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| Deschutes Brewery and Public House, Portland, Oregon |
I leaf through Eiger Dreams
while sipping coffee on a rooftop patio overlooking Northrup Avenue
and its streetcars. I get distracted and scribble nonsense into my
notebook:
Hypothesis: It is possible to identify a woman's attractiveness by
the sound her shoes make against a hard floor.
Portland is starting to wake up and
return to work after the weekend. I stare at trees lining the street
and think about the day ahead. Again, I get distracted:
Sometimes the most beautiful women wear sandals, which obliterates
the hypothesis. Are they aberrations, or do they prove the need for
an alternate hypothesis?
Sitting on a patio with coffee and my
thoughts soon grows tiresome. I check on Sandra, who is now awake and
who looks great in whatever footwear she chooses.
After a quick hotel breakfast, we take
the streetcar downtown. Our first stop is
Powell's
City of Books, where I keep the damage to a minimum:
- Seamus Heaney, Selected Poems 1966-1987;
several people have recommended his work to me
- Chuck Klosterman, Eating the Dinosaur; someone once
compared an article
I wrote ($) about scrappy baseball players and the band Pavement
to Klosterman's work, so I had to find out why
- Jonathan Raban, Bad Land; I loved his Passage
to Juneau: A Sea and Its Meanings
and thought I'd try another
- John Thorn, Baseball in the Garden of Eden; Thorn is
Major League Baseball's official historian and also once bought me a
beer in Phoenix, but that's another story
- Bruce Weber, As They See 'Em; this is a book about
baseball umpires, a copy of which unbeknownst to me lies on a shelf
back home
We somehow escape Powell's
gravitational pull and walk two blocks north to Deschutes Brewery and
Public House. We enjoy several of their beers (the rich, dark, and
creamy Black Butte Porter being my favorite), along with
well-prepared pub food.
Sandra has Black Butte Porter chili
potato cheese soup, and pork belly with egg and toast. I have a bacon
burger and fries.
After lunch, she wanders off to nearby
boutiques and I beeline to Portland Central Library. We each have our
vices.
Effective today the library is closed
on Mondays, which leads to amusing reactions from potential patrons.
As I later note in
an
article ($), “you haven't lived until you've heard a woman
pushing a stroller launch F-bombs at the city government.”
Plan B involves walking off the beer
and/or reading books I just bought. I find a coffee shop and crack
open Klosterman. He starts with some choice quotes from film director
Errol
Morris:
I think we're always trying to create a consistent narrative for
ourselves. I think truth always takes a backseat to narrative.
And, a few pages later:
If you asked me what makes the world go round, I would say
self-deception.
It's compelling stuff, but a bit much
after a few pints. Eventually Sandra rescues me from my thoughts and
we further explore Portland on foot.
Walking makes us hungry, so we head to
Pioneer Courthouse Square,
which contains the indispensable Visitor Information Center. We
arrive just before closing and ask a woman who clearly appreciates a
good meal for restaurant recommendations. She gives a detailed
response, along with coupons for several places.
We end up at
Ringside
Fish House. Sandra has seared day boat scallops (similar to
this
recipe), while I opt for the pan-roasted Oregon Troll King
Salmon, accompanied by BridgePort Summer Squeeze.
Portland is hosting a barbershop
quartet convention this week. A group of attendees at the table next
to ours gets up and sings. Their harmonies are ridiculously tight.
We finish dinner with housemade ice
cream. Sandra has peanut butter, I have cherry. Both are served with
fresh mixed berries.
Back at the hotel, we close the night
with a bottle of Rogue Shakespeare Oatmeal Stout. I read a little
more Klosterman:
If you stare long enough at anything, you will
start to find similarities.
It is best not to stare too long.
