Pablo Bandito

{When everything goes to hell and there are no longer any ice caps or polar bears, I want the squirrels on my side. Please also notice that although unfinished, the “i” in Bandito is a chili pepper. Found in Overlook Park in North Portland.}

Which is Why I'm Leaving a Note Instead of Calling You

{found on N. Interstate Avenue in Portland}

Carbohydrant

It's highly unlikely but not impossible that this fire hydrant was pried open by a gang of sweltering neighborhood kids desperate for liquid relief, who were instead showered with a Memorial Day's bounty of hamburger buns. Just in time for barbecue season.

(Taken at N Interstate Avenue and Humboldt Street. More photos of found food here.)

Doomed Relationships: Good-Bye, Enjoy

{Found on the corner of N Greeley and Ainsworth in Portland. This one makes me wonder why I'm fated to discover so many artifacts relating to this specific aspect of the human condition. My new favorite of the Doomed Relationship variety, it's more raw and urgent than any other note I've found. It's also the saddest, for the physical violence it implies, and the most hopeful, for the implications of escape and independence.}

Doomed Relationships: Torn

{Only the first page, found ripped in half in Portland's Old Town/Chinatown area.}

A "Baloo" Is A "Bear"

{Found in Portland's Pearl District. Best explanation wins a prize!}

Arrive Alive

{Funeral procession placard, found in my front yard in North Portland. It's one of the oddest bits of garbage to blow through, a welcome departure from the usual taco and condom wrappers deposited by passersby.}

Try It Again, This Time With More Frampton TalkBox

{Set list, probably, found outside of the Shanghai Tunnel
in Portland's Old Town.}

Untitled

{Family picnic, circa 1995? Snapshot found on the street in Portland's Chinatown,
with questions about the scene's signifigance or lack thereof. I didn't really like
this one at first, but now I see a few stories. That and and I want a Coke.)

Personal Jesuses

{People like me, who obsessively pick up other people's garbage, dream of finds like these. It's someone's Jesus collection, documented, then dropped on West Burnside in Downtown Portland. You can't make this stuff up.}

Your Mandates Are Less Impressive For Your Choice of Stationary

{Portland-style confrontation, found downtown on NW 4th Avenue.}

Hunt and Peck

{I stared at this block for a week after I found it on the street, before I finally figured out the picture. Naturally, I'd been looking at it upside down, because how the hell are you supposed to know the top of a filthy little piece of wood from the bottom of a filthy little piece of wood?}

This Note Will Be Less Interesting Than The One Just Inside The Door

{This pre-note, found on the street in Portland's Pearl District, is really only
interesting for imagining what that other note said. And, I suppose, for the
filthy tape detail at the bottom. That's pretty gross/cool. Or grool.}

Your Life Will Never Again Be So Simple And Even If It Were,You Probably Wouldn't Actually Enjoy It

{Found in a Walgreens parking lot in North Portland}

Made In China

{Found on NW 5th Avenue, in Portland's diminutive Chinatown}

Guilty

Several weeks ago, in Los Angeles, professional cameraman and capitalist hippie Ron Atkatsh comes roaring out of Michael Furey's bathroom. He has something to say.

"You guys gotta go in the bathroom right now. The lighting's perfect for some bullshit Hollywood headshots."

No one flinches at the applesauce of seven people, none of whom actually aspire to appear in photos or on screens, suddenly contemplating the possibility of taking professional headshots in the cramped bathroom of a small, overpriced West Hollywood one bedroom. Within seconds, there are too many people in the bathroom, gesturing wildly and agreeing loudly with Ronnie's asessment of the situation. The setting sun, draped in smog, is blazing soft orange and yellow through the horizontal slats in the rectangular window above the bathtub. At about 6:30 on this day, it hits a spot on the back wall that corresponds with the head-height of someone between five and six feet tall. The excitement reaches a fever pitch and there's talk of advertising the "location" on Craigslist, for people who actually need headshots, when someone jumps into the light and makes a contemplative/constipated face.

"Oh that's gorgeous. Goddamn. Someone get a camera."

I'm back in the bathroom with the camera and ten minutes later, the ugliest four people in this building are cooing over their headshots. Respectably, the two women and one other man in the apartment begged out, offering only an airtight and irrefutable "you guys are pathetic." Never mind the nay sayers - the results speak for themselves. This spot, this magical portal of flattering evening light, took four hideous street goons and transformed them into four marginally less hideous corporate robberbarons. Actually, I'm pissed that mine makes me look like I have a mustache. Everyone knows you can't get good work with a mustache.

{Clockwise: Chris, Mike, Me, Ron}

Doomed Relationships: What Teal May Have Done With Jada

{This doomed relationship communique was found on North Portland Blvd. Those of you that are teachers will be less interested because you find these back-and-forth notes every day. For everyone else, here's the deal: The girl on top, we think her name is Jancine, heard some shit about Jada and Teal. Rumours. For some reason, people always gotta be sayin' some shit about Jada and Teal. So people said some shit about Jada and Teal and people, Jancine didn't believe it because you KNOW that kind of shit is so eigth grade and why would Jada do that anyway? She probably wouldn't and she says so at the bottom. On the other hand, with a name like "Teal," dude's gotta be HOTTT and Jada just got out of a bad relationship so we all know what really went down. Drinka drinka, squeaka squeaka. With all this bullshit flying around though, Jada and Teal are done before they even got started. But not before they got busy. Ninth grade!}

Note To Someone Else

{As a habitual and obsessive list maker, it's a small validation to find the lists of others. These windows into the neuroses and problems of strangers, not having a job or health care for instance, can make a body feel good about its own troubles. It also reminds me that my sofa smells too much like my dog, both of which are overdue for washing. Helpful garbage. Credit to Amy for spotting this one, fading on the summer sidewalks of Belmont Street.}

Doomed Relationships: Corey and Your Lady L.L.

{This Doomed Relationship Communique was found mottled by tires in the parking lot of a North Portland Plaid Pantry. By the date, it's nearly a year old and was ripped in half while still in the envelope. Corey's apparently done with this one.}

Dinner With Earcell

{This tender little roadmap to evening ecstasy was found near Greeley Avenue
in North Portland.}

This Moveable Feast

There is something strangely captivating about the volume of cast off food encountered while moving on foot through the urban environment. Days and nights in this city are spent stepping over, around and occasionally in representatives of most of the major food groups dropped or forgotten on sidewalks, benches and newspaper boxes. Those so impassioned are encouraged to infer a statement about hunger, poverty, waste and GMO produce this week. Everyone else can wonder along with me at exactly what kind of freaky shit has to go down for the contents of a single balogna and cheese sandwich to be spread across the sidewalks of half a city block.

One or two a day then:

{Inchlong. One small bite left in the bag, waiting for the next big rainstorm or hungry stray realdog.}

{Crust Off. The trees near my office collect a great number
of odd objects, including sandwiches, which they will apparently
eat with or without the crust.}

{Just J. No PB. Of course I checked. For science.}

{Once Bitten. Twice disgusting. Who the hell bites into an unpeeled orange?}

{Foundcakes. For your crazy hobo sweet tooth.}

{Explogna. Several slices of American cheesefood, too difficult to photograph together,
also bubbled in the noon sun fifteen feet behind me. While I like to imagine that some angry,
explosive argument spread this meatwich across the sidewalk, it was more likely an incremental
dismantling, accompanied by the kind of incoherent muttering that will cause you to clutch your
handbag and children tighter, closer. Mommy, why is that man yelling at his sandwich.
Shhhh, it's not polite to stare.}

{Lost Pork. Terrified to know both a) the circumstances under which this half-can of spolied
"pork with juices" made it here, far from any commercial kitchen and b) how many school
lunch casseroles I have consumed in my life that contained a fresher version
of this ambrosial delight.}

Doomed Relationships Part Five: Heart This

{This doomed relationship communique was found
blowing around Portland's lower E. Burnside.}

Doomed Relationships Part Four: I LOVE YOU SO MU - Wait, Hang On, My Cab's Here

{This doomed relationship communique was found by Special K, abandoned in the back of Mississipi Avenue's Crow Bar. Extra credit for anyone who can correctly solve "X + O x 1000."}

Bay Of Babka

{History repeats as Dark Green battles Light Green over the only chocolate babka in Portland, which we thank our dear Amy for bringing to both this city and Sunday's Cuban-themed dinner gathering. It may not be Cuban, but you can't beat a babka.}

My Other Elephant Is A Camaro

{One of the more interesting objects I've excitedly pulled from a filthy bus floor or trash can, this Polaroid was found on the street in Portland's Old Town. It was very close to Burnside, a street that sees a tremendous daily volume of transient homeless traffic. It is entirely possible that this photo was the treasured possession of either the adult or child pictured in it, someone whose life is now eons away from this elephant's back. Regardless, I see about a dozen stories every time I look at it.}

Doomed Relationships Part Three: Best "Monthsary" Present Ever

{This small-piece-of-wood-turned-one-month-anniversary-present was found on the sidewalk in Portland's Chinatown. See also Part One and Part Two.}

Don't Ask Don't Tell

{We have learned that a small jar of army men, kept on a dining table, will invade every dinner party.}

Doomed Relationships Part Two: XOXOXOXO Etc.

:

{This doomed relationship communique was found on the MAX Blue Line in Portland, OR}

Doomed Relationships Part One: Best Honeymoon Ever

{This doomed relationship was spotted in downtown San Antonio, TX}

"I want those little shits to know EXACTLY how much it's gonna cost."

So Noted

The last time I visited home, in Florida, my Grandfather cornered me in my parents' kitchen and pulled this note from his pocket:

He'd been compiling questions for me in anticipation of my visit and answers were required, post haste. The note stands on its own, so I won't go into the details of the conversation - Suffice to say it was animated, especially on the topics of gay marriage, the intellectual wasteland of AM talk radio, and the laws of physics as they apply to email. This note has easily become one of my favorite keepsakes, because it epitomizes a man who is more spry, charming, and inquisitive in his 80s than most people in their 20s.

And I'm grateful for the opportunity to explain how it is that an email is capable of traveling from Florida to London in 20 seconds. Science!

Glow

North Interstate Avenue in Portland, Oregon is a veritable forest of quirky and amazing neon signs. Commercial redevelopment on the Avenue exploded in the 1950s and 60s and as a result, it absorbed most of the city's demand for motor lodges, diners, and tiki lounges. At the time, new businesses engaged in a game of neon sign one-upsmanship, and despite the fact that some of these properties have fallen on tough times, the signs remain. They're all works of art in their own right, scarce commodities in a time when most new neon signs do little more than promote beer brands. My favorite, by leaps and bounds, is this sign for the Palms Motor Hotel, the website for which touts it as "the biggest motel sign in Portland for over 45 years." The Oregonian ran an article on the neon of Interstate Ave in July 2004, and the current Palms owner was quoted saying that his dream was to someday add a second monkey to the sign. If I had three wishes, I'd give him one (after wishing for more wishes and a new president).

If you've got a taste for more notable neon signs, this page has tons.

{This week's PhotoFriday thingy is "glow."}