sure things have changed since then, but, in the old Lima airport there was a common scam where a crowd would gather around foreigners exiting an airplane to trick them into walking outside. There was no tax for changing planes, but if you left the airport during a layover there was a twenty dollar airport re-entry tax. Scammers would trick foreigners into stepping outside and then split the tax with immigration officers who most likely pocketed the rest.

There were two other Americans on our flight into Lima. One was a backpacker who didn't look much older than myself… early 20s at best… and the other was an older Texan. I don't know for a fact he was from Texas, but the man had a cowboy hat and a cowboy accent. That was Texan enough for me.

The four of us hadn't been seated very far apart on the plane, which meant we weren't far apart as we made our way into the airport. We were immediately swept up in a crowd that moved quickly until one of us stepped outside through a large opening that looked as if it led to a hallway. We thought we were headed for baggage claim, but instead, the crowd instantly disbursed and we four Americans were left standing outside of the airport.

Only one of us actually stepped outside, but that was enough to bring over a security guard who escorted all four of us to a podium labeled "immigracion" where an officer waited to be paid a tax that may or may not have existed. Men from the crowd who'd scammed us were mulling around, pretending to not be waiting for their cut.

Jeff and I had an eight hour layover. As far as I was concerned we had nothing but time, and since I spoke Spanish fluently I was more than happy to fight this tax. The man from Texas was ahead of us, waiting for the backpacker who tried in vain to explain that he was late for his connecting flight. The immigration officer just kept pointing to the exit and repeating the words "Re-Enter Tax. Twenty dollar." The backpacker pleaded. He said he was broke and on his way home, but he said this in English which did no good. Jeff and I hadn't stepped out of the airport and I was intending to fight this bogus tax. Twenty bucks is a lot of money to a poor college student. I started to reconsider my position when I spotted another pair of officers approaching. The backpacker started to panic.

And that's when it happened.

This was many years ago, so clearly I am paraphrasing here, but it's one of those moments I remember as if it were yesterday. Soon, you'll understand why.

The Texan stepped forward, putting himself between the immigration podium and the backpacker. He placed his hand on the backpacker's shoulder and said "I owe somebody a favor kid so I'll pay your tax, but you and me, we're gonna make a deal first. Someday, you'll see somebody you don't know in a really bad spot and you'll repay me by helping that person out instead. When the time comes, don't even blink. Just step up and do it. The bigger a thing you do to help somebody out, the better. Do we have a deal?"

At this point, the approaching immigration officers pulled Jeff and I aside. I guess they'd seen that the other two foreigners had money, so, they focussed their attention on us.

In Spanish, I explained to the officers that my friend and I hadn't stepped out of the airport. I pointed to the scammers who were circling around waiting for their cut of the tax money and said that I was more than willing to stick around to fight it. I told them my friend and I aren't flying out of Lima for hours and that we had nothing but time.

I asked the officers if they wanted to hear a story. Who doesn't enjoy a good story?

The officers looked at each other, baffled, so I explained it again (in Spanish, of course). "Seriously, we're not in a hurry at all. We've got more time than we know what to do with and we didn't step outside that entryway. I'm a good story teller and I bet I can make you laugh. Would you like to hear a story?"

I don't know why the officers agreed to let me tell them a story, but they did, and so... I did.

I told this story (obviously it's in English here, but it's even better when told in Spanish). I ended up entertaining all three immigration officers as well as the crowd of scammers, and best of all, Jeff and I didn't have to pay the tax.

By this point, both the Texan and the backpacker were long gone. Did the backpacker ever repay the Texan's favor once he got back to the U.S.? Who could possibly know. But, the thing is... even though that favor wasn't done for me, I've repaid it several times. Each time, I told this story and made a similar deal with the person I was helping. I'd like to think that those people have done favors to repay me. I have no way of knowing if they did, but I can hope. Right? And I can even hope it keeps going forward, right? Hey, I know that's a corny thought but it's my corny thought and I like it.

Now, let's back up a bit. The very first thing I said about this story is that a chunk of it is a lie.

The backpacker didn't exist. That was the lie.

I suppose the Texan was a lie too. He was just someone I happened to spot in the airport that day. He wasn't even on our flight. I just happened to see him in the airport and I wondered if he got scammed too. Everything else about the scammers, immigration officers and talking my way out of paying a bogus tax was completely true.

I tell two versions of this story, depending on the circumstance.

If I want a laugh, I'll tell the story as it really happened: Jeff and I were changing planes in Lima and we were tricked into walking out of the airport by scammers. We had a really long layover, which meant we had plenty of time to kill. So, I argued our way out of paying the bogus tax by amusing the immigration officers (as well as the scammers).

On the other hand, if I'm doing a favor for someone who doesn't really know me and he or she asks why I'm being so kind, I tell the story as I've told it here, complete with the part about the backpacker who didn't exist and Texan I've taken completely out of context. I do this because I'm a corny mother fucker.

There. I said it. I'm corny.

I believe in things like putting a little goodness out there in hopes others will pay it forward, and I've learned that people who don't know me well won't accept a favor unless I have an entertaining story to explain why I'd do such a thing.

Note that, in my story, I didn't say anybody did me a favor. I just said that I saw someone do a selfless favor and that inspired me to do the same. It's all a lie, but I love it because it leads to a cycle where people pay favors forward for complete strangers and they feel good about doing so because they think it's part of a bigger cycle. Hopefully.

Maybe it happens and maybe it doesn't. I don't know. All I know is that I did my part.

I'm not telling you any of this because I'm looking for credit or brownie points. I shared this story and the thoughts that go with it because I've recently become curious about the reasons for my own actions. The truth is, I don't know why I do some of the things I do. In the end, I'm not sure it really matters, but I'm curious all the same. Somehow, typing it out helps me think it through.

Even if I don't learn anything about myself or my motives, I at least end up sharing a good story, right? That's good enough for me. Good enough for tonight, anyway.

Feel free to take my story and spin it to make it your own. Pick a moment from your past and create your own Texan. Do a favor or two and use your own story to explain why you put a little good out there. Who knows... maybe somebody will pay your favor forward. Maybe you'll be the story someone else tells.

Entrance

Photos from another random walk around town. This time, I headed down to the river. I became particularly fascinated with closeup shots of the Steel Bridge, as you'll see in the thumbnails below. First, a few of my favorites.

Click on a thumbnail for a larger view. Use your arrow keys to move forward or back.

Swiftwatch, 2009

This is becoming an annual ritual. I go to the Chapman School and take a shot at snapping an amazing picture of the Chapman Vaux Swifts as they make a pitstop on their was south for the winter.

There are some decent photos here, but next year will be my year. I can feel it!

There's more info on the Swifts toward the bottom of my 2007 Swifts photos post. (and how's THAT for a clumsy sentence? Ah well!)

The Cat Sitter

This is one I meant to write for a long, long time after I heard a man named David Wilcox explain on a sunny spring afternoon how we live our lives in the wrong direction. He shared a playful little thought about how we should start with the ending to get it out of the way. And, so, that's where I'll begin.

Here's the ending: I was the cat sitter.

The problem with this ending is that, at the time, it was also a beginning. This is a circular story, but the only one going around and around is me, and I don't blame anyone but myself for that. Some lessons need to be learned more than once.

You've read the ending. Now, let's get to the beginning.

We'll call her Linda. She was cute. Blond and curvy with curious eyes and a smile wider than one would expect from a stranger, though we weren't to be strangers for long.

Linda was going to be traveling for about a week. She needed someone to drop by her apartment each day while she was gone to feed her cats and scoop their litter.

She placed an ad on craigslist. I replied. A few days later, we were having lunch. The process of her getting to know me well enough to entrust me with her cats and apartment turned into both of us getting to know a new friend.

Each day while she was out of town, I would walk a mile from my home to hers. I'd feed her cats and play with them a bit so they wouldn't be too lonely, and then I'd walk home.

When she returned to Portland we met for dinner. A few days later, we went to see a movie. And then another dinner. There was an undeniable tension between us, though I wasn't sure of its cause. We talked. We laughed. We flirted.

I kissed her.

We did a bit more than kiss, truth be told, but after a few weeks, she announced that dating wasn't going to work. We were too different, wanting different things. There was no crash and burn. This had been more a case of trial and error. No harm, no foul.

Shortly after, she left town again a few days. That's where this story reaches its ending. I was the cat sitter.

The next time I arrived at her apartment to take care of her cats, I found a note. There was a CD in her stereo. The note said to listen to track number fourteen. It was a song called "Start With The Ending" by David Wilcox.

The secret of a happy marriage,
maybe you should write this down
If you want to keep a love together,
the best way is to end it now
Because when you both know its over,
suddenly the truth comes out
You can talk about your secret passion,
you can talk about your restless doubt
When there's no pretending,
then the truth is safe to say,
Start with the ending,
get it out of the way
Now there's no defending,
because no one has to win
Start with the ending,
its the best way to begin.

And I'm so glad we did

When Linda returned the next week, we started over. The awkward tension was gone and dating came easily this second time around. Weeks passed. And then a month. And then another and another. We spent weekends together, we went hiking, we went to dinner now and then on weeknights, we always held hands while wandering around town. We did the things that couples do.

Her friends liked me. Her family liked me. Her cats definitely liked me, probably because I still took care of them whenever she would leave town which turned out to be rather often.

Late one September evening as we headed back to her place after enjoying a particularly nice dinner, we met one of Linda's neighbors on the lawn in front of her apartment building.

The neighbor was a cheerful older woman who greeted us with a bit of irrelevant chit chat about the change of seasons. Summer was quickly coming to an end and the cool evening air was a sign of things to come.

"It's getting nippy out here tonight." the neighbor said while waiting to be introduced to the man whose hand Linda was holding. "Fall will be here before you know it." The superficiality of the conversation cannot be overstated. If not for the introduction that followed, I'm sure I'd have forgotten it instantly.

"Rob, this is Evelyn. She's my neighbor. Evelyn, this is Rob. He's my cat sitter."

"Is that what you kids are calling it?" the neighbor inquired with a giggle. I certainly wasn't laughing.

And that's where the story reaches its ending. Again. Despite months of dating, I was the cat sitter.

I said good night to the neighbor and my apparently non-girlfriend, and I headed home.

I dumped Linda a few days later. Or maybe I didn't technically dump her since we'd already gotten the ending out of the way so early on. Maybe we hadn't been dating at all. I'll never know. I didn't feel the need to find out because my role in our relationship had been made so crystal clear.

The breakup discussion was made easier by the fact that she wanted children someday and I didn't, not to mention that it isn't very difficult to stop dating someone once you've been informed you're not actually dating.

Linda told me our friendship really mattered to her and she asked if we could continue what had become our Tuesday sushi-night ritual. I realize I should have said no, but at the time I thought the friendship was worth keeping. This worked out well for Linda because, of course, I would be around to watch her cats whenever she was out of town.

A year passed. And then another. During this time, Linda and I each started dating new people. We still met for sushi each Tuesday. My girlfriend and I met her and her boyfriend for drinks and desert. Another time, she joined my girlfriend and I for dinner and a movie.

We were friends.

Though I started with the ending, this is where we finally do reach it. First, I'm going to vent a bit of frustration because I feel entitled to do so.

Over the years, I'd watched Linda's cats more times than I could count. I'd helped her move when she bought a house. I'd even helped her parents move when they bought a new house. I was that friend who was always reliable, always there for her. I thought nothing of it at the time because we were friends and that's what one friend does for another.

And then came the day I needed a favor. Shortly after I'd helped Linda move all of her belongings from her apartment into a truck and then unload the truck at her new house, I asked If she could help me pick up a small loveseat that I was going to buy. I made a point of asking a few weeks in advance. On the day she was supposed to help me, she called to cancel.

And that is the real ending.

Or is it?

The part about dating and the neighbor whose name isn't really Evelyn isn't really what this story is about. Not at all. This story is about the challenges that come with trying to live by the golden rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I want to be able to rely on my friends, so I make sure my friends can always rely on me. At what point does being a good friend become being taken advantage of, or at the very least, being taken for granted? How does one truly live by the golden rule without being taken for granted or taken advantage of?

I have yet to figure that out.

Life hands us all these lessons and it's important to learn them without letting go of your values in the process. I can't say I haven't made similar mistakes again. Surely I have. They come in different forms each time. The mistakes, not the Lindas, although that's certainly true too... but I truly value friendship. There's no worse feeling for me than the feeling of having let a friend down because the next worst feeling for me is the feeling of when a friend lets me down. And that brings me back to my questions about living by the golden rule.

I still believe in the golden rule.

At what point does being a good friend become being taken advantage of, or at the very least, being taken for granted? How does one truly live by the golden rule without being taken for granted or taken advantage of?

I have yet to figure that out.

Sometimes

I spotted this one on the side of the 10th Ave Fitness whatever it's called downtown that used to be the YMCA. Click it for a larger view.

I wonder. Does it say "And Sometimes I Still Love You?" Or, is the AND part someone's initials, as in "A.N.D., Sometimes I Love You"? Hhmhmmm...

Street Scene

Another recent photo walk, this time only through The Pearl. My photos seem to be getting more abstract. I might be liking that fact. Take these three, for example. They're shots of the street, looking straight down.

Here's the entire batch of photos from Saturday. Click a thumbnail to zoom in to a larger version.

Another Batch

I never intended to start taking abstract photos. It just seems to keep happening. I'm ok with that. Click any photo to start the doodad that zooms them.

I heart flickr.

A Random Post From The Archives:

Don't Stop Believin'

I used to think of love as a destination. It was something to search for and to cherish once found. It was the end of dating. The potential to find love was the reason to go on dates in the first place. "She might be the one." There's always a chance, right?

Through time and experience, I realized I was wrong. There is no 'one.' In fact, I am the one. I always have been. And so have you.

And that's the point, isn't it?

Dating isn't a question of whether or not someone could be my one. It's a question of whether or not I'm willing to share my one - to share myself - because that's what it takes to be someone else's one.

All of this takes time.

When a first date becomes a second and a second becomes a third that leads to a fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh... When losing track of the number of dates leads to not wanting to count them anymore because you've found more than what you could have ever imagined looking for... Is that really an ending? Not in the least.

It's a new beginning.

And love? Love isn't a destination at all.

It's the journey.

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