By fits and starts, I’m trying to get SB back up and running.
Such as it is.
Image credit: Ernstl
But hey, at least now you can “Follow my blog with Bloglovin!” Right, now that that’s out of the way ….
We’re back from Portland MUCH later than expected. I’m not even going to try to clean out the staff car until tomorrow.
However, I’m happy to report we had a spectacular time at the Rush concert.
Today’s post is a little earlier than usual. Rush plays a three-hour set, and I don’t expect to be back at the hotel room until after 11 p.m. With an eight-year-old in tow, that means there won’t be any late night writing tonight.
Oh she thinks she can handle it, but I know better.
Image credit: Rafael Edwards
So there won’t be any concert accounts until tomorrow. Sorry ’bout that.
What a difference 434 miles make. Well, maybe. It’s 20 degrees cooler here but I’m still sweating like a stuck pig. Still, every time you walk into a hotel room, it’s obvious you’re not home anymore.
“A blue state. Definitely a blue state.”
You know what’s really nice about a hotel? The fact you can crank the air conditioner up to full blast and suffer no economic consequences whatsoever! OK, so I’m only an environmentalist most of the time.
It’s amazing how quickly a subject for this blog sometimes presents itself.
Since Σ and I are going to Portland in a couple days to see Rush, she’s staying with me beginning tonight. Having just put her to bed, I was resigned to writing tonight about how she’s looking forward to an all-day car trip to Oregon’s I-5 corridor to … “go to the mall.”
Which, as I told her, makes about as much sense as going to Japan to eat at McDonald’s.
As it turns out, you can thank the UK’s Daily Mail for saving you from reading about that.
I think my daughter and I solved the Beachy issue from a few days back. Although she wanted me to refer to her by her real name here, her mother vetoed that. Fortunately we’ve come up with a solution which should satisfy everyone. She has agreed to be known here on SB simply as “Σ.” If you like you can call her Sigma. Along those lines, my twin nieces – who are toddlers living in the Portland, Oregon, area – will be henceforth known as “π” and “μ” respectively.
No, none of us are even remotely Greek. Just work with me here.
Image credit: PHGCOM
This is a fortuitous turn of events, since all three young ladies figure into today’s narrative.
At some point after passing through Shoshoni, it dawned on me that the highlight of this trip wasn’t going to be in Thermopolis after all, but in Riverton. Yes, Riverton. A town I didn’t even consider until I checked out the hotel rates in the area. The small-town weirdness I was looking for on this trip was there.
A place where they take their building materials VERY seriously.
With a population of approximately 10,000, Riverton is the largest city in Wyoming’s expansive Fremont County. It looks larger than that, as it reminded me somewhat of the 2T back in the 80s. The downtown area near my hotel proved to be very walkable. Shortly after returning from Thermopolis I came across a secondhand store known simply as the Flea Market. It had all the stuff you’d expect to find at such a place, and the pricing policy seemed to be very simple. “When in doubt, it’s 20 bucks.”
Nothing really caught my eye until I wandered into the back of the store and came across a complete 1970 Fisher-Price Play Family Garage, with its original box no less. I had one of these as a kid, but unlike the Sesame Street play set – which after me was owned by my sister, my cousins, Beachy and now by my twin nieces in Portland – the garage is long gone. I seriously considered picking this one up.
But alas, I don’t have enough storage as it is.
Image credit: Judy’s Vintage Fisher Price Toys
Eventually tiring of picking through brick-a-brac, I noticed it was approaching twilight on a Saturday. Although my hard partying days are well behind me, I remain a sucker for a good craft beer. There are plenty here in Boise, and even the 2T is beginning to produce some good local stuff. I figured Wyoming couldn’t be too far behind.
I figured … incorrectly. I don’t touch the ubiquitous American style pale lagers such as Coors and Bud, and trying to find anything more highbrow than a Michelob Amber in Riverton is an exercise in futility. I came across a single bottle of Guinness, but it was so old it must have been brewed by Arthur himself. Blech.
While on this wild goose chase a woman came in and ordered a martini. Despite it being a long-established standard, I could tell right away the barkeep wasn’t familiar with this particular cocktail. I was a bartender for a short time in Center City Philadelphia, so I cheerfully offered my assistance. First, use the right glassware (which they obviously didn’t have).
Eh, close enough.
Second, if you’re going to make a gin martini Bombay Sapphire is the way to go. “Tanqueray will be fine.” Well, whatever.
Finally, use just a little bit of dry vermouth. “Vermouth … vermouth …. We don’t have that. Would you like some gin in a glass, ma’am?”
Image credit: fortinbras
And thus this junket’s moment of Zen was attained. Me, the kid from the 2T who lives in the teeming metropolis of Boise, Idaho, is now the big city asshole. With that, it was time to call it a night. Oh, how I looked forward to seeing that teeming metropolis again.
To be concluded on Saturday ….
A few weeks ago I mentioned I’m a bit obsessive when it comes to laundry. It’s my sole domestic quality. Being a divorced bachelor and all, I occasionally wash all my pants at the same time, leaving me with, um, no pants to wear.
Today is one of those days.
I’ll spare you further imagery.
Image credit: Stuart Chalmers
An occasional lack of clean pants at the Command Center stems primarily from two circumstances. For one, like many men I almost never go clothes shopping. Since I was separated in late 2008 I can count the times I went on one hand. One of those times was a few months ago in Portland when I found myself without a belt.
How the hell did this happen? Your guess is as good as mine.
The second, and more disquieting, reason is my weight. For most of my adult life I wore a 38 waist. Accordingly all of my slacks and suit pants have a 38 waist. The problem is over the last year or so I’ve expanded to a solid 40. The 38s simply don’t fit anymore. That leaves me with four viable pairs of pants at present, all jeans.
Yeah, yeah. “Go to the gym.” Easy for you to say. Recently because of my bipolar and other factors, getting up by 5 pm has become something of an accomplishment. It’s not that I don’t want to (no, really). It’s just that I haven’t been able to.
Besides, without pants even simple tasks like getting the mail become … shall we say, problematic.