Little People, Big Pumpkins

I admit, I like my fair share of bad TV. It’s a great chance to give my over-active mind a break. But unfortunately, I have only seen bits and pieces of “Little People, Big World.” You know, that show on TLC about the family of midgets (although I believe “midget” is no longer the PC term, I will be using it in this blog post). Not knowing the show, however, did not stop me from getting excited when I learned that they live right here in a suburb of Portland. And what makes it even better is that on their farm they have a pumpkin patch.

Now, I honestly can’t remember the last time I was at a pumpkin patch, but a midget pumpkin patch? This was a must-see. So my friend Ben and I headed out there on a perfectly clear, beautiful fall day. Ben wasn’t too stoked on the idea, but he’s a good sport and decided to come along. And he especially wasn’t stoked on the idea when we came to a complete stop, miles from the pumpkin patch. Obviously, the rest of the world thought this was a must-see too.

While waiting, we saw license plates from as far away as Montana and Texas. Seriously?! The little people really have some big fans out there, I guess. I don’t think I would have traveled more than the 20 minutes it took us (well, 20 minutes, plus the half-an-hour of waiting). But while waiting, we got to see the father, Matt, drive around in his official-looking cart. I got so excited I wasn’t able to get my camera out in time to take a picture.


After we finally found a parking spot, we walked up to where the mass of people was. I couldn’t believe that there was actually a line to get in to pick out your pumpkin. Turns out, there wasn’t. People were waiting in this monstrous line to meet the mom, Amy. I didn’t care to meet her… I wouldn’t have anything to say. Turns out though, I was able to get my picture with her anyway.

As far as pumpkin patches go, it was pretty sub-par (according to Ben… remember, I hadn’t been in ages). The patch itself wasn’t very big, and the pumpkins were pretty picked over. There was “Zoo-otic” though, that housed a ginormous turtle, a snake, and other non-pumpkin patch animals. But the best part had to be while we were waiting in line to purchase my pumpkin. They had a couch set up that you could sit on and get your picture taken “with” the cast of “Little People, Big World.”

We made the trip worthwhile by stopping at a little bar down the road that had great burgers and grilled cheese sandwiches. I had a blast, but not enough of a blast to add “Little People, Big World” to my list of crappy television shows I currently watch. My goal now is to carve my pumpkin before Friday!

Click here to see all the pumpkin patch pictures.

Politics and KU Basketball

When I first moved out here, I compared the current presidential race in Portland to that of KU basketball in Lawrence, Kansas. Everyone’s abuzz. It’s all anyone can talk about. And everyone is on the same team. In Portland, they’re all for Obama.

In regards to politics, I’ve always preferred to keep my mouth shut. Isn’t it one of those three things we’re taught to not talk about? Religion, politics and money? Hence, me watching the debates in the comfort of my own home.

I decided, however, for the last presidential debate I would “be Portland” and go out and watch it. I had been reading and hearing about debate watch parties all over Portland. A lot of the local brew and view theaters stop movies to show the debates. Bars host events. So, I finally gave in and decided to check it out.

I pictured a smattering of people dressed up in red or blue (obviously 99.9 percent blue in Portland), jumping out of their chairs and cheering, fists pumping, and the booze flowing. This is exactly what it is like watching KU basketball at a bar, down to the colors. I wore a yellow striped shirt and green vest to be safe.

The booze was flowing, and as expected, you wouldn’t be welcomed if you were a McCain fan. Show your support for the “wrong” side and you’d probably have a bar full of liberals wanting to take you on. This makes sense… It’d be like a North Carolina fan walking into a bar on basketball game day in Lawrence. It could get ugly.

But instead of cheers, there were laughs and snickers. There was no energy in the room. Now, granted, I went to a small bar, Hungry Tiger Too, and it wasn’t very full. So I was only hearing a few people’s thoughts, but I was surprised at how negative people were. Instead of people cheering on Barack or agreeing with his politics, they disputed the other side and made fun of McCain.

Now yes, I agree, like in basketball, bad calls should be booed and pointed out. So yes, if something is said out of turn or is false, boo away! As Americans, we deserve and expect the truth. I’m all for calling people out when it’s legitimate. But I’m also for supporting and cheering on those that I believe in. It’s like a good book. I am constantly saying, “Hey, you should really read this book I just read…” Passing on the good word.

That night watching the debate, I heard very few positive comments about Barack. Maybe I was with a bunch of Nader supporters. Or maybe Portlanders are just so bored with the election by now and no one to argue against, so they’re in need of new material. Whatever the case, I believe political aficionados should take a cue from Kansas basketball fans and cheer on their man by spreading his good word, rather than use all their energy to blast the other.

Portland is gorgeous...

Every time I cross one of the bridges going over the Willamette River, I remember why I moved to Portland.  This city is beautiful.  And I am reminded of this pretty often, because it's a regular occurence for me to somehow end up on a street that takes me to the other side.  But I've really only driven or ridden over the river - never really stopping to fully enjoy it.

So Sunday, Ben and I visited the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (known as OMSI here).  We had an exciting afternoon of playing Six Pack Man (Pac-Man slowed down to the speed as if you were drunk), looking at fetuses in glass containers, and playing mind bender games (we were only about 3 for 10 - pretty sad).  Below is a picture of us all infared-ed (I'm an English major... I'm allowed to make up words).  The whiter the area, the warmer; the redder, the cooler.  Ben looks like a Panda.  I obviously have a very cold nose and a very hot neck.

OMSI is right on the river, so afterwards, we decided to go for a walk.  It turned into a rather long walk, which was perfect, because on the way back, I got to see my first draw bridge go up!  And not only one, but three!  And we were standing on one of the bridges as it started to beep in warning of going up!  A small thing for some people, but the small things are what count, and it was pretty exciting for me!  Click here to see the pictures.  Portland is so pretty!

A Portland Brawl

I wouldn’t normally think a bar fight would be worthy blog material, but that was before I experienced my first Portland brawl.

Attending Omaha North High School growing up, I saw my fair share of fights. Three stick out in my mind: one in the cafeteria where the dueling pair ended up on my table, and my lunch ended up on my lap. Another where one girl grabbed another girl by her weave and banged her head repeatedly on the ground. And no North High graduate can forget the riot that happened on Ames after school one day that closed down the entire street. Since my high school days, however, fights in my life have tamed. A typical bar fight in Kansas City is two drunken meatheads shoving one another, waiting for their friends to jump in and stop it so they don’t actually have to throw a punch.

But this bar brawl on Friday night at Portland’s Sassy Jack’s takes the cake for my favorite fight ever. This brawl was done in true Portland fashion.

One of the best things about Portland is that it’s very laid back and slow. Places open later in the day than they do in the Midwest. No one is ever really in a big hurry. It’s a very roll-with-the-punches type of town. So it only makes sense that a bar scuffle would follow suit.

Sassy Jack’s is a small place. When we walked in Friday night, there weren’t many people there. It wasn’t within 15 minutes of being there that a big mass of boys rolled by our table. A fight had broken out!

It was probably 7 on 7 – which made up for half of the occupants of the bar. But they were moving awfully slow for a fight. I didn’t see a single punch thrown. There was no broken glass. No knocked over tables… only gently shoved aside tables. There was no blood, only a few spilled karaoke cards and a lost shoe. We rescued our beers and stood up to watch as the mass of bodies rolled around on the ground.

This lasted for several minutes. Finally, the bartender and another man were able to gingerly maneuver the body ball, and it rolled out onto the street. It was as if the fight was happening in slow motion… minus the cool special effects. They’re like, “Hey man, we’re in Portland, let’s take this fight slow. No need to get upset about it.” I’ve never seen such a slow, non-violent, long-lasting fight in my life. It totally defied all typical fight characteristics.

And to make the situation even more entertaining, while the boys were brawling, a man was singing karaoke. He didn’t stop or miss a single beat.

A rose by any other name is still... a rose.

I’ve never been much of a fan of roses. Probably because they either come from a boyfriend who in the end turns out to be an ass, or from a friend as a bouquet of condolences – meaning something bad has happened. Now don’t get me wrong, they’re beautiful and brighten your day and the thought behind them is extraordinary, but they leave a bad taste behind when they die. So it’s kind of ironic I moved to Portland, the city of roses.

And Portland likes its roses. You know those ugly manhole covers you see on the streets? Yeah, well, Portland’s all have roses on them. And in June they have the Portland Rose Festival – a ten day event that celebrates roses. (I’m amazed you can fill ten days worth of activities that center on roses.) So, I thought it only appropriate that I visit the International Rose Test Garden, located – you guessed it – in Portland. Why wouldn’t Portland be the INTERNATIONAL place to test roses? Makes perfect sense to me, what, with all the other unique titles Portland holds.

The Rose Garden is located in Washington Park, and last Saturday, Jeremy, my new friend Ben, and I went. Washington Park is also home for the Japanese Gardens, but Jeremy was feeling frugal and didn’t want to pay the $8 to get in, so we settled on the free rose garden. After visiting, we understand why it was free: you REALLY have to love roses to like the place.

Now don’t get my wrong, it was beautiful, and serene, and had an awesome view of Portland and Mt. Hood, but it wasn’t very exciting. I guess, what did I expect though, it’s a rose garden. Plus, I’ve been spoiled by Multnomah Falls and Cannon Beach already. Maybe I should have gone to the Rose Garden first…

Anyways, we walked through the rows and rows of roses. And I stopped to look closely at some roses (much to the boys’ boredom) because they were pretty. But the highlight of the rose garden was this: we saw an older couple walking a cat on a leash. We all three watched in what can only be shock and horror. That poor cat. Then the man proceeded to pick up his cat and put it in a stroller. Wow. Jeremy’s reaction: “I think this will be the first documented case of a cat suicide.”

I unfortunately did not get a picture of the suicidal cat, but I did take some photos of the rose garden. You can look at them here.

And the garden actually does have a cool history behind it – hybridists sent flowers to Portland to keep them safe from the World War I bombings that were ravaging Europe. To learn more, click here.

But after visiting the garden, the statement holds true: A rose by any other name is still... a rose.