9/11: Portland

Considering we were awake into the wee hours, Friday morning began early and I felt a bit unsure about my situation. There had been no discussion about how long I was staying, or whether Andre intended to get me back up the Willamette to continue on my way to Astoria. He had made an oblique comment the night before about possibly boating me all the way there, but that could have been drunken bravado for all I knew; nothing was certain. Cody did seem eager to have me move on, however! He not- so- subtly asked when I was leaving, what my plans were, and how I was getting out of Portland this morning! I found his keen interest and initiative into my immediate future quite amusing and considered reminding him whose home we were in, but packed my things just in case. Thursday night had been a blast, but the last thing I wanted to do was give the impression that I expected to move in! I took my pack up front to Andre's main house, and hoped that at least I would get back to Dave's place, 15-miles west of Portland in Linnton where Andre had picked me up. Secretly, I was quite tired and hoped it could be postponed for at least a day!

The first thing I noticed upon seeing Andre Friday morning was his excruciating pain. Upon waking Friday, he was nearly unable to move due to his right hip and leg. His entire right calf was extremely swollen and dark purple in color. I saw that he was on a plethora of medications, and that he needed alcohol, on top of his meds, to help ease the pain. I empathized both with the pain and alcohol relief. Beer had worked wonders for my lower back pains in the past, and I felt badly for him. About all I could do was try to be of assistance whenever I could. I had been hearing things about a spider bite since the night before, but was unsure to what extent this was connected, or its severity.

The weather had warmed significantly since The Dalles, and the three of us soon found ourselves parked on Andre's deck beneath a hot 90-degree sun. Contrary to Cody's implications, Andre showed himself to be hospitable and clearly in no rush to have me move on, telling me to "Get that fucking backpack off my deck and in the back tinder!" Soon, Andre engaged into business mode arranging a huge meeting for Saturday back at Mark's on the Channel. Through well-placed comments, it was indicated that both Cody and I were expected to come along. It seemed obvious that I was welcome (at least by Andre!) for the weekend and until they set off for a seemingly spontaneous sailing trip he had concocted after agreeing to drive Cody to Vancouver. Nothing specific was "said" however, so I was left guessing, inferring, and grasping at disjointed details for the rest of the afternoon. This would set a tone that would last my entire stay! I was a bit disconnected due to fatigue, but the rest of the afternoon was filled with an unreal sense of inner-calm and quiet. Cody fawned over his new I-Touch that Andre had bought him, while I periodically fed the duck that has adopted Andre before we set out for another ride aboard the boat.

I learned quite a bit about Andre that afternoon, as well as night before. He had been the owner of a very popular Mexican restaurant chain, Pablo's, in Portland, and made great deal of money selling them. However, there was much more to him. If Andre made a killing in the restaurant business, he committed monetary mass-murder in land development. He began to share bits and pieces about how he had bought, conceptualized, developed, and then sold 26-miles of prime Mexican coastline. Saturday's business meeting was intended to bring influential business owners and investors together in an effort to lay the foundation to replicate the previous success in Mexico. But, this time in Portland. There were to be friends, developers, elite officers from financial institutions like Bank of the Northwest & Wells Fargo, and even the Prince of Ghana in attendance. "A fucking Prince? Didn't I just wake up in the weeds the day before?" I was beginning to understand just how connected Andre was, and why people were treating him like a Rockefeller. To many he was. And, he acted like one; enjoying role! He seemed to fancy himself a philanthropist as well, with his favorite question being, "How can I be of maximum assistance to you?" At first glance, one could think that this was an egoistic, wealthy man who got a kick out of flaunting money & influence; a charge out of changing lives with the stroke of a pen or a wave of the hand. Being human, there may be aspects of truth to these assumptions but, as you'll eventually see, are strikingly shortsighted and utterly unfair.

Once business & the afternoon boat ride was finished and the sun was setting, Andre invited his friend Jim over for dinner and a chat about renovating the floating home. He then reassembled the previous night's cast, plus one: Stacie. Stacie was that rare breed: A woman who makes me laugh! Stacie would turn out to be a whole lot of fun to talk to, and we would get along famously! Karen was only around briefly, bowing out gracefully, preferring a quiet night at home. Young Cody was not exactly pleased about heading off to prowl the Willamette again, probably because he wanted some time on the town with Lauren. He suggested to me that we abandon ship to experience Portland's nightlife, but the notion of carousing amongst hundreds of barely post- adolescent children, with more testosterone than common sense, didn't quite appeal to me. My, how times have changed! It also struck me how presumptuous he had become; now complaining about the manner of the extravagant hospitality he was receiving! Young Cody would indeed be fun to watch, although it would be key for me to remain patient and remember that he was only 21! Seeing this performance reminded me that no matter how affluent you become or the toys at your disposal, you eventually adjust to your "stuff" and are re-introduced to the same person you were before. A closely guarded secret in the age of consumerism it would seem.

The night was calm compared to Thursday, but interesting nonetheless. We were joined on the Willamette Patrol by Cesar, an attractive, young Peruvian that as it turned out was a romantic interest of Andre's. Andre had been understandably quiet about proclaiming his sexuality, but I knew immediately. I am one who honestly couldn't care less about who a person sleeps with; it's a non-issue because it doesn't effect our relationship in the least. However, it is interesting to watch the process of disclosure and sobering to see first-hand that people's reactions to sexual preference are still a concern. Andre recruited me to drive the boat for an hour or two while he and Cesar chatted privately, so I played DJ and guided the Master Craft beneath all of Portland's bridges- enjoying myself immensely! Portland, it would seem LIKED ME!

Friday was after all, September 11th. This is always a day of reflection, as it is most people. I was amused that I had watched absolutely no television so had not been subjected to the obligatory, melodramatic jingoism. While my political teeth felt the urge to bare themselves out of habit, I chuckled when I realized that it was pointless. When you accept that politics and politicians are pointless, just whom do you bite? Everyone? From there, I realized that while 2008's writings had at times been angry rants at the state of Nation, World, and Society, this year has been noticeably absent of most of that venom; I've issued not one single "Rant Alert!" Thinking back to 9/11's past, particularly in radio, I again snickered when I realized that this particular anniversary was the happiest. The irony of this, of course, is that it was also the anniversary that I by far "had" the very least, and was keeping company with perhaps the most affluent man I have ever met! Perhaps it's not so ironic after all.

After a few hours spent drinking, floating, and chatting, we were all back at Andre's. I began to glimpse things to come when Andre played a VHS recorded in 1985 showing him as an ambitious young man, on the cusp of of getting married, and contemplating a run for Congress. It also showed his mother, who since has passed. I was struck by how intensely nostalgic Andre was; often on the verge of tears and repeating a few times, "I've had a GREAT life." Once the video ended and Stacie had passed out, Lauren, Cody, Andre, and I had a brief but interesting conversation about life. It was here for the first time that I began to sense an intense familiarity in philosophy that I found fascinating considering our divergent backgrounds. I hoped I'd get a chance to hear a bit more from his unique perspective, and get an opportunity to explore the growing sense that I was there for a reason. Indeed I would...

5/6: Manhattan

We caught the late morning train back to Penn Station and had lunch with Chris's friend, Stephanie. They had gone to SVA together, and been roommates for awhile. She lives in Brooklyn and works as a video editor for a midtown advertising agency, which means she edits TV commercials for a living... and hates it... claiming it's "killing her soul". I liked her immediately! We seemed to have a lot in common, although I chose not to explore this common hatred in any depth. They were having fun reminiscing over "award winning" grilled cheese, and I was content to mostly listen and watch people. I would come to find that People Watching is one of the great joys of New York City. I had heard that before, but for the love of Christ!, you just can't help it.

SVA was nearby, so from this swank restaurant the three of us were off on a brief, nostalgic tour of ye old stomping grounds. They showed me a couple of their favorite spots and old apartment before Stephanie had to, grudgingly, get back to work.

From there Chris and I began making our way toward Soho, where he had more friends to seek out. Along the way we took a casual stroll thru NYU's campus, where Chris imparted unto me the crucial knowledge that "NYU girls are easy." Thanks Chris, good to know... now. From there it was a slow stroll toward the subway, and eventually Soho.

I really liked Soho. We stopped into one of his old coffee shops from years ago where he was warmly, if not psychotically, greeted by an old customer who recognized him. She also had named, and was chatting with Mike- a bird in the tree.

Craig's coffee shop was next, a few blocks away but still in Soho. What struck me about both of these shops were how old and tiny they were. They couldn't have been more than 10 or 15 ft. across. Not the kind of place you'll write the phantom screenplay while drinking coffee to be seen.

Craig's place was staffed by an extremely attractive young lady, so we got coffee and sat outside on a bench to take advantage of the view while waiting for a call from his friend Margo. Chris had mentioned that Craig's "thing" is acting, and that he's been on CSI a number of times. I would rather be gang raped by rhinos than watch CSI, so I didn't recognize him at all when he eventually came by. Another interesting tidbit on Craig: on 9/11 he was standing in front of his shop when the first plane flew directly over his head just before hitting the WTC.

From Craig's we decided to stop in to a little bar called Milady's. It was only a couple blocks away, and we figured we could have a beer while we continued to wait for Margo's call. Chris had arranged to have dinner and/ or drinks with Ingrid later on in the evening, and we had now begun contemplating just calling it a city and heading back to Jersey after we'd finished. Chris called Ingrid and set an earlier time and a place on the Upper West Side to have drinks. In the interim, we decided to just stop in to see Margo for a quick hello, figuring he could come back the next week if he missed the sit- down. We grabbed another train, and headed to Wall St., and then the WTC site as it was approaching 5:00.

This was the first time I had been to Ground Zero in the daylight. It never ceases to silence me as I quietly look up to the now- empty skyline and replay the images long since burned into our psyche. The planes. People jumping. The towers falling. Policemen. Firefighters. The tidal wave of dust & debris swallowing the streets. Thoughts race, but none have to do with patriotism. It's the definition of "heroism"; how it has nothing to do with an athletic field or a television production. It boggles my mind to see the hole in the earth, nearly 8- years later, and think that 3,000 people died here, yet commerce and real estate values mandate our collective values: something simply MUST be built. I see the pile of rubble, still smoldering, in my mind. I hear George Bush making love to his megaphone. Then Dick Cheney giving his WMD proclamation followed by the images from Abu Grahib. This place is a magnet for me, yet obviously not for the reasons our handlers would like. Ground Zero both saddens and enrages me. This is the place that the world, yes, but my country in particular- changed. It's the place that America, at least the idea of it... died. The very spot where America became Amerika.

As we tried to walk the perimeter, I found a crack in the fencing that exposed the entire substructure, and the thing that they'd like to sell you as "The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes": The "Phreedom" Tower. On the spot where so many freedoms were obliterated. And not by the planes. As I saw the sight of this "Phreedom" Tower taking its embryonic shape, I think I may have vomited a bit in my mouth.

From the WTC site, it was a nice subway ride north to the Upper West Side, Columbia University, and Ingrid. Ingrid is Chris's ex- girlfriend, and his travel partner on the first part of his cross country walk. He freely admits that he ran her off, so I was eager to meet her! For whatever reason, I had very low expectations. Yet, the same had been true of Bill & Laura and the theme would continue; I greatly enjoyed her!

Their travels and relationship had ended, as best as I can decipher (and remember thru the drunken haze) from Chris's refusal to slow down and just enjoy the walk. He has been openly conscious of this while we've been out here, so no big revelations. I laughed when she told me she was amazed, and happy that I "had gotten him to slow down" because she couldn't. It's nothing I've done, but I got a kick out of it.

Beyond their past, Ingrid was interesting in other ways. She is another of the Philosophy/ Psychology double- minor types with which I love to have coffee driven conversations. She is obviously brilliant, and if we had had more time, and not been drinking, the chats would have been priceless! I mean, hell... she mentions Sartre on Facebook!

There were other people in this little bar near 115th and Amsterdam. Her boisterous, and annoying (to me) 20- year old friend, Perri and the poor guy she was stalking. She probably annoyed me because she's 20 more than anything! There was also Kwami, a guy who was quite interested in our travels, loved my hat, and was happy to tell us all about ourselves.

I had forgotten that NYC bars close at 4am. We started drinking at 9. Do the math. Ingrid, however, had a hookup at the bar so, although we were drinking the whole time, we spent next to nothing. Thank fucking God... that could have been horrific.

We had long since decided, again, to stay at Ingrid's, and I slept nicely on the most comfortable of yoga mats.

8/28 - 9/14 Santa Fe

What an odd few weeks it has been. I spent the first two doing absolutely nothing, other than reacquainting myself with the internet again, writing, reading, and playing the part of the recluse.

Initially, it was actually nice to be back here. I had grandiose ideas of getting back to work and preparing to pack money away for the Latin American Adventure that is on the way... soon. I had some nagging points of friction in my mind however about trying to save thousands of dollars to do this. Money as it turned out was my major source of irritation this summer, and my primary failure was in the fact that I never really got to the point where I was learning to do with significantly less and how to generate fresh cash while out there; and there WERE opportunities to do that! I just... didn’t.

Chris and I had several lengthy conversations, and after initially thinking that he may decide against it, he has now committed to whatever this turns out to be. It turns out that, not surprisingly, we have come to the same money- page, how it relates to Mexico, then Central & South America. Less is more. Rather than talking in terms with three zeroes, it is now in the hundreds, as a means to force ourselves to be more creative, thrifty, and concentrate on eliminating excess... bullshit. Most people are probably horrified by the thought, but we both have seen the possibilities first- hand, and for me it is a matter of discipline and focus... like everything else. This trip is shaping up to begin, at least when the two of us meet up anyhow, in December or January. Much more on that at another time.

9/11 came and went again and as always, it is a point of scorn for me as we all watch the melodrama presented to us through the media, and wallow in self- pity. No one bothers to stop and reflect on how that event itself is a weapon; an instrument of terror itself. Just remember Rudi Giuliani and his every other word. What has happened since 9/11, in this country AND Iraq, is worse than the event itself. Only American self- absorbed arrogance, a spoiled self- pity, and complacency prevents us from seeing the obvious. If you have not yet, check out the audio on the right- hand side of the page. 9/11, and the economic events of the past few weeks remind me of one of the best books I have read: Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein. Find a copy; read it. You're living it.

The best radio show I ever did was on 9/11 in 2007. That show was the beginning of the end for me. The cheap bastards didn't even have a simple tape recorder for me to archive it, so like Hitler's in "Contact", my voice is simply left floating off toward Vega. I even took my own tape recorder in to let them hook it up. It sat in the same spot for 2 ½ months until I was fired! Ahhh... radio....

Chris rented a car and drove down here on 9/11. We sat up into the wee hours of the morning chatting, and we traded stuff; him bringing the things I had left there, and me returning the bivy, water filter, boca bag, etc. That stuff was a huge help! I also learned that, inspired by my return- spree, he had returned his old shoes to REI and had a brand new- spiffy pair. I was immediately jealous!

We spent Friday running around, highlighted by a trip to the grand opening of the Santa Fe REI. Of course the radio station was there trying to be all ‘live n’ local’, so for shits and giggles, I led Chris into a den of awkwardness… for one of them anyhow. I had not seen this particular sales- pig since they fired me, and though she would never admit it to my face, she despises me. I annoyed her by telling her to take her live endorsements for Qwest, McDonald’s, whoever, and shove them… even though they were paid. She is the type who reassures herself with “you gotta serve somebody.” Whenever I heard her say that, I thought, “That would be a good mantra in prison.” I don’t see much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. I would rather be shanked. I guess I was.

I bounded right over to the table and there she was, strapping on the plastic smiling face with a full serving of the generic platitudes I had heard 100- times with her clients. My old PD was there too. I had not seen him since shortly after the owner fired me either. He gave me a big ol’ hug, and while he was, I was asking myself “If we’re such good friends, why were you so quiet when they were axing me… buddy?”

I do not trust people who claim to have hundreds of friends because, well… they don’t. We all have acquaintances, co- workers, and people we use for networking and furthering our interests. That is inescapable. Yet, friends are loyal, and do not sit idly by out of convenience or self- preservation, while you are thrown under a bus. The rest of them will, and that’s fine. However, don’t embarrass yourself by professing your love for me later on! They say that if you want to find out who your friends are, ask them to help you move. I like the redneck method better: go to battle and see who lines up behind you. THESE are your friends. The rest are just memories waiting to happen. Keep your relativism, hippie. I've heard it all before.

God, I love anything authentic!

Friday night, we watched a few movies and he returned to Denver Saturday morning. A quick trip to be sure. We managed to keep busy enough that we did not dwell on the upcoming trip too much, but it was never far beneath the surface.

The longer I was here, the more I began to realize that I miss traveling. I am no longer domesticated. I never have been, but it is worse. I have next to no interest in participating in anything in Santa Fe, and it took me two- weeks to call anyone I knew.

My personal writing has always been a refuge for me, but now that is no haven. I tried, with some success, to gain some clarity and perspective after I returned, but it was a disappointment. I had most of the conclusions before I came back! The writing has since turned into a simple annoyance because I seem to be writing the same things repeatedly; shit I have written a thousand times before. In the end? It's feeling like a bunch of self- absorbed bullshit, because now I have some experience to add perspective. One of my favorite quotes from Thoreau says something to the effect that it is quite vain to sit down and write when you have yet to stand up and live. Alot of writing going on this month. Living? Not so much.

I know this is temporary; everyone knows that. I only wish I were making better use of the time. The answer is not to ‘get a job’. I am quite certain that I would be fired, or walk out within a couple of days, and that does not bother me at all. The answer is to find cash- work with someone that doesn’t annoy me with all the “ladder- climbing” career- bullshit.

After 9/15, I would be more certain of that than ever.