Category — Portland

Kids love swings.  I love swings.  They’re just fun.

In Portland, though, it seems that swings are no longer enough.  We’ve got much more serious playground equipment.

It seems that, if this whole economic downturn thing doesn’t work itself out, at least some of the North Portland youth will be trained for the Olympics, or well, the circus.

This week, as I was dressing up as a superhero to pose for a facebook picture, something clicked. This is why people often say to me things like “you’ve got a great job” or “I’d love a job like that.”

Yes, it does seem like it would be fun to dress like a superhero, or ride up and down the freight elevator with inmates.

Sure, it’s enjoyable to spend a day at the golf course.

Here’s the thing I discovered this week right around the time I was crafting my wrist bands from old beer cups and pink duct tape:

There is a direct correlation between the stress level in my job and the amount of illicit fun I engage in at that job.

That means that, when I post a picture of me riding around on a hand truck,

there was probably a crazy stressful 12 hour day immediately preceding it.

For example:

This is a picture of me dressed as a pirate for an event.

Sure, that looks like fun, and it was. That event, however also included my being bit by a parrot named Zeus – hard – and repeatedly – until I was bleeding.

So, when you say “I’d like a job like that!” make sure you know what you’re in for.  And make sure you get a tetanus shot.

I love Harry Potter.  A lot.

At first, I refused to read the books, because of all the main-stream hype.  That is until one Christmas break when I was home in Idaho.  I picked up the first book, and didn’t stop reading for the entire trip – until I had finished the first 3 books.

Since then, I’ve been a complete Harry Potter maniac.  It might border on creepy.  I’m not totally sure at this point.

I haven’t dressed as Harry in a couple of years, but I did.  Every year.  In law school.  When I worked at the Oregon Court of Appeals.  I was a good Harry.

This week, with the opening of the 6th movie “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” I considered whether to dig my costume out of storage and wear it to the midnight opening, or to dress as a muggle and wait until Friday afternoon and pay the matinee price.

My recent ex-girlfriend, Leigh,  and I decided to go Friday afternoon, sans costume, though I may have frightened a child dressed as Hermione when I ran up to her to ask whether she liked the movie.  Usually, kids are much more fun to talk with about Harry Potter.  Usually…

Saturday night, though, at a summer BBQ, I was reminded of one of the great things about my ex.  During a story I was telling about answering the door for Jehovah’s Witnesses while reading a freshly-released Harry Potter book, Leigh interrupted me.

“It was the 5th book.”

I had just stated that I was reading the 7th book at the time.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,”  she said simply.  “We’ve been together for two books.”

Excellent.  Not, we’ve been together for 4 years.  No, “we’ve been together for two books”.

Leigh has asked me before why I love her.  It can be hard to put into words why I love a person.  The why isn’t that important to me.  In that moment, however, I knew this is why.  There are certain people in  my life that share a language – a shorthand – for how the world works.  Measuring our relationship in terms of Harry Potter books was a powerful reminder for me of how important funny little things can be, and how wonderful it is to share that kind of shorthand with someone who isn’t afraid to sit next to you when you have a stuffed bird on your shoulder.

Those are the friends you’ll have forever.

Okay.  If you play Frisbee golf, don’t practice in a busy park where people are trying to relax.  Find another location.  If for some reason you are still tempted to practice in the busy park, here’s a preview of what you could be in for.

If you have a queasy stomach, I’d go look at today’s vocab and just skip this one.

Last night Leigh and I took Libby to the park for a walk and talk and a little meditation.  About 2 minutes after I’d set my alarm for the 20 mins of quiet time, a group of guys walked down the path next to our park bench and started playing Frisbee.  About a minute after that, we heard “HEADS,” as something hit the tree above us and rocketed down into Leigh’s head.

Not awesome.

Initially, I thought it was just a normal Frisbee, so I was concerned, but not freaked out.  No, it was a frickin’ Frisbee golf flying death device.  These things are like hard, heavy plastic discus bludgeons.  Not conducive to meditation.

Long story short, we ended up on hold with 911, with a visit from the EMTs, and a trip to the ER.

The dudes with the discus of death ended up with a load in their shorts and an earful from Leigh.  They have promised not to practice in busy parks ever again.  Good call guys.

Fortunately, I had the camera!  Here are the highlights:

Leigh’s head after it stopped bleeding.  That’s my hand-print…

Leigh being bandaged.  The EMTs were a little quick to say there was no other way to bandage her head.  Very funny, guys.

Also, did you know that if you walk into the ER looking like this, you don’t have to wait – at all?  True story.  The guy in front of us who was complaining of back pain and face-swelling had to go sit in the waiting room.  Tough brake, Man.

Libby the bloodhound.  She was seriously begging to lick his hands.  Not a good sign.

I think Leigh had an uncanny resemblance to the Batman character, Two-Face.  Pretty funny given she’s basically a prosecutor.

The ER doc said we’re “cool patients.”  That’s right.  Remember that.

Well, at least something good came of this.  If the whole law thing doesn’t work out for Leigh, at least she makes a cute nun…or member of the Spamalot cast – whichever really.

So, what have we learned:

1.  Don’t play with Frisbee golf death devices around other people.

2.  If you go to the ER with a swelling face issue, make sure you wrap it in bloody bandages first.

3.  We’re cool patients.

When I was little, my grandfather (who is a bigger kid than I am) got a big kick out of bringing my sister and me rock candy – you know, the candy that looks like pebbles.  It took us a couple of times to realize that we could actually eat the present.  Even so, I was never super comfortable with the idea.

This weekend, on a trip to the Gorge with friends, I ran across a gem and rock show at Cascade Locks.

Among the bins of polished rocks, strings of beads, and great chunks of amethyst, we found this:

Yup.  That’s one gumball machine filled with, you guessed it, gumballs, and one filled with rocks.  It seems the person who set up the machines sensed the inherent danger in this situation.  If you look closely at the label on the rock machine, you’ll see “do not eat.  is not candy.  it’s rocks.”

Yeah.  Good call.