Wednesday, September 21, 2011

A Poem of Passion:

'Twas a bright sunny day, in my pretty town of Portland
I bustled down the street, my purpose important. 

In my arms, clutched tightly, I held my reverse-fade raw denim
In my mind, equally fixed-my dreams of stiches and hemmin'

I reached the Tailor's shop, the door thrown wide open
I strode in casually, confidently, there was no slow-pokin'

But to my surprise, as I looked left, and as I looked right
There was no one, not a single person in sight!

I awkwardly scuffled to the counter, looking for a bell
I wondered if the shop did indeed have its skills for sale. 

The search for help continued well past the counter
I spotted a back room, sewing machines, maybe the man with the power.

As I crept towards the setup, no sound had escaped my lips
My eyes, saw the Tailor's hands upon his seamstress' hips

She was pushed up against a wall, their intentions made known
From that tiny office, my feet followed by body flown.

In the heat of the moment (mine, not theirs)
My eye spied a motion sensor above that clothes' lair

In and out through that door my legs took me
In and out, trying to make that sensor see

Finally sensed, a loud beep sounded
The Tailor to the front, at last signaled, bounded. 

He was quite short with me, which I thought should be directed towards the pants
I shrugged, garment man--you get it where you can, who knows? It very well may be your last chance. 

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Weirdest Day in the History of Weird Days:

It all started early in the morning, around 9:00 a.m..  I was sitting in my room, the heat of the day (a scorcher, 95 degrees, the hottest day in Portland recorded this year) already seeping in through the walls. My roommate entered my room, sleep evident in his drooping eyes and mussed hair.  He rubbed an eye with the back of one hand and the day began:
"The guy I had over last night stole my phone and my camera, and a bunch of stuff."
"Oh man, I'm sorry that really sucks, are you guys friends?"
"No, I met him at a party last night, he seemed like a chill dude so I invited him over.  When I woke up this morning, all my stuff was missing.  I have been tracking my phone online, I know where he is, would you drive me to go get him?"
"...oh, uh, yeah.  I am not getting out of the car."
--Important side note in story, I did not want to be involved in any sort of fight, and specifically did not wear shoes so I would not have to exit the vehicle.
And we were off! We ended up in a rundown part a town, at an intersection between two busy streets.  The offender was spotted at a bus stop, the car was pulled over, the roommate was out in a flash and confronting the thief.  I surveyed the entire spectacle in my rearview mirror.  As I inspected the situation, a thought flashed through my mind--man, that guy has a sweet bike.
No sooner was the thought conceived, the realization was also born--hey, that's my bike!
I sprang from my car, emergency lights ablaze, and stalked over to the guy in all my barefoot glory.
"This is MY BIKE.  You can't just take things that don't belong to you." (I have since concluded that confrontational statements need to be premeditated.) I walked my bike right back to my car and stuffed it in the hatch.
In the meantime, the man ran, the roommate followed, a punch to the face ensued, the backpack was searched, and the stolen articles were returned to the rightful owner.
We drove home, the roommate was subjected to a long diatribe about discretion on who was to be invited into our home.

The day continued at a summer work party of my cousin's held in Vancouver, where a balloon man approached me and told me he was about to engineer the best balloon structure I had ever seen, and I was not disappointed.

I then proceeded to win a cake.