My Pacific Northwest Vacation (originally posted 9/26/09)

9/5-9/6 On Sunday, I undertook my first plane trip in almost five years, an American Airlines flight from Philadelphia to Portland, Oregon, via Dallas-Ft Worth. The day before, I packed my belongings and, as it later transpired, forgot a few important items. I also shot a video segment in preparation for an unscripted skit I would shoot with my best friend John in Oregon, who I was visiting along with his fiancée Melissa. What was ominous was a toothache I was developing on the remaining molar I had on the lower left part of my mouth. I woke up at 3:30 AM Sunday morning and traveled to the airport. For some reason, I was ruminating on the quality of good relationships on the way, a typical gesture from me as I usually get philosophical before undertaking any long voyage. Why, I do not know. I dropped my one luggage at the curbside pick-up, and waited a bit in the car on the side of a road at the airport before being dropped off. Miraculously, I saw a wild rabbit in Philadelphia. Go figure. I took a swig of Children’s Motrin (I do not swallow capsules or pills), which would be all the fortification I would have for my developing toothache until I arrived in Portland.  I was seen off, and I committed the cardinal sin of cutting the TSA line ahead of a family taking an interminable amount of time to do God-Knows-What. I was corrected. After taking off my flip-flops and receiving clearance, I had a very successful bathroom trip before boarding, which I considered a good sign. I then said a brief prayer before boarding. The plane ride to Dallas-Ft Worth, the first leg of my flight, was uneventful. There was plenty of room on board. After politely listening to the perfunctory directions given by the stewardess on what to do on the plane and in case of an emergency (see, it’s important to wear a seat belt to lessen the impact when you smash headfirst into the mountain). I read a bit from a chess book I had brought and also wrote a song in preparation for a possible music video John and I would shoot in Portland (sample lines: “You wave the Bible and praise your God/to attack what you fear/Gays right now/Negroes and Indians and others throughout the years,” a line about my fellow Christians in general, and “Give lip service, sing, and pray with others/But you’re such a phony fool/Why think you’re with Jesus/when you forget the Golden Rule?,” written with a more specific person in mind). However, I soon realized this effort to be Phil Ochs was found wanting, to be charitable, and instead asked the tall and gorgeous blonde stewardess who was not handling our section of the plane a question about switching planes in Dallas and, I forget why, but we started talking about food and I mentioned that I had brought some vegan bars on the plane. I felt very confident having a conversation with a woman whose attractiveness would have made me hem and haw years ago. I considered this progress. The tooth held up just nicely. We landed early in Dallas, and things were going too well. Of course, a one-hour delay for the final leg of my trip was soon announced and, as it turned out, the plane I was on, which was also the plane slated to head to Portland, had a light indicating a door was ajar, and a replacement plane needed to be found. I walked around the airport and did notice that Texas women did not necessarily wear more make-up, but sure knew how to use it. The souvenir stores had Dallas Cowboys, Texas Longhorns, and Willie Nelson items- you do not really realize, even with the accents, that you are in a different part of the country until you see this type of merchandise. I was a bit hungry, not having had much of a breakfast, but the $8.79 Pizza Hut personal pan pizza was a bit too steep in price for me. Naturally, the airport was air-conditioned, and my tooth started hurting. I sat in a chair with the sun beating down on it, and felt much better. The plane ride was much more uncomfortable on the Dallas-Portland leg. All the seats were filled- thankfully, I had a right aisle seat. A friendly-enough college girl sat to the right of me. She first offered the person in the window seat a piece of gum, and then me. I joked that if she offered me a piece a few more times in the next half-hour, I’d know that my breath wasn’t up-to-par. Seated directly in front of me and to the immediate right in front of me were two heavier people who 1) leaned back their seats and 2) blasted the a/c, which did wonders for my tooth. I propped my knees in the chair in front of me to prevent further penetration into my space. I really could not ask the guy in front of me to move, since the person in front of him, an attractive yet smaller woman had HER seat leaning back as well. I did not want to penalize the person behind me, so I suffered. My tooth was hurting, so I tried to distract myself by copying an entire chapter of a chess book by hand. It worked, and the ride ended before I knew it. After landing, I headed to the luggage claim area. I spied a pretty brunette who I noticed on the first leg of my journey and joked that, given the plane switch, this would be the test to see if our luggage changed along with it. No shyness. I got my bag and called Melissa, who picked me up. We headed to the Target and Trader Joes stores in Beaverton to pick up some items for me- I am both a seafood-eating vegetarian and a picky eater. At Target, I bought Boca Patties and the cashier, a pretty brunette with the same first name and last initial as someone I used to speak with, started asking me about whether or not they tasted good and we started chatting it up, and Melissa later said the cashier and I really started hitting it off. Alas. At Trader Joe’s, I immediately headed to the dairy section. “Where’s my organic chocolate milk?,” I panicked. What I saw instead was this local brand of 2% chocolate milk produced by a Portland company named Sunshine Dairies, which turned out to be the most delicious chocolate milk I've had in a while. Score one for Portland. We picked John up at his place of work- he’s a massage therapist, and allegedly quite a good one. We hugged when we saw each other, but not, ahem, as warmly as Western Europeans. It really had been a long time. We picked apart the crappy song I wrote, and then undertook our first adventure. Sight-seeing? Nope, a ride on Mongoose bikes I had proposed to a pizzeria named Pizza Schmizza near the stores I had just been to. We rode our bikes like kids, and I had a blast wearing my 2006 Italian National Team soccer uniform. This journey reminded me of the only time in my school life that I ever cut class, which was 8th grade lunch (sorry, Mom and Dad. Please do not disown me. John put me up to it). We ordered our slices and the cashier asked us how we were doing. We answered and asked the cashier, an attractive and tall college-age blonde with brown glasses and two rings pierced in her upper lip, the same. “Living the dream” was the reply. I just heard my newest catchphrase, perfect for a person in a soul-crushing job. After eating an acceptable slice of pizza, we headed back to Melissa's house. Of course, it started to pour and the ride was marked by me falling behind John, uncomfortable with the terrain, and then peddling like mad on the straight-aways to catch up. Back in my day, I used to undertake 50-mile bike rides without stopping. Sadly, it is no longer "my day." We got back and Melissa made us a nice salmon dinner, with the brown rice being much more tender than when I try. “But if crying and holding on/And flying on the ground is wrong” (“Flying on the Ground Is Wrong” Buffalo Springfield) 9/7 After taping our first skit of the week, a parody of a 1985 Von Erich t-shirt commercial (when I discovered that I had neglected to pack a dress shirt that would have been so appropriate for the shoot), John and I headed to Portland. Since I learned ahead of time that Portland does not have too many tourist attractions per se, my goal was to hit the most popular spots and immerse myself in the spirit of the town. This I achieved. We took the MAX, a monorail clean in appearance, to the base of a hill near Washington Park. We walked up some steep, San Francisco-like hills and entered the park via its so-called International Test Rose Garden (Portland is called the Rose City). The garden, logically, had nothing but roses, a perfect place to spend time with your equally-straight male best friend. The day was overcast in the lower 60’s, and the walk up the hills was not exhausting, and I was wondering why I was cascading with sweat wearing only a short-sleeved polo shirt and shorts. I could not get over that. Pleased that I was doing something touristy, we then headed to the Portland Japanese Garden, described by tourist guidebooks as the most realistic replica of a Japanese garden in the USA. John explained the significance of various stops in the garden, none of which I committed to memory. The visit to the Garden was pleasant enough and, upon leaving, John bought a gift membership for Melissa, who loves the place and most things Asian. John and I took a train downtown, first walking past PGE Park, home of the minor-league Portland Beavers, and headed to the Pioneer Courthouse Square, the center of downtown Portland. I ordered what I had anticipated being cheese pizza at a murky dive misleadingly named Rocco’s Pizza, my critique of which has been preserved for posterity on a YouTube clip. It was BY FAR the worst slice of pizza I have ever had. We walked across the street to the famous Powell’s Books, easily the best bookstore I have ever been to. New books sit side-by-side with used books, and I was awed at the chess book section as well as the music section. My molar was starting to hurt, but I was mollified by looking at the clientele at the store. There were many attractive, smart-looking women (and sophisticated-looking men for you ladies out there). Also on tap were people from all walks of life, hair colors, tattoos, and piercings embracing various cultural groups- truly a cosmopolitan experience. After leaving the store, I espied a beautiful blonde in a hippie dress walking with a female friend, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen (and, normally, as people who know me well can attest, I normally do not gravitate towards blondes). John and I headed back to the train to connect us to the train to take us back to Beaverton. Melissa made some homemade pizza out of crust she was disappointed with, but I liked it. “Goodnite, my love/Pleasant dreams and sleep tight, my love/May tomorrow be sunny and bright/and bring you closer to me/Goodnite.” (“Goodnite My Love” Jesse Belvin) 9/8 Melissa was a bit hesitant to let us drive her Ford Explorer to Seattle, an understandable notion given the 2.5 hour time frame it takes to get there and the 115,000+ miles already on it. So, I scrambled to rent a car and chose a local Enterprise which, for a weekday, had an interminable wait, even though cars were available and I booked my car online before arriving there. Eventually, we got into our rental, a Nissan something, and headed towards Seattle, crossing a bridge on Rte 5 into Washington. Another state I can check off my list of states visited. On our way north, I saw Mount St. Helens to my right for a bit. I stopped in Olympia just to take a photo of the state capitol (I also have one of Montpelier, VT, if interested), and we then drove into Seattle. The ride seemed quick to me. This feeling of briskness was replaced by frustration, as it took forever to finally find an appropriate parking garage that would take cash. None of the other garages had read my credit card (don’t worry, I’m not maxed out- just a problem with the strip on the back), and the fuel light was on. To find the garage later, I took a cell phone photo of the intersection by the parking garage, an extremely useful travel tip I came up with. Another useful idea is to take a picture of the number of your parking spot. John warned me ahead of time that the attitude of Seattle as a bit harsh and impersonal. As someone based on the east coast, I was curious to see this for myself. Our first stop, and my primary reason for coming to Seattle, was to see Microsoft’s co-founder Paul Allen’s Experience Music Project (EMP) museum, created primarily due to his love for Jimi Hendrix. I could never get into Hendrix, but I was there to see a wing of the museum titled the Northwest Passage, which briefly touched upon the history of Pacific Northwest Rock and Roll. I marked out after seeing the Paul Revere and the Raiders display, as well as an original LP of Don and the Goodtimes, a local NW unit. There were plenty of Hendrix artifacts, as well as Kingsmen artifacts. A pleasant surprise was seeing on display an old dress belonging to the lovely Gretchen Christopher, a member of a vocal trio named the Fleetwoods (Come Softly to Me, Mr. Blue). Of course, I took videos and pictures of everything I was allowed to. Also on display was Michael Jackson’s glove and outfit from the Motown 25th anniversary special but, despite this, I found the museum objectively a bit overpriced at $15.00, although worth it for me. John and I then visited the adjacent, so-called Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame, which came with the ticket. This "Hall of Fame" only had a few rooms, but did have artifacts from Star Trek, ET, Blade Runner, Planet of the Apes, etc. John bemoaned the lack of recognition for Doctor Who. Our next stop was the Space Needle, the most famous tourist attraction in Seattle. It was created for the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair, which inspired a very bad Elvis movie. The Space Needle, along with the EMP, is located in Seattle Center, the touristy part of Seattle. We went up the Space Needle, which takes only 41 seconds. It was a clear day, and I got some great views of Seattle and the lovely Mt. Rainier, off in the distance. We spent an hour up there, absorbing it all and taking pictures that did not do the views justice- a constant theme of this trip. After leaving the Space Needle, we took a monorail from the Center to a vantage point six blocks from our next destination, the Pike Place Market. The Pike Place Market is also world-famous, most notably for the fish market where the employees serve customers in a boisterously outgoing way. John and I got to the market around 6 PM and I saw delicious dried strawberries that I wanted at one stand, but John kept walking. I made a mental note to return to buy them. We explored the market, saw the fish market, and saw that many stores were closed for the day. Of course, when I got back, the store that had the dried strawberries was closed. My tooth really started acting up, and I searched for a place in the market that would sell hot chocolate and could not. John eventually suggested the Starbucks across the street from the market and, after I ordered a medium hot chocolate, mentioned en passant that this was the very first Starbucks. Like, as a tourist, I wouldn't have minded this being brought up even without my patronage of the store. I had my beverage and felt better. John and I headed to the Seattle Waterfront, and I took in the Puget Sound. At one pier, we saw a reddish-brown long-haired woman dressed very much like a street worker talking to a man in business attire. Until I started typing this, I did not even think of the Pretty Woman movie. Suddenly, John and I were accosted by a man asking for change. We demurred, and I revealed to John that the man was Karl Cobain, Kurt's brother. We then walked past the Seattle Aquarium, a place whose description I read afterwards makes me want to visit there when I head back to the Pacific Northwest in 2011 for John's and Melissa's wedding. The day was getting late, and we walked back to downtown Seattle and, after a brief stop at a Seattle Mariners store, took the train back to the Seattle Center. I took a picture of the Space Needle at night, and we headed back to the parking garage. Oh, yes, that pesky fuel light was still on. Being unfamiliar with Seattle, we asked a cashier for the location of the nearest gas station. However, we drove right past the turn for it, and I uneasily trekked onto Rte 5, nonetheless fairly sure I would find a gas station. I took the first exit that felt as if it would have a gas station, and found one. The gas was expensive, and I wanted to put only $10 in the tank to get us back. John said, "Humor me," and put $5.00 extra towards the fuel. After an interminable trip back, where John's posture as a passenger never once slumped (an amazing feat), we got back, and I enjoyed my Sunshine Dairy chocolate milk. “Gotta hear me, you can’t please them all, should you try/They don’t care if you live or die/’Cause their losers/What a shame (cryin’ shame)/I’m gonna show you to a brand new game.” (“Good Thing” Paul Revere and the Raiders.) 9/9 Yeah, today is 9/9/09. Whatever. John and I completed our Tony Little skit, introducing the Jizzelle as our long-awaited follow-up to our previous smash, the Penis Isolator. John got ready for work and I prepared to take my first solo voyage, an exploration of the Columbia Gorge and Mt. Hood. I went to a gas station and an associate approached me, my way of discovering that the State of Oregon does not have self-serve gas stations. I hit a traffic jam in Portland on the way to Rte 84 and did not panic, even with the clock ticking. Eventually, I freed myself and headed east. I took the Historic Columbia River Highway, which turned out to be the most scenic road I have ever been on. I first stopped at the Vista House and got some great mental and photographic snapshots of the Columbia Gorge, and then stopped at various falls on the way to my ultimate destination on this road, Multnomah Falls. I first stopped at Latourell Falls because I saw other cars stopped there. I walked a short distance on a paved path flanked by huge rocks, trees, and hills and then saw a 249-ft fall that took my breath away. It was so beautiful, so romantic, so pristine, and I was in awe. Excitedly, I called my wife and described it. It was one of the most beautiful scenes of nature I have ever seen. After taking this in, I explored Bridal Veil Falls, which was smaller in height but equally beautiful, nestled in the dark green woods. Then, on my last stop prior to the main event, I walked up Wahkeena Falls, and just had to shake my head in awe over how amazing this road of falls was. What makes all these falls recommendable is that they receive about 1/50 of the attention Multnomah Falls gets, but are beautiful. That said, the 620-ft Multnomah Falls, most popular natural attraction in Oregon and the 4th largest fall in the US, was amazing. An arched bridge directly in front of the falls where one can get some great pictures and just soak it all in leads to a hilly paved path with many turns that leads you to the top of the Falls. It is a steep, challenging walk. Of course, I decided to walk it without first hydrating. I completed the walk without too much difficulty. Surprisingly, I was underwhelmed at the site from the top of the Falls. I was nervous about dropping my camera taking pictures. I walked back down the hill and, all of a sudden, had a wistfully sad song I was creating on the fly humming in my head with a melody I created that matched the solitude I felt at that moment. Unfortunately, I forgot the lyrics, but I imagined myself on Oprah singing it for the 30-50 year-old moms in her audience. At the gift shop, I bought a small bottle of marionberry jam I have no intention of eating and Wild Huckleberry Gummi Bears which, despite, my tooth, munched on. The day was getting late, and I wanted to see Mt. Hood before dark. I got back on the I-84 heading east. I stopped at a convenience store, and was told the best exit to see Mt. Hood. Once I got off at the directed exit, I saw Mt. Hood in the distance, the first time I had ever seen a real mountain. I excitedly rushed to take a picture from the first clear vantage point I had and then, as I drove south towards the mountain, kept on repeating the process. I was really moved and almost in tears as I got closer and closer to the mountain. It was a weekday, and I was virtually alone on this beautiful road. A spring spewing from a rocky roadside would appear unannounced a few times. I really felt close to God. I thought, although my relationships with humans have left me wanting, there was so much natural beauty on earth that a true relationship with God should never leave one wanting, which reminds me of the Parable of the Mustard Seed. What I wrote later that night on Facebook still seems valid at this later date: “Appreciating the natural gifts God has bestowed helps one to absorb the ‘blows of fate.’ Sometimes, one must take two steps backwards to move one step forward.” “Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain/Telling me just what a fool I’ve been/I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain/And let me be alone again. Oh, listen to the falling rain/Pitter patter, pitter patter.” (“Rhythm of the Rain” the Cascades.) 9/10 My plan today was to see Mt St Helens and then drive southeast towards Mt Hood again. I drove up the I-5 in Washington and reached Exit 21, the first of two exits for Mt St Helens. I stopped at a trailer which represented a visitor information center and an old woman there gave me some papers, brochures, and maps for my journey. She mentioned that another woman working with her knew more about the area, but was out to lunch. She eventually started talking to me, and I feared being trapped there for a long time and then having the other woman show up and being trapped there even longer. Well, the other woman did arrive with a bag from McDonalds and started mapping out Route 504 off of Exit 49, the exit a half-hour away and was strongly recommending taking that route. I asked about taking Rte 503, the road I was on, and she acknowledged that this would take you to the southern end of the mountain, but I really needed to go to Route 504. They also mentioned the trip from the I-5 to Helens would take 2.5 hours. Uh-oh. Ditch the return to Mt. Hood. I thanked them for their time and left. Instinctively, I decided to drive the extra half-hour to the more northern exit for Helens. I got off on the exit and, after a ½ mile of stores and fast food restaurants, drove down a road that became more and more rural. Driving east on a bright, sunny day, the landscape became prettier and prettier. The trees and hills became more apparent, the houses and buildings started to disappear. My cell phone lost reception as I drove further east on the 504, which really made me feel closer to nature! As the pastoral drive became even more wonderful, I was extremely grateful that I stopped at the visitor center I had earlier tried to flee prematurely. The ride on Rte 504 increases in elevation as you approach Mount St. Helens. There are several lookouts with gift shops along the way, first at Hoffstadt Bluffs (elevation 1,400’) and then at the Forest Learning Center (elevation 2,650’). Both places are ideal for pictures with Mount St. Helens in the distance. Finally, you reach the Johnston Ridge Observatory (elevation 4,200’), which is right at the northwest end of Mt. St. Helens and allows you to stare directly at the crater of Helens from the vantage point where the magma (not lava) from the volcano travelled towards. I would definitely recommend watching the 16-minute film that plays in the visitor center there to understand the events and the magnitude of what happened there. For the record, as a brochure I picked up at the Exit 21 visitor center stated, “At 8:32 a.m., May 18, 1980, a 5.1 magnitude earthquake shook Mount St. Helens, triggering a massive explosion. The release of gases trapped inside the volcano sent 1,300 vertical feet of mountaintop rocketing outward to the north. Super-heated ash roared 60,000 feet into a cloudless blue sky. The cataclysmic blast- carrying winds that reached 670 miles per hour and temperatures of 800 degrees Fahrenheit- flatted 230 square miles of forest. Elk, deer, and wildlife were obliterated. 57 people were killed…..the largest landslide in recorded history swept through the Toutle River Valley, choking pristine rivers and lakes with mud, ash, and shattered timber, eradicating trout and salmon.” More hilariously, a travel guide book I picked up from the library on Seattle informed me that our former 33rd president Harry Truman, “who had lived near the mountain for more than 50 years,” also died after refusing to leave before the predicted devastation. Viewing and exploring Mt. St. Helens was a very moving experience for me. I decided to walk on a trail towards the crater of Helens. Despite being a mountain, the sun beating down, the arid air, the hissing sounds of insect life, and the modest vegetation made the atmosphere almost desert-like. Of course, I did not hydrate before my sojourn. I explored the dusty trail and drifted further and further from the Observatory. I was forty minutes into my walk when, suddenly, I tripped on either a rock or a divot. I twisted my right ankle again! Fortunately, I felt better after tightening my running shoes and walked it off. More fortunately, as I continued, a couple was walking towards me on the way back from their hike. I took a picture of them, and they took one of me, a picture I will always cherish. Even more fortunately, they told me they had been walking for four hours. I summed up the situation: getting close to 5 PM, no water, just twisted my ankle, a sign warning me about wildlife, being alone, more places to see, etc. I walked for ten more minutes and then headed back at a quicker pace. I listened to a well-informed park ranger, saw the exhibits inside the visitor center, and headed back west. Driving back, I stopped at Coldwater Lake, a large and beautiful lake formed naturally after the Helens disaster. I thought nothing could top the ride I had yesterday, but this day moved me just as much. Sadly, unlike the previous day, I did not videotape anything, for I had neglected to bring my camcorder battery charger on my flight. Damn! Seymour loved feasting on the insects. “You see they never roll the streets up ‘cause there’s always somethin’ goin’/Surf City, here we come!” (“Surf City” Jan and Dean) 9/11 Today’s mission was to explore the Pacific Ocean. I imagined a stroll in my rental car down a Pacific Coast highway affording great views of the ocean, much like the ride my wife and I took on our honeymoon from San Simeon to San Luis Obispo to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, Route 101 did not quite skirt the ocean. However, although I really did not see a rocky coastline similar to those of Maine or California, I was not disappointed with my final solo day. I first visited Cannon Beach. Despite this being a Friday, I was able to find parking. I walked onto the beach with my camera, some water, a book, and a towel, while wearing a blue polo shirt and shorts. Then, it hit me. I AM ON A BEACH ON THE PAFICIC OCEAN!!! I walked right back to my rental car, took my clothes off, and put on a sleeveless cool max shirt and my running shorts. I found an appropriate place on the beach, lay down, relaxed, and got a nice tan. I took lovely pictures of some huge waves crashing on Haystack Rock, a rock in the ocean rising 236 feet above the water’s surface. After enjoying a soft-serve chocolate ice cream, keeping the food in the right side of my mouth, I headed north towards Astoria and reached Ft. Stevens State Park, a nice recreational area that allows you to enjoy the Pacific Ocean to the west and the historically famous Columbia River (Lewis and Clark), the second largest river in the U.S., to the north. The sand on the beach at the park was much less soft than on Cannon Beach. An interesting artifact on the beach was the wooden remnants of the Peter Iredale, a ship that crashed ashore. Nearby is Ft. Stevens itself, the only mainland military institution to be fired upon by the Japanese during World War II. Later, I walked to the Columbia River. I saw two older fishermen on the shore catch a fish, and had a thrill having my picture taken with my bare feet immersed in the water. I travelled back south and made a spontaneous visit to Seaside, the beach between Astoria and Cannon Beach and saw the most beautiful sunset ever. As I took some great photos of a sunset, I heard an old woman in a wheelchair sincerely exclaim “My God is an awesome God!” Whether you believe in God or not (and I do), it added to the spirituality of a beautiful moment. Seaside features restaurants, hotels, and shopping stores, plus a two-mile cemented promenade divided into the North Prom and the South Prom, ideal for a romantic walk. The beach has miles of white sand and plenty of distance between the town and the water. At night, people were making campfires. At the center of the beach is a bronze statute of Lewis and Clark, the official spot of the end of the Lewis and Clark expeditions. I headed back to Melissa’s and John’s. Over dinner, we had a fun time talking. John came up with a skit Melissa and I thought we talked him out of, only to see it sneakily resurface as a solo performance on YouTube. John and I also developed our latest in-joke, Rickrolling, to replace our fascination with heisting desks. John, thinking aloud, even thought about Rickrolling Melissa for their wedding, having a Rick Astley sing “Never Gonna Give You Up” in John’s place as Melissa walked down the aisle. I do not think that this is a good idea. 9/12 Happy 61st Birthday, Mom!!!!! My toothache became almost unbearable today. Melissa took me to Enterprise to return my rental, which took forever once I got there. Melissa was a real good sport in waiting for me. Melissa and I drove to an outdoor Farmer’s Market in Beaverton, which was nice. Plenty of fruits and breads I could not enjoy with my now-infected tooth. Melissa drove me to the Hollywood District on Sandy Blvd, ostensibly the home of Mark Lindsay’s (lead singer of Paul Revere and the Raiders) Rock and Roll Café, which featured loads of Raider memorabilia. Unfortunately, as I later found out on louielouie.net, the café closed. As a consolation, Melissa gave me a tour of downtown Portland and, after buying some pain medication, headed back to the house. I took a nap. John came home. For supper, I sucked on some whole wheat pasta with Trader Joe’s Organic Tomato & Basil sauce. Later that night, John and I did our final taped skit, an interview where I portrayed a children’s author of, shall we say, some eclectic titles. 9/13 In the morning, I took all the medication I could to fortify myself for the impending toothache for my return flight. Melissa and John dropped me off at the curbside of Southwest. Awaiting me was a long line of passengers waiting to be checked in that did not seem to be moving. I was a bit worried that I would not make my flight. Also, I had to use the bathroom. Eventually, I checked my luggage in and passed security, then went to the bathroom. I boarded my plane, which had a layover in Kansas City. Earlier, I had been chastised  for not getting online earlier on Saturday to print my tickets. The earlier you print your tickets, the better the seat you can choose, since on Southwest you reserve not a specific seat but your place in an order to choose a seat after you board the plane. As I discovered, choosing a number in the B list and not the A list may not allow you to choose your exact seat, but does allow you to choose who you wish to sit next to, which worked out better. On the first leg, I chose to sit next to a 50-ish looking couple from North Carolina. Immediately next to me was a female with a southern accent. This, I could handle. I focused on a challenging Sudoku puzzle and on my chess book. I landed in Kansas City without any tooth pain. The two-hour layover went quickly by, as I read a book and watched the Redskins on TV in the lounge doing nothing against the Giants. Boarding my flight to Baltimore, I pursued the same strategy and sat next to an old couple occupying the first two seats in a row of three. I was looking forward to coming home. I had a feeling of exhilaration over the trip. However, this was replaced by feelings of a severe emotional letdown over the next two days, as the anticlimactic nature of my life hit me. “The farther one travels/The less one knows/The less one really knows.” (“The Inner Light” the Beatles)