Responses & Reactions

When you decide to make a big life change, such as moving to an entirely different part of the country, it's interesting how you handle telling people. A friend of mine, my heterosexual soulmate, just recently moved to Chicago. We found out on the same day our moves were going to work out, and celebrated with lots of beer. That night, we freely told all of our new bar friends of our plans. But sober, it's not as easy.

For example, with my parents, I slowly laid the groundwork. "Portland's really cool" and "I really like Portland" became common statements in conversations with them. I finally decided to just come out with it. It was a Thursday night. The conversation went something like this:

Diane: "Mom, I'm actually going to move to Portland."
Mom: "Yeah?"
Diane: "Yeah, aren't you excited for me?"
Mom: "Yeah, but I'm watching Grey's Anatomy right now."

I don't know why I was so worried about telling them. My parents obviously roll with the punches much better than I do.

I just came out with the news with most of my friends - and most have responded quite positively. In fact, more than one person has told me that they think this is the smartest decision I have ever made.

But there are some friends I still haven't told. I'm not trying to hide it, I'm just a little nervous for their reactions. The reaction is critical. It's a big decision, and you're never 100 percent sure of it, so the worst would be to have someone be completely unsupportive and make you question it. Or make you feel guilty for leaving.

And then there are the neutral reactions. For example, my favorite, which has happened on more than one occasion:

Diane: "I'm moving to Portland."
Friend: "Why?"

What do you mean "Why?"

There have been other times in my life where this has been asked about decisions I've made. The perfect response is to put it back in their court and ask them "Why not?" When you flip the question back, there really is no good answer, and especially in this Portland scenario. When I say, "Why not," they can't answer. Because there really isn't a good reason NOT to move to Portland.

But the classic, most memorable response I've gotten to the Portland move was this:

Grandma: "So, your dad tells me you're moving to Portland?"
Diane: "Yeah, I am, at the end of August."
Grandma: "Why don't you move to L.A.?

Huh?

Chuck, my adventure guide

I have no idea how long I plan to be in Portland – six weeks, six months, a year, but I’ve been making a list of the things I want to do while there. The list is pretty standard: fishing, camping, tour the cheese factories (I heart cheese in a BIG way), visit the country’s smallest national park. Okay, maybe standard in a Diane way. But a friend from Portland recommended I read Chuck Palahniuk’s Fugitives and Refugees: A Walk in Portland, Oregon.

I picked it up this past weekend, and have read only about 30 pages, but the list has already grown immensely.

For example, I must visit the self-cleaning house. There is a house in Portland that was built in a way that does not require vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing. The floors and walls are washed with the flip of a switch, and all of the water washes out through the fireplace – the art on the walls is waterproof to allow this to happen. Trinkets are kept in specially designed boxes so there is no need for dusting. The owner’s clothes move from closet to closet, a washing closet, a drying closet, then arrive at the last closet, ready to wear. Pure architectural genius.

Another Portland must-do is the adult soapbox derby, where participants race their homemade cars down Mount Tabor. According to Chuck, “Cars crash. People are hurt. And someone wins.” Luckily, the finals happen at the end of August, right when I arrive!

One I may not get to do, since I must earn my keep and make a living, is the Monk-for-a-Month. There is a monastery southwest of Portland in Lafayette that allows non-Monks (that would be you and me) to live as Trappist monks for 30 days. Each day starts with vigil prayers at 4:15 in the morning. The rest of the day is spent “binding books, baking fruitcakes, and tending the forest.” I’d probably last 12 hours… tops. But it’d be a learning 12 hours, nonetheless.

And these are just a few from the list… from the first 30 pages.

If the list continues to grow, which I know it will (I’ve peeked ahead and saw chapters on strange museums, gardens not to miss, and places to get your picture taken), this adventure may take longer than six weeks, six months, a year.

Here’s to Chuck.

Meet Jerod.

He’s weird. And he’s going to be my new roommate.

He actually rivals me in the weirdness department – and that’s hard to do. Here’s a sampling.

ONE Check out his pic. I think he’s unsure of which generation he was born in to. He’s kind of a cross between a 70s hippie and a 90s hipster, and gosh, I don’t know what else. But every time I look at him, I smile (okay, so I laugh, but not to be mean.). Oh, and he got cornrows yesterday. Classic.

TWO He calls me sunshine. We all know I am no ray of sunshine. Not even close. But he seems to think I am. Which either means he’s going to be in for it when we move in together, or that he’s just a weirdo and actually enjoys my disposition. I’m going with Option B.

THREE He regularly reads Charles Bukowski, William S. Burroughs, Hunter S. Thompson, Jack Kerouac – not so weird. But what is weird is that he actually gets something out of these books, more than the usual drug-induced gibberish that most readers get. It takes a weird mind to be on the level with the Beats.

FOUR Jerod and I play this game where we ask our iPod’s a question, then hit shuffle, and the first five songs that play are supposed to answer the question. We both truly believe in this game. Mine turns up pretty much a solid mix, not shocking that all five artists are on there. His, however, is always off the wall.

The last question we asked was, “Will we find Portlandian love?” His iPod answered with: The Update by the Beastie Boys, Under African Skies by Paul Simon, Hungry Like the Wolf by Duran Duran, My Heart Would Know by Hank Williams, and Dotted With Hearts by the HorrorPops. He was pleased with this response. Me, I have no idea.

FIVE Jerod is from Kansas City but he uses words such as “pow” and “back bowls” in everyday speech. The other day, I lost him at “cat track” when he was taking a “chute through the windows.” Huh?

I think much of this Portlandian adventure will consist of me reminding Jerod that he is a white Midwesterner in his mid-to-late-twenties, and that it is the year 2008.

I couldn’t have picked a more perfect Adventure Partner. Jerod, my AP.

What's Mine Is Yours

I plan to take to Portland only what fits in The Fit. This leaves me with a whole household of stuff that is not going.

Over the years, my friends have dispersed all over the country – New York, Chicago, Texas, Colorado, etc. Sadly, I have not seen a lot of these friends in years. I’m also leaving behind lots of very important people in the Midwest.

I’ve figured out a way to solve both of these problems simultaneously.

As it stands, my options are to 1) sell my stuff, or 2) store my stuff. I would prefer to not do either. So, instead, I’d like to “give” my things to my friends, as a promise that we’ll see each other again, so that stuff can be returned. It’s like we’re holding our friendship as collateral!

How it works is, if you live in Kansas City, Lawrence or Omaha, I’ll drop these items by your place, or if you live elsewhere, I’ll mail them to you (light loads only, please). This will force us to visit each other.

So, say I’ve been dying to play a game of Battleship, or have a Sex and the City marathon, and a friend in Chicago possesses these, then I come to Chicago for a visit, and then return to Portland with my items.

Or say I leave behind my yarn and fabric stash in Kansas City with a friend (you know who you are!), and that person wants to come to Portland, bring the stash along!

This way, eventually, I will get to see all of my long-lost friends AND get all of my stuff to Portland! Killing two birds with one stone, I say.

Now, of course, I’ll want you to put my stuff to good use. I expect whoever gets Scrabble to be an expert-Scrabble player upon my return. So please, ask for items that you need and want! No need for them to gather dust!

I bet you’re wondering, why not just ship everything to Portland? Well what’s the fun in that? This way, not only do I get to see all my friends, but I get to buy new stuff too!

I have CD’s, movies, TONS of books, an awesome breakfast sandwich maker… well, you all know me, you know what I have. So if there’s something you want, just holler! Lola is the only item not up for negotiation. (And I’m also not opposed to you, say, taking a mixer if your mixer has gone kaputt. My boring stuff needs homes, too.)

Aaah... beer.

It's no secret that I like beer. Beer just seems to go with everything - nachos, music, good conversation. But I don't stray very far in my selections - Boulevard Wheat, no lemon; Blue Moon with orange juice; Sunshine Wheat with an orange; Miller Lite, bottle.

Traveling a lot over the years for work, I've learned that often, your favorite beers are hard to find in other cities. So when I was in Portland last month I was excited when I was able to order a PBR tall boy - and for only 2 bucks! But the more I learn about Portland, the sweeter the beer deal is.

Portland is known as the motherland of microbrews. WHAT?! I have hit the friggin' jackpot! There are 28 breweries within the city - the most of any other city in the country. One of my favorite things about Lawrence was Liberty Hall - where you can drink beer while watching a movie (though the downside to this is how much of the movie you miss while spending time in the bathroom). Portland has several "brew and view" theaters - so now I will get my choice at what movie I'd like to enjoy with my beer!

And the clincher... the Wall Street Journal published an article in the Saturday/Sunday, June 7 - 8, 2008, issue titled "A Pint-Size Problem - Beer lovers nurse a grudge as some bars switch to smaller glasses." The article discusses how, since the prices of hops and barley have skyrocketed, bars are now pouring pints into 14 oz. glasses rather than 16 oz. glasses. And Portlandians, being the beer lovers that they are, are outraged!

Several web sites have sprung up, calling out bars that serve "falsies." Here is an example... Beervana's Honest Pint Project. And this blog, among other sites, have caused such a stir that Oregon legislator Brian Clem will address the issue for the state's 2009 budget, in an effort to fund the monitoring of beer portions! If this is Oregon politics, I am in!! Bars and restaurants would then afix a sticker to their windows, advertising that their pints are official 16 oz. pints, and not falsies.

That, my friends, is bad ass.

Note to self: Expand beer palette while in Portland - because I know it gets a lot better than Miller Lite and Boulevard Wheat.

Welcome!

After 18 adolescent years in Omaha, four amazing years in Lawrence, and four sub-par years in Kansas City, I’ve decided to move to Portland, Oregon. O-Blog-Di, O-Blog-Da’s purpose is to chronicle this adventure and keep my family and friends updated on my shenanigans - and have something that I can look back on and reminisce.

For those of you who know me, most would not add “adventurous” to a list of Diane’s attributes. Neither would I, but maybe it’s time I do. I head out on August 23rd, so I have the entire summer to mull over this move in my head. (A later blog will discuss how I have made this move the most practical, safe move ever – in typical Diane fashion.)

Right now (literally, at this moment), I’m about 60 percent excited, 40 percent scared out of my mind (it changes on a daily basis). But, as many of you know me, I’m not nervous about the things I should be nervous about, such as finding my way around a new city, liking the new city, or making friends. I have a plan for that.

See, most Portlandians don’t have cars because the city does not require it – the public transportation there is excellent. However, the luxury of living in Portland requires trips to the coast, trips to Mount Hood, trips to the river, all of which a car is needed. So, when I meet people for the first time, my opening line will be, “Hi, my name is Diane. I have a car.” Bingo – instant friend! Who wouldn’t want to befriend a person that has a car? (Pictured: The Fit, my magical friend maker.)

But I’m nervous about the silly things: flying back to Omaha and ending up next to someone who gets airsick (or worse, I get airsick on a flight!), the drive out there with my dog who gets motion sickness, absolutely hating skiing and snowboarding (which I know my roommate will make me do!). So very Diane of me, I know, but these aren’t reasons to not go!

So, for the next two months, my motto will be “Portland or Bust!” And O-Blog-Di, O-Blog-Da will take us all through the move, and then the adventures that I shall undertake once I arrive. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Note to self: Call vet to get doggy Dramamine before take-off.