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The
Paris Hilton Collection
At a gas station in Northern California, I couldn’t help but
stare at a man in his late thirties with a permed mullet, tight
white tank top stretched over his beer gut and cutoff jeans
showing off his bird legs. This is exactly the same outfit that
Paris Hilton wore to marshal a celebrity racing event, although
it hung differently on her. He gave me a squinty Clint Eastwood
stare and puffed out his chest, but I already knew not to mess
with a man with a perm and cutoffs.
The
I-5 Slalom
The orange cone lobby must be very strong in Oregon. Along the
entire I-5 corridor, lane closures forced us to make lane
changes every five to ten miles. Thanks to the Gold Rush and
some subsequent other events, the lane closures didn’t cause too
many delays.
Cedar, Chickens and Jasper’s Stink Eye
Portland is lovely in the summer. Our friends inspired us to
BBQ salmon on a cedar shingle, husband chickens and collect
rainwater in a holding tank when we return to Oakland. We’ll do
at least one of those things, no doubt. We stayed with Brett
and Lorie, who have a young lad named Jasper. Lynn, he liked.
I got the stink eye all weekend long.
It’s
the Law
Based on a small sample of anecdotal evidence, it is my opinion
that there is one characteristic that differentiates Oregon from
Northern California. Self-service pumps are against the law in
Oregon. I don’t know the purpose of this law, but the result is
that when you get out of your car to pump gas, everyone in the
gas station checks out your plates and gives a knowing look.
Funky Bird How’z
Signs viewed on the Oregon and Washington coasts:
1. Fine Food, Bait, Herring
2. Boring Next Exit
3. Paradise Cove Resort Laundromat
4. Sometimes Only Good Lotion
5. Funky Bird How’z
6. Prevent Truth Decay: Brush Up On Your Bible!
7. Kids For Sale--Goat Farm
8. Square and Round Dancing Hall
9. The Sweater Store: We Make Unique Sweaters!
10. Welcome Vacancy Kris Did It
Chris’s Advice
Chris Kennedy’s advice, as always, was spot on. He told us not
to stop in his father’s home town, which has seen better days or
has never seen a good day. The Chevron didn’t have a credit
card reader yet; it did allow me to revisit the halcyon days
when you could fill your pump before paying, though. Chris
advised us not to eat at Lake Quinault Lodge. We had to see what
we should have missed and it was well worth it: $13 got Lynn a
chicken vinaigrette salad, with Worcestershire sauce substituted
for balsamic vinegar. Chris also told us to rent a canoe and
paddle down to the right-hand side of the lake, where the bald
eagle lives. We saw the eagle chase an osprey that dove and
caught a fish. Unfortunately, because we rented inferior
boating technology—a rowboat—our trip to and fro was arduous.
Copyright Jeff Lewis, 2004. |
