P-Town Rocks

P-Town Rocks
A California Transplant’s Notes on Portland OR Life

1/26/05 - divorce final.

2/11/05 - LG house sale final. OR house sale final.

2/12/05 - moved to OR. Chuck drove up with the kitties. Nice of him.

2/15/05 – Furniture delivered to new house in OR.

3/4/05 – met Otha Ray XXX. Mista X. What a character – a handsome character. 5’9" – black, shaved head, hard to tell his build due to work uniform (blue security uniform with shoulder radio). Looks like he’s in shape, though. Hershey kiss eyes that could melt into you, all over you. Confident – was a Navy man, 38 years old. Beautiful long eye lashes.

He’s sensuous, handsome, funny, articulate, interesting, and married. No kids, but a wife. He works as a security guard at a downtown SmartPark parking joint – he's very charming. Was originally from Oklahoma. Doesn’t wear a wedding ring, but a gold signet on his right hand. Was stabbed in a bar, while drunk, in a fight over a chick eight years ago, in OK. Is that why he moved to OR? Still likes to drink – prefers cognacs. But doesn’t drink much, says he. Smokes pot, too, as do most Oregonians. He plays the drums. Likes the 49ers football team, played running back and did track when he was younger (high school in OK?). Received a college scholarship for track, but "fucked that up." Only his coach called him OthaRay. No one else. I love that name! He likes the way I say it, says it sounds sexy. Actually, it does. (Maybe it’s my still-crackling voice, leftovers from a recent cold.) And he wears it well. It’s a strong, unusual name for a strong, unusual guy. He says he’s never met anyone like me. Well vice versa. Very personable and willing to talk with a complete stranger for over an hour. But don’t call him Raymond! "My name is Ray. People in OK always tried to call me Raymond – drove me nuts."

Ray has big ideas about starting a four-story club in Portland, with different music/dance venues on each floor (called Otha’s. I said he should call it OthaRay’s House o’ Choice or something like that). Blues, Rock, Country, Rap, whatever, and a five-star restaurant. His ideas include: Limo picks you up from airport, drops you at a helipad, take a helicopter ride to see downtown Portland from bird’s eye view. Drops you on a heliport on top of his building, where people party the night away. (I said why not different drink specials on each floor, depending upon music - martini’s for Blues and Sinatra, etc. Different starters, too.) Sounds fun to me.
As we chatted outside the parking garage on this unusually warm March day, (blue skies, 68 degrees, no wind, patchy clouds) I noticed a name scratched into the cement, RAYGUN: carved in cement in front of SP garage. Is etched in all caps so I don’t know if it’s a nickname or a reference to a sci-fi weapon. Interesting fodder for speculation, Jenny. I liked that – sounded so film noir-ish to me. So of course, that’s his name now. He doesn’t really like it, thinks it sounds like a gangsta, but I like it. Cool. Kool and the Gang cool. He likes "old" terms, "old" music (from the 70s and 80s! And earlier, thank God) and speaks/listens knowledgeably. Fun, sexy, sexy man. I could just eat him up. Of course, I’ll look for him again at the parking lot. Stay outta trouble, JennyPenny! He works days Tuesday through Friday. He said I should write a book or stories because he doesn’t buy the "I’m not confident enough bullshit". Good call, OthaRay!

I bought a used cowboy hat (brown leather with brown leather braided trim) today and Ray liked it – said it caught his attention (looked Indiana Jones-ish to him, but not to me) as he watched me cross the street before he greeted me, and I him. He said "hi, how are you?" I said "fine. Hey wait – how are you?" He looked so content – like his life was good and all was right with the world. We immediately hit it off together. I asked when he got off work and could I buy him dinner? He said "5 o’clock, and sounds good." But no doing, Jenny. He’s married, as I soon found out. It was about 3 o’clock, so I said "too late for me, I won’t hang around that long." Turns out I was talking to him until after 4 o’clock PM. Figures. That hat has already been fun and a good investment. What else will happen to me when I wear it? Is that the story? Cool.

More details. Ray loves high heels on women. Why? Got the usual "heels make women's legs look better" shit. As he was talking, I interrupted him with my "boy boots" story, as usual. He said later, after hearing about my back surgeries, he wanted to give me a back rub some day. I’m game. I’d even wear high heels for a mo’. (As long as I didn’t have to walk in them. For me now, high heels are just CFM shoes.) He also said maybe we could get together someday and sip some wine. I told him I’d be all over him – he’s irresistible. He just smiled. Asked me "what if I was all over you?" I said "it’d be great if it was mutual, but all I know is I’d get in trouble with you for a short time, for certain!" We’ll see. Be careful, JennyJoy. Maybe I should have given him my phone number – but no – wait a minute! Married! I deserve an available man, huh.

POSSIBLE IDEA: Raymond is the Grandad (sr.) OthaRay (Ray) is the Dad (jr.) Son (the third) is RayGun. Hey – the story isn’t about Ray. I don’t know enough about him. Maybe it’ll be about me and my travels and hard-knock lessons. And about making an adventure everywhere you go – a natural storyteller. New Millennium Noir. New MillenNoir? Cool.

I want to fashion a story similar to Seth Morgan’s "Homeboy." If you haven't read this book, what are you waiting for? It's so fucking great. All about life in SF's Tenderloin District, full of street slang and such. Definitely an education.

Another possible character: Turtle. His real name is Melvin, he recently turned 35. He’s a tweaker, black, skinny, wears a hooded sweatshirt, has twitchy movements and eyes – always on the lookout for a scam, money and/or potential marks. Apparently, Turtle has a history of thievery, drugs, panhandling, etc. He’s been told to clear out of area (Smart Park garages) (by Ray, my guide to "real life, street life, this life." Turtle is watched and his behavior is documented, via guard reports, at SP garage.

3/8/05
Ray – yep, went there. Even though I said I wouldn’t. Just too delicious an opportunity to turn down. His body is spectacular. Muscled, hard, soft, smooth, proud, brown, and beautiful. So is he. Spent about two hours at my house, and approximately ½ hour in my bed. He said that wasn’t long enough and he wanted to spend a lot more time exploring me and him. I’m game. I’m still grinning. He’s very open and honest. He felt wonderful! Good kisser, too. Bottom lip sucker, chewer. Yummy. I was so shy and unsure, at first. Dawdled around and acted so nervous. But then I decided what the hell, too late for coy. I knew what would happen when I said "sure, let’s go to my place." Hey, in for a penny – gave him my phone number and email, too. Broke all my self-imposed (right!) rules.

3/9/05
Went to "Smart Park" to check out the street scene. Too much time on my hands and it’s a quick drive to downtown to hang. Saw Ray. He finished work early – 4:00 pm vs. 5:00 pm. He asked if he could come over to my place for a cold beer and some smoke. Like I said no. Ha! Was a good time – lots of conversation, with my muted 55-incher in the background. He loves that new Sony system. (So do I – who’s zooming who.) Such a guy, huh. All these beautiful items and antiques around this house, and the TV gets his admiration. (And me – how cool is that.) We each had a beer, talked, smoked weed, laughed, philosophized about life and people. No sex. But we talked about it. Not enough time – he had to go home to his real life.

Ray has been married five years, "been knowing" his wife for 15. "I haven’t been single since I was 18. I don’t think I would be a good bachelor," he told me. I said "yes, you would – you’re here at my house – you’re doing fine. You don’t know me well enough to know how unusual this is, but it is." Maybe he meant in other ways. Dunno.

Ray’s words of race "wisdom" include the following generalizations. "White women look sexy without clothes, Black women (sistas) look sexy with clothes. He says white women are more participative during sex, sistas aren’t as responsive and "take longer." Also – sistas don’t listen and will argue, yell and cuss, "even when they know you right." Even though he's full of shit, at least I know that about him. Okay, I’ll say it "I’m crushing on him, a little bit."

3/10/05
Am in my car, parked in front of Jelly Beans, taking notes of Portland’s Thursday life.

Atmosphere
Posted everywhere: "No Public Restrooms." Obviously, big loitering problem in Portland – at least this area of 10th and SW Morrison. Ray tells me there is lots of public urination and such – curbs, phone booths, alleys, etc. How sad, methinks. No dignity – but I guess that’s the crux of the matter with homelessness, drugs and begging. Basically, street life.

Jelly Beans – notions store. Sells gift cards and such. Political satires, sex jokes and cards, bumper stickers. "Blue State" signs all over – "No Bush" signs, too. Another bumper sticker, displayed in front window: "If you can’t trust me with a choice, how can you trust me with a child?" Good one.

Downtown Portland Main Library. Huge public library. Has beautiful marble steps – each floor a different carved design and different colored marble. (Five floors.) The first floor steps are dark green, ornately carved with hidden figures. There is a giant children’s section – the Beverly Cleary wing. Has a custom sculpted bronze tree with hidden figures, too (violins, turtles, horns, squirrels, etc.). This tree and the green marble steps remind me of a "Hi Lites" magazine. Great fun to play "I spy" with myself.

An ever-churning variety of street people hang in front of the Library, discretely panhandling "city" folk. These people are drunks, druggies, tweakers, musicians, etc. They look haunted, hungry and lonely. Most are fucking skinny and many have bandages and/or casts or other wounds – evidence of a tough life fending for oneself and defending the territorial battles that go on. One guy had been stabbed in his right eye, which was closed up and puffy. Scary looking. Off duty Portland Sheriffs (Don and Terry, so far) patrol the front steps and surrounding benches. The "Streets" stay away. So of course, I like to hang around Don and Terry.

Momo’s Lounge. Cool joint, next to Jelly Beans. Bar with a black-light lit pool table, juke box, back patio outdoor seating, high-backed, green vinyl booths inside. Tables, round chrome stools (black vinyl tops), huge galley-style bar. Seems like a "locals only" kinda place, opens at 3:00 PM daily. (I took Ray there for a beer on 3/8/05, before we left for my house.) Skyy vodka martini and a Coors draft beer – cost $7.50. California prices in an Oregonian locale. Coffee costs about the same, food about the same. Parking? Cheap. Also, metered zones everywhere. Haven’t found any free parking areas ‘cept when I use my handicap card. Big rivalry between parking garages – lots of competition between Star Parking and Smart Park.

Bicyclists everywhere. Mostly, riders wear helmets. They are fast, reckless, confident. They don’t hesitate to cut in front of trucks, cars, people and run red lights with abandon. Scary. Actually, many cars and trucks run red lights, too. People are in a hurry and get impatient – which is interesting when compared to how slow most people drive. Hmmmm.

Ray’s Ragtime – Used and Vintage Clothing and items. Huge, tacky collection of "costume" sunglasses for sale, i.e., Elton John and Elvis style. Sunglasses are used to decorate the outside-facing window displays. I bought my brown leather hat at Ray’s. Fun store. Nice employees. Interesting, esoteric collections. I’ll return.

There are many grizzled, tired-looking people here. Same faces, same places everyday, or so I’ve heard from Ray. I would like to do a "day in the life" of a tweaker or street-lifer. Yeah Jen – good luck, scairdy cat. I’d need some street creds first and a knowledgeable guide and guard.

Almost everyone smokes cigarettes here. Clean streets, though. Nightly sweep ups, I heard someone say. True? Dunno. But looks true.

Interesting mix of "professional" folks with cell phones and the street lifers. They are polite to each other. Lots of jeans mixed with the suits. People are not too fashion-forward or fashion-concerned here. More dressing for comfort, really. At least ten years behind California. (OthaRay calls me Cali Girrrl. Hmmm – I like it.)

"Vintage" is a popular word in P-town – probably geared towards sucking in California transplants and tourists. Hey – it works.

Saw two street chicks in front of Mallory’s Jewelery Worshop (yep, misspelled and all). These chicks were looking at display jewelry in the front window. I overheard them redesigning pieces, such as "I’d add a stone there, another string of pearls here," etc. Nice to think they haven’t lost all dreams, creativity and wishes living on the street. They both looked pretty clean and well-tended. Maybe new to the scene? I’d like to see them again in a few months. Prolly wouldn’t recognize them.

I’ve seen lots of ink and lots of blue-dyed hair here. Faded out, but blue nontheless. White legs, short skirts, clunky shoes, heavy socks. Streets don’t do the tanning booths like the Portlanders with discretionary cash. Makes sense.

No one notices me, particularly, nor questions my actions. I’m not bothering anyone, just sitting in my Explorer taking notes. I’m wearing light blue capri jeans, a white "wife beater" and tennis shoes (and tan-in-a-can, of course, on my calves). It’s an unseasonably warm 78 degrees, blue skies, sunny. I sit in my car, or on the outside granite library benches, and take notes, sipping coffee or iced tea. I smile, write, think, wonder, and smoke cigs, of course. Great safe spot for research. I brought my brown leather hat and jean jacket with $11.50 in the pocket. I fit in with my short, spiked, two-toned hair and ankle/shoulder ink.

3/10/05 – continued
Today Pony Boy and Reynaldo are doing my yard clean up. $500.00 for the job. Lots of work, many dump runs. Definitely worth the money. They’re doing a good job. Pony Boy, et al, will commence with $40/week maintenance on Mondays. Cool. There is a huge, immediate improvement seen from their labors of removing existing weeds and banana plants, trimming bushes and hedges, edging and mowing lawns, racking piles of cedar-tree droppings, etc. Looks great.

(Pony Boy, OthaRay, and Turtle – where the fuck have I moved?!)

3/11/05 – Friday. Patti is here! Again! And so is Clayton and Jackie. Party at the Wright house.

3/12/05 – took P and Clayton and Jackie and Ted into P-town today. We ate Mexican food (I stole another Fiesta platter – my second), trekked around the library, looked at people, bought joes at Starbucks, of course. Upon returning to SmartPark, we found I’d left the driver-side door wide open the entire time we were gone. I’d locked the doors, but left the driver’s open. Guess I was distracted with all the company. The happy ending – nothing was missing from my car – not the handicapped placard, cigs, change, coats, nothing! I laughed and said "people probably thought it was too easy, there’s a video camera taping us, we’ll get busted" so they left it alone. Nope, just Jenny being Jenny. DUH!

3/13/05 – Bought a "summer car" – a sparkly green Turbo 2001 VW Beetle - $11,600. No tax! This was a good price that took a bit of time for the dealership to agree with. Don, finance manager, wrote on the bid sheet "Ok, you win!" Was pretty funny. Not to mention the fact that I wore a shirt that matched the car.

3/14/05
Went on my first ferry ride today from Puget Island in WA to OR – then hi-way 30 North to P-town. Drove over 200 miles in my new car. Very responsive, quick, easy to shift, Turbo. Love it! I could fuck this car… but it would come so fast…

3/15/05
Got invited to hear Bob Soper (street musician whose CD I’d bought for Patti and I) at Biddy McGraws for St. Paddy's Day. Bob has played there each year for the past four. He gave me detailed instructions. How nice – I like to support local artists. He and his band did a great job at Biddy’s – the crowd loved ‘em.

3/16/05
The "check engine" idiot light came on my dash today – on my new Beetle! So I drove it to the dealership – they said, no worries, they’ll check it out on Friday, 3/18 – the light apparetnly comes on for a huge variety of reasons. I’m not too worried. Of course, they are picking up the bill (‘cause it occurred within three business days of purchase).

3/17/05
Bought my first sterling silver pinkie ring, handcrafted with unusual lines and shape. Set with a Periodite (light green) semi-precious stone. Very nice. But I am afraid I’ll lose it – I’m not accustomed to wearing a ring on my little finger.

During the day, went to Rejuvenation for a book on various home styles and some lunch.

That night, went to Biddy McGraws in Hollywood Division of Portland. (Practiced the drive first while it was light outside, but still got lost going home.) Biddy’s – what a party! One naked guy (short, muscled, kinky blond hair, big grin, and obvious shrinkage) – and two cops, who took naked guy away. The bar was crowded, hot, sweaty, loud – a fun, boisterous place. Strange – during the evening, three women kinda came on to me (one butt pinch, one hug and cheek kiss, one hair flirt.) Maybe I looked like a dyke, but I did look cute – makeup (whoa) and rocking spiked hair and my green leather jacket, green silk scarf, black jeans, boots, striped blouse. I bought a green "Kiss Me I’m Irish" bracelet to wear. Of course, I shoved it into guys faces – guys who were wearing the same bracelet. Pointedly pointed and said "Well?" Chuckle. Got several cheek kisses out of that one. Also – don’t know why, but grabbed a guy’s (James) earlobe at the bar. He smiled and kissed me. His friend said "hey – can I have one of those, too? Kiss, he meant. So I leaned my check in for a smooch from him – nice, soft, warm kiss. Fun. Also – met two guys (Mark – attractive master carpenter, Drew – fucking cute. Tough-looking – very short black hair, chisled chin and cheekbones, green eyes. Cute!) who taught me how to keep my spot in a crowded bar: Stand with your feet apart – about shoulder width apart – and sway when someone bumps into you. Don’t move out of the way, sway. Don’t ever apologize, and keep your ground. Get tough." So I laughed, parroted their stances and yelled at Mark – "okay, then get me a fucking beer!" He cracked up, but didn’t get me a beer. So I fought my way up to the bar myself – ordered a shot of Irish and a pint of Harps. $11.00! This, after a $10.00 cover charge. Whew. I regained my spot in the bar, by the two guys, and we toasted "Erin Go Braugh." I told them the old "be the river, not the rock" chestnut. I said it was my equivalent to their spot-keeping technique. They liked it. Mark gave me his business card – he’s looking for a house to restore. Maybe I’ll call him, but I’m afraid to think of the cost.

Hung out in front with bar security most of the night. (Of course, I went around with an empty plastic beer glass and emptied very full ashtrays. OCD ‘til the end.) Met a guy who just got off shift – Jerrold. Gerald? Anyway, short, black guy – lots of ink and piercings and a plaid, pork pie hat. Charming smile, but looked kinda hinky. Talked on his cell a lot. Drank a lot. Said he was getting inked tomorrow – I asked "what are you having done?" Showed me his knuckles and said "second layer of this: MEAN and UGLY." He’s a rough one. He was watching all the drunks go in and out of the bar and yelled "Hey mutha, want anotha?" at several men. Oh brutha. I had a great time during my first St Paddy’s Day celebration in P-town. Nice people. Rowdy place, but I felt safe. Now, if I could have only found my way home… Thanks for the invite, Bob Soper. See ya same time next year.