The girl and I went to Portland this weekend. It continually baffles me how significant climate changes can be over an area of a few hundred miles. Portland, though relatively similar in scenery and weather, was easily ten degrees warmer than Seattle. The air was… not warm, but comfortable. One could describe it, perhaps, as being ‘without chill’ - where otherwise the significant presence of chill would include itself in any description of weather conditions without necessitating mention.
The goals of our expedition were mostly unclear, the need to “get away” preceding and perhaps stifling (by way of urgency) any need or desire for planning. But we threw in Powell’s and this little Thai spot I’m obsessive about as sort of a loose guideline. Kali had previously never been, and these are the two most significant stops I’m aware of, apart from Burgerville, which although not nearly as significant, has relevance enough for mention. We ate lunch there.
I’m conflicted about Powell’s. Kali says I’m cynical – not just about Powell’s, but that cynicism is an element of my personality more prominent than most others. I don’t really disagree and further, I rather enjoy being cynical, and venture to entertain the possibility that cynicism enhances and defines my personality in a pleasant and endearing way. Perhaps this is the reason that the instinct to identify Powell’s shortcomings is so strong, or perhaps this nature of mine is driven by the desire to take the road less travelled. Powell’s Books enjoys (perhaps revels in) a very widely recognized positive reputation, and not without cause. It is massive, well organized, and contains vast numbers of remarkable books one would likely find almost nowhere else.
Yet with each visit I am reminded more reassuringly… This is a bookstore. A store (which I often dislike to begin with) containing books (which I rarely have the occasion to bother with.) And also to be considered – the ratio of customers to seating availability is so ridiculous and obvious that I consider the possibility it was designed and planned this way. And in pondering, I find this to be something of a contradiction. Let us examine the evidence.
Retail outlets are rarely, if ever, designed with the purpose of serving customers who know what they want. Warehouses were invented for this purpose, warehouses with secret, invisible entrances, shady looking clerks, and a sparse assortment of archaic customer-service equipment, most of which probably doesn’t work. The experience is unique, and custom-tailored to its’ purpose. Retail outlets, alternatively, are driven by another purpose. One of a pleasant browse experience, that their alluring display of products and smotheringly cheerful staff will guide you, helplessly, to a purchase you – in all likelihood – probably didn’t want to make.
Ice cream shops are a prime example. Each available flavor, accessory, and topping is placed in plain view in such a manner that anyone – literally anyone - tall, short, large, small, tiny, crippled, and sometimes blind – can quickly undergo the process of viewing the available options and becoming ravenous for a particular assembly or combination. Ice cream shops are so efficient with this experience that even with a long line, a person can often find themselves having obtained and begun consuming a delicious treat without retaining much memory of the affair. I’ll take this opportunity to identify that even with all these things making this a quick, easy, and satisfying ‘browse’ experience, they almost always have plenty of seating.
Back in the old days, when I read a lot of books all the time, there was a phrase: “Don’t judge a book by its’ cover.” This was a very popular phrase, as it was nearly impossible to tell if the book you had was any good without digging your way through the first chapter or two. At the least. As you may imagine, this can take some time. Time preferably not spent standing. I digress. Take from this what you will.
We also went ice-skating at Lloyd Center. It has been a while since I’ve done this, and let me tell you… for such a simple (though, let’s be fair – ingenious) concept, it’s a real kick in the pants. I’m not very good, but it’s still a lot of fun. As a side-bonus, I even got hassled by the management for breaking the rules. Ah, the little things in life…
Later we stopped in at an Irish pub, one that still has a smoking section. As, it’s not in the state of Washington. As I became aware of this, I also became aware of a driving urge to go sit in the smoking section and smoke (though I don’t) just for the experience I’m denied in my homeland. Beyond this unexpected, nostalgic moment, lay an authentic Irish pub - the kind of authentic you don’t see back home. The tables were small, dark brown, scattered haphazardly, and plentiful. The building was made of crumbling, prehistoric brick (or an astounding facsimile thereof). Naturally Guinness had made its’ presence known, there were even green banners featuring brands I’ve never heard of that looked unpronounceable in such a way that only Ireland can manifest. As we left, a city cop with a kilt and that funky Scottish hat was making his way into the establishment with an eager grin.
We then – somewhat drunkenly – made our way across the street and had some Thai that was @#$%ing unbelievable and amazing and awesome. Holy $#!+ these guys are good. I knew it was going to be good, it always is. I’m going to stop myself here, because I can feel the enthusiasm taking over, and it won’t, likely, be pretty. Let me just say… Portland’s special place in my heart spoons with the section that hosts my undying love for Thai food.
There are other neat things about Portland, I’m sure. I always get a good feeling when I’m there. Least of them, perhaps, is that it’s a neat city with fun things to do, and it’s vastly superior to anything else that’s even remotely accessible on a whim. It was a good trip, though brief, and long overdue.