Avenue Q

Last night, I had the pleasure of attending opening night of a fun, particularly raucous musical, Avenue Q. The show, with puppets as main characters, deals with the trials and tribulations of being young, single, and broke in a small borough of New York City. What a great show. If you offend easily, this show is probably not for you, but if you can look at life from more than one set of lenses, you may enjoy it. Joe was offended. See his comments. Leave your children at home. Joe said that those who grew up with Sesame Street probably liked this show so much simply because they were nostalgic. While there may be certain elements of Sesame Street (monsters, buddies, and good-hearted protagonists), Sesame Street this show is not.

The show is at the Keller (formerly known as the Portland Municipal Auditorium, the Portland Public Auditorium, and the Civic Auditorium), which was built in 1917. It was completely renovated in 1968 (after a sizable donation by Richard B. Keller). The location of the auditorium is convenient to me – I love that my favorite Broadway shows and the Portland Opera is only a short block away. The Oregon Ballet Theatre and the Oregon Children’s Theatre also perform here.

I wish I could find pictures of the auditorium from before it was renovated. I heard that there were beautiful columns and a decorated ceiling. When it was renovated, it was “modernized.” It feels like you are sitting in a cavernous capsule with a view of the Death Star or maybe a stylized version of the moon. Thus Spake Zaruthustra, anyone? The theatre is purely functional. Nearly every seat offers an excellent view of the stage. Sound quality tends to be sporadic, however. I think there were microphone issues at last night’s show. While the theatre serves its purpose (a very important word in Avenue Q), it is also visually unappealing. I keep saying that they should just tear the Keller down and start over. My favorite theatre on the West Coast is Seattle’s 5th Avenue Theatre. And I don’t even like Seattle that much.

Sahagún Chocolate

This weekend, I went for a walk for no reason. I tend to do this a lot, especially when it is beautiful outside and I need to think. I brought Joe with me and we found ourselves on NW 16th Avenue. We ended up at a small cheerful chocolate shop called Sahagún, which I had been meaning to try forever, ever since I saw a small newspaper ad that was published just in time for Mother’s Day. The shop owners were celebrating Sahagún’s 3rd birthday with balloons, bubbly, luscious chocolate cake and music spun by DJ Primativa. Joe said he liked her ocean wave tattoo. I bought hot chocolate and it honestly gave me a much-needed energy boost. I didn’t buy any of the other wonderful creations that beckoned from behind the display case, but this serves me with multiple excuses to return often. They also make homemade sodas – the chili lemon one looked intriguing, but I was cold, so hot chocolate was my choice. Everything is homemade and fresh. It almost reminded me of the chocolate shops I delighted in during a trip to Belgium, but not too sweet (just the right amount) and certainly much more accessible.

June Weddings

I remember my "final" moving trip to Portland. Joe had landed a nice job with a large chip-designing conglomerate (he had a practical college major), and I was returning from Peace Corps. Joe met me at the airport with a bouquet of red roses. This was when passengers could actually be met at the gate. Joe set off the metal detector and had to be “wanded” by Security, all while holding out the bouquet, much to the delighted amusement of other airport-goers. What a guy. Joe lived in Beaverton at the time, and while he worked, I explored downtown Portland on foot. I spent most of my time in the Portland Art Museum and didn’t want to leave. I found Portland State University and thought it a very strange campus with streets running through, very different from UC Santa Barbara where we went to school – UC campuses are often separated from the community while being a large influence of the community. Two years later, Joe had moved downtown, and after a brief substitute-teaching stint, I moved here.

Within a week, I had a job and signed up for classes at PSU. Within another week, I started getting familial pressure on the marriage issue. Certain family members didn’t like the living together thing, but realistically, could I really afford my own place on $9/hour without knowing all that much about Portland? Joe called me at work one Monday afternoon to ask if I could leave early on Thursday. I said probably. He said great, because we had an appointment at the Multnomah County Courthouse for a civil ceremony. Giang and Jasmine (two good friends who we hardly ever see anymore), were our witnesses. Then we had lunch and went to the Rose Garden at Washington Park.

Am I sad that we never had a “real” wedding with all of our family participating? Sometimes I am, especially when I see the run of June weddings occurring. I see the fragrant flowers gripped tightly by brides in their beautifully-made gowns and smartly-dressed somewhat nervous grooms. I certainly would have liked to do something before my grandmother passed away late last year. I really wanted to do something in Portland, but my Dad told me to think about the rest of the family (especially those who were averse to travel). I did think of them, and now they are all dead. I think of my parents who are divorced and continue to not get along, and I wonder would having a family gathering been worth it. With Joe’s parents back in Thailand, it is difficult to get our family members together, anyway. I suppose that’s not a real excuse…perhaps we can do something for our 10-year anniversary. I am thankful that Joe and I continue to have a good partnership through life’s turns. I do wish these newlyweds well.

Public Transportation

I cannot wait until MAX’s green line is finished! I watched as workers set beautiful brick down and it looks terrific. I love public transportation. I hate to drive. I am not the best driver in the world (I don’t pay attention as I am always running through speech drafts in my mind, or the bass line of whatever music I am listening to distract me no end), so it is best for everyone that I don’t drive. I take the streetcar and then transfer to the MAX blue or red to go to work, and then I take the MAX and transfer to a bus to get home. It is efficient for me (living downtown helps, too) and I don’t have to pay much for gas. I did fill up my car's gas tank the other day (there are times when I do have to drive out of town to far-flung places like Wilsonville), and I was glad I have to engage a gas pump only once a month. I love going over the Steel Bridge. I look out at the Willamette, and no matter how polluted it may be, I am grateful that I can have this vantage point of water every day. I grew up in the desert. While there may be peace in the desert silence (interrupted by the howl of a distant coyote or the unnerving clatter of a six-foot long rattler), there is no real peace when the heat reaches 110º in the shade. Only gasping death.

Now that public transportation is becoming more popular as the populace attempts to economize, it gets a bit crowded. Some people have difficulties with dealing with personal space. After enduring public transportation in Hong Kong, Uzbekistan, Thailand, and Turkey, I don’t know why Portlanders like to complain so much. Especially the under-21 spoiled set who seem to think that they are entitled to two seats and the highest-decibel cell phone conversation. I still don’t get the appeal of the cell phone. I understand its convenience, but really if you can’t hear the person on the other end, stop yelling louder and hang up. I wonder if it really is the convenience of being able to make a phone call nearly whenever you want or if it is the unconscious need to fill space with unnecessary vocals. Sometimes silence is all right. Try it sometime.

Flower Festival

Pioneer Courthouse Square partners annually with other organizations to create an artistic wonder that is beautifully executed in Pioneer Courthouse Square. This is the renowned Festival of Flowers. Past years have had English Garden designs as well as other wonderfully tailored concepts. Most have been visually stunning. Once the two-week celebration is over, the plants are sold, much to the happiness of area gardeners. This year, the partners created a sustainable “urban meadow.” I couldn't understand why the planners chose to make Portland messier than it already is. See the top picture? That is the "real urban meadow."

Celebrating June and the Sun

June 20 was the summer solstice. Thank goodness for the sun. Didn’t it feel great? The day brought back memories of the Summer Solstice parade in Santa Barbara, CA, where I earned my undergrad. This parade is a true home-grown party with local floats, fun music and people dancing in the streets. All year long, the kids of the city save blown-out eggs (actually, it is probably their mothers who do), and then they fill them with confetti and decorate them. They used to sell these to parade-goers for a quarter each; undoubtedly, the price has risen since then. Parade-goers crack them open and spray confetti with glee as they dance away. When the party finished, everyone pitched in with clean up duty – which is another party in itself. Upon hearing about the “Cleanest Parade in America” honor given to the Rose Festival’s Starlight Parade, I had to pause for a moment. When I first moved to the City of Roses, I went to the parades and I was impressed at the imagination and whimsy that infected the participants. You could feel the welcoming embrace of the spirit of what makes Portland unique. There was a lot of laughter and amusement for all. Fast forward to 2008. The Starlight was sleek, smooth, almost too perfect. The fire/ladder crew at the start of the parade was the best part. Perhaps everyone was saving on light bulbs and generators, but where were the colorful lights that were supposed to light up the parade? It was like the little sister to the Grand Floral Parade, another perfect sleek corporatized parade. I think I had better join the debate on whether the Rose Festival has gotten too big to be meaningful to Portlanders. I live in Portland and would like to be part of the festival, but after being part of the crowd at these parades, I sure don’t feel a part of Portland.

Has Portland forgotten its warm welcoming feeling? Only a few people almost-half-heartedly waved and cheered as the rodeo queens rode by on their flower-decked prancing horses, the floats rolled by with their amazing creations, and the bands marched by…from…Colorado? Minnesota? (Are they from Portland sister cities, too? From Kaoshiung, I understand – that’s a Portland sister city and it makes perfect sense for them to be here! And the Portland combined honor band should be larger than it is!)

I have to agree with Phil Stanford from the Portland Tribune, about being time to rethink the Portland Rose Festival. If you look at the Rose Festival website, you will see a long list of Rose Festival-sanctioned events that look as though the Rose Festival Association is just trying to find a way to barely break even. I suppose I can understand that the Rose Festival organizers want to reach out to everybody, but…they have also successfully drained the spirit of a home-grown festival from what should be all-in wholehearted participation from everyone to be a part of something major and real and so Portland. The Salem World Beat Festival should stand alone without having to be “sanctioned” by the Rose Festival, as should the Multi-Cultural Food Music and Food Festival, the Golf Challenge, and nearly everything else on the list. What should stay? Everything having to do with the Royal Rosarians and roses should stay, of course. Portland Rose Festival Association board members – all 60+ of you – I implore you to bring the focus of the Rose Festival back home. Please. This should not be the New Year’s Day Tournament of Roses in Pasadena where international participation is expected. This is the Portland Rose Festival and Portland itself has somehow become lost.

I'm not the Mean Girl in Portland...

My husband said that I should have named my profile and title "Mean Girl in Portland." I'm not mean! I'm just honest, maybe too much for people to handle. My former college roommates were not exactly pleased with my honesty, and at times, my husband reminds me to be nice. Such is life...

I don't really get impatient with those I meet. When people ask about my nationality, I tell them that my mother is Thai, my father is Irish (or maybe British, depending on my mood) and I was born on a Liberian freighter on its way to the Seychelles. This is only half true. But it amuses me. I have had people running after me at a swap meet, asking me to translate the Bible written in Chinese. At a recent ukulele event, someone asked me if I was from Hawaii. Other people have enthusiastically told me that they have been to the Philippines, too, even though I’m not remotely Pilipina (though I did receive quite a few invitations to join Kapatirang Pilipino when I was in college) and have never been there (it’s on my to-visit list). I have been asked for directions in every country I have been in. Okay, so this isn’t exactly impressive – I’ve only had time to travel to 22 countries (so many places to go, so little time) – but still. I’m working on it. I suppose I really do belong everywhere, and I’d like to believe that I belong in Portland, too. Having lived just a bit over a quarter of a century, I have to admit that I am still discovering who I am and where I really belong, and ethnicity has nothing to do with it. At all.

Why have I decided to join the blogosphere? Why in the world would I contribute to the hundreds of thousands of bits and bytes engaged in mostly mindless but sometimes thought-provoking drivel? Who would want to read my observations that may occasionally degenerate into an incoherent rant (though I would like to believe I am never incoherent)? The last time I wrote anything public, I had to publish my own underground newspaper to do so. This was in high school. The paper was called The Revolution. Don’t ask my why. Even I can’t remember, and I was a co-editor of the thing! To my knowledge, copies no longer exist. Since then, I’ve written introspective and analytical papers for my degrees, my work with Peace Corps/Uzbekistan, and I sometimes write equally thoughtful observations for my current work. When I am not slacking, I’ll put together a speech for Toastmasters, as I step gingerly toward an Advanced Communicator award, one carefully chosen word at a time.

My husband (I cannot believe that we have been married for nine years) insists that I have a unique perspective on the world and especially on the lovely city in which we live. Who else would be fascinated by the unique architecture, the echo chamber in Strunk Plaza, or those mobiles hanging in the window by the Eliot. I followed Joe to Portland, Oregon in 1999, right after I returned from random travel in Malaysia and Thailand. He had proposed to me two and a half years earlier, before I left for Uzbekistan. I said, “Yes, I’ll marry you, but I have to do the Peace Corps thing first. See you in a couple of years.” Strange as it may be, I kept my word. In his (very few) letters, Joe told me about scraping off his windshield and seeing a tiny patch of blue sky which was quickly enveloped by gray cloudburst and the ensuing drizzle. When I arrived, Portland really didn’t seem too bad, especially after growing up in the Southern California desert. The Tri-met drivers were nice to me and got me where I needed to go. Yes, we are California transplants. Would we move back? Why should we? Portland is our home now and I feel we need to be included in this community, even though I may be part of the 1.5% who will actually wear a suit to work.