Masturbating at Your Parent's House: or

More end of Holiday weekend musings

-I'm still in Portland. My mind sometimes hits clock mode. On Wednesday, I hit a point where I realized in less than 24 hours I would be in Portland, and now I realize in about twelve I'll be back at work. And here I am drinking Fat Tire (yay!) and having seen many people I wanted to see while I was here, if only for a couple of moments (such as D.K. who stopped by briefly before having to go to another friend's house). I've got to be up at six A.M. so I'm trying to drink enough beer to get sleepy enough to crash out by midnight (sometime after I finish this), and be awake enough to board the plane though groggy enough to catch some sleep on the flight back. In the last paragraph I have deleted my use of the word home twice, once in regards to Portland, once in regards to L.A. Where is home? Both. Neither.

- And admittedly, here's what I miss about Portland. Leonard (my intrepid brother) and I went out last night to The Sandy Hut. We go in and they have a Shuffleboard table, which is being played by a couple. The girl knows me from both Movie Madness, and a Broken Social Scene show. At the bar was someone I used to work with and her boyfriend. While waiting to see my friend Pete I ran into someone I know. That's just my way around Portland. I'm "that guy" here. I have to say I like that.

- I brought up my wife a lot. I think most people don't believe me when I say I'm now married. I should have had Aili pose for some cell phone photos, real poses, to show my wife (I have one, but it's not that good). Something to remember for Xmas.

- I got to see my friends Heather and Scott three out of four days here. Yay!

- Unlike LA, one can smoke in Portland bars. The downside is that your clothes tend to stink from a night out. We were only at The Sandy Hut for about two hours max, and we reeked so much in the morning my mom aired out both our coats. The upside is you get to know if the girl you're talking to is a smoker. I'd say it's a fair trade. Portland, at least in comparison, is a smoking town. Or, that is to say, a more public town for smoking. Standing outside today, I just spotted more people smoking than I normally do in LA. But I think that's also geography. It's also 31 degrees out right now (that's what my mom's computer is telling me), whereas in Los Angeles, it'll probably be 80 when I get back. This is nice, but my office is so air conditioned that I tend to need to wear a hoodie regardless (I usually leave one at my desk for it. So Mr. Rogers). I leave for work and it's warm out, and I go home at night and it tends to be cold.

- I watched Land of the Dead with my brother and mom. She didn't care for it (shock, surprise) but my brother liked it. I still like it, but I see its flaws, which I have conceeded since first viewing, mostly that it's Canadian and small. And as a political polemic, its weight is more in the heft of the Romero canon than on its own merits - its analysis is cartoony, but that this is carried out in a zombie movie is what gives it bite. I think the film works best in context of its canon, under the dubious weight of the auteur theory.

- I'm also three hours into No Direction Home with my mom. She gets tired early. I still love this film with every fibre of my being, and will watch the rest with her at Xmastime.

- My mom's TV is thirteen years old and dying. I gave my mom some monster speakers that have warped the picture irreperably, and watching films on it is awkward, but due to the warping, interesting in its own way. Having seen most of the films I watched here previous, it gives films the thing film people want watching something again: a fresh view.

- Ah, yes, the title thing. I was concerned, returning home as I have for a four day retreat, that I would need to do what the title suggests, made awkward by the presence of my brother and mother nearby. That is, the thing that no one wants to talk about, but most people probably think about in said situation. Or that is to say, I do. But the cold winds, constant drinking, and simply being in the house I spent my adolesence has worked as well as salt peter. Is this too much information? Probably, but I couldn't not start my latest entry with that title. It's too good.