Don’t worry guys, we’re all totally going to get jobs when this is over. Am I right?
…No? Fuck.
creep club.
>>>
“Let the ocean waves pound you naked from behind! […] There are hundreds of ways to have sensual, erotic and sexual experiences with nature.”
— Annie Sprinkle, in a Q & A for Willamette Week. Sexecology, ecosexuals, who knew?
“[I]f we can hang on, it will be in the twenty-fifties that the manners and meanings of the Obama era will be truly revealed: only then will we know our own essence. A small, attentive child, in a stroller on some Brooklyn playground or Minneapolis street, is already recording the stray images and sounds of this era: Michelle’s upper arms, the baritone crooning of NPR, people sipping lattes (which a later decade will know as poison) at 10 A.M.—manners as strange and beautiful as smoking in restaurants and drinking Scotch at 3 P.M. seem to us.”
— Adam Gopnik, in a commentary piece for the The New Yorker about how we’re infatuated with whatever decade was 40 years ago. Seriously, though, lattes and NPR? Is that our legacy? What about the Bacon Explosion?!?!
My first batch of homebrew is doing its thing! It’s a clone of Bell’s Two Hearted, which is sadly not distributed here.
On Fridays you don’t walk, but rock-out across the street.
For all the photos on FB, instagram, etc. of my friends back in Minneapolis hanging out, partying, loving life and one another, it’s images like this that make me the most homesick. If it’s possible to associate your life in a city with a single intersection, this would be it. 26th and Lyndale, to me: late nights on the CC Club patio over pitchers of Premium and rail vodka sodas (classy!), waiting in line (…for far too long) to order a breakfast burrito at French Meadow, bagels and lox and tiny colorful pots of rooibos at Common Roots. All five of my MPLS residences were within, oh, six blocks of this place.
The other contender is 22nd and Lyndale: Wedge Co-op (cheese, deli food when I was too lazy/hot/hungover to cook) + Hum’s (booze) + Super America (cigarettes, and gas, I suppose). The trifecta of 20-something urban life! Oh, and Caffetto. One of the last times I was there a guy was being chased out of the basement for shooting up just as I arrived, and then I found what appeared to be a very large paint chip in my iced tea.
Still, that coffee shop was open until 1 am, which is more than I can say about any of my current haunts (why is it so friggin difficult to get your caffeine fix after 7 pm in this town? isn’t coffee supposed to be our thing, Portland?).
…
And so I guess I’m back on tumblr, feeding my compulsion to write, making use of too many parentheses and exclamation points and sometimes exclamation points within parentheses(!) as always.
An Asian guy at the Holocene talked to me because I also happen to be Asian. He said, “I just thought I’d say hi because, you know, Asians.” It is difficult to know how to respond to something like that in general, but also, when one is raised by white parents in an ultra-white town in an ultra-white state, it is somewhat difficult to identify as Asian.
I have been told at least six times since moving to Portland that I have no discernible midwestern accent. Two individuals informed me that they would have guessed that I hail from California for reasons seemingly related to my manner of speech and vague notions about people from Wisconsin/Minnesota that appear to have been drawn primarily from Fargo.
My last name is Norwegian and supposedly means ‘north village’; my middle name is Korean and supposedly means ‘beautiful child’ (although I think my parents might have made that up entirely to appease my ten-year-old self, who wanted to change it to something exceedingly vanilla like Ann or Marie, or maybe Lynn).
I’m not exactly sure what ties these things together—something about people always being slightly confused about where I come from for a variety of reasons, but shaping that into a more complete and/or eloquent thought is a little too difficult given the current state of my brain (tired, pre-hungover?).
My first name is a fairly dumb spinoff of Danielle that people are always mispronouncing, always misspelling. This is unrelated to the above string of thoughts but just generally the bane of my existence.
