PORTLAND AND IDAHO PICTURE ROUND-UP

The view from my bed into the living room.


Flat-screen tv.


Cool painting of a fisherman that my cousin nearly swiped from the wall after he saw it. He likes fishing.


This pattern was all over the carpet. Really cool when sober, but not so great to stare at after six beers.


I don't know why I took this picture.


If there was a contest for coolest cabinet designs of all time, this would win hands-down. All the people on the drawers are philosophers. My cousin mentioned something about how it probably had to do with how ridiculously smart people like their booze. Makes sense because behind the right drawer was a mini-fridge stocked with lots of alcohol. To the right, for the kids, was some sort of video game system. It wasn't Nintendo, that's all I know.


Not quite as awesome as the California King I have at home, but pretty damn close. The pillows were like sleeping on a woman's breast.


At home, I'm clean. On vacation, I throw my clothes all over the place and don't care. In this picture, that chair was where I tossed most of my gear.


The view out my window on Monday morning. Slightly overcast, just how I like it. I tried looking for people doing it, but I got nothing.


Opposite direction of the previous pic. This one looks toward all them bridges they got up there.


Straight out my window. I laughed at the schmucks who were at work while I was lounging in a hotel room. In fact, my favorite part about traveling has always been that amazing feeling of knowing I'm not at work while the rest of the world is stuck behind a desk. Next to sex and sleep, that might be the best feeling in the world.


Mi bano. Complete with coffeemaker, which was kinda weird, but when you need caffeine, anything will do.


Should shower curtains be this stylish? Is that even legal?


This was the nicest hotel I've ever stayed in. By far. So I don't know if this is a Hotel Monaco thing or a fancy hotel thing, but there were robes and underwear for sale in the closet. It goes without saying, but if I was single and had been fortunate enough to pick up a lovely Portland lady, you best believe I'da dropped the $39.95 for this quality garment.


The outside of the hotel. The same spot where I had to go in after 2 a.m. to ask them to open the garage. I have this funny feeling that I might have been the only person who didn't get to bed at 10 p.m. in the entire hotel.


Ah, beautiful Boise, Idaho. I can now cross you off my list of places I've been.


I want to be stereotyped...


...I want to be classified.


The trees were really something special. Maybe it was the time of the year, but they just had a very "awww" touch to them. I almost heard bells and saw golden beams of light coming from the sky. Almost.


The view from my window at Tamarack. And I always thought that winter wonderland was just a song.


Snow everywhere.


We were on the third floor overlooking the main entrance. Had there been a fire, I wouldn't have thought twice to jump because there was tons of snow right outside. In fact, I thought about busting out the window and doing in just for fun.


See all those pillows? Taylor and I created a wall of them and put that between us so our asses wouldn't touch. He said he was fine without it, but I wasn't taking any chances.


A TV we didn't use.

MY TRIP SO FAR

SHIT!

I had a ton of this typed and then Blogger just lost it. So now I am pissed and don't really want to re-write this shit. Motherfucker.

Here's what this piece of fucking shit saved...

I bailed on Long Beach last Saturday. It's now Thursday. I think.

Before I get into it, let me begin by saying how angry I am at myself for forgetting my nail clippers. I need to get some asap because I can't stand long fingernails.

Now on to the trip so far.

I left home around 1 p.m. Saturday and worried the weather would make it a long trek to Portland. Light rain from Dodger Stadium to Santa Clarita. After that, it was smooth sailing for the entire drive.

For the first time in all my travels north, I stopped in Weed, California. And yes, the people of Weed get the joke. All their souvenir stuff said things like, "I'm High on Weed" and then in real tiny letters, it would say "California." They had shirts, hats, shot glasses, the whole nine. I looked into getting something, but it was expensive and I'm broke.

The drive through California was really great. Apparently, people don't drive to cold weather states in February during a recession because the highways were almost 100 percent clear. I got all the way to Roseburg, Oregon, and could have made it all the way, but that would have meant rolling in around 4 a.m. I wasn't going to wake up friends for that, so I crashed. I got to my Motel 6 room (which had an elevator --I'd never seen that in a Motel 6 before), brushed my teeth and passed out.

The supposed two-hour drive from Roseburg to Portland was an absolute nightmare. Two lane roads. Sunday. Families. (HERE'S MY NEW VERSION OF SHIT I JUST WROTE. FUCK YOU BLOGGER. I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DID, BUT I'M PISSED.) Truckers. People who don't understand the rules of the two-lane road (drive on the right, pass on the left) drive (no pun intended) me nuts. Three hours later and I was ready for a beer.

Luckily my cousin was there to help with the drinks. We hit an Irish pub in the Southwest and asked them to put on the Lakers game. Since this wasn't LA, they gave us funny looks and kept asking, "isn't the game on at 3?" We had to explain that we wanted the LAKERS, not the BLAZERS. This is something I will have to get used to once I move. The Lakers whooped on the Cavs and I had two Hefs. Feeling fine.

We bailed on the Irish pub and in passing I mentioned the my cousin how I'd never been to Mary's, Portland's oldest strip club. So of course, we went. It was about 2 p.m. when we got there. Two girls took turns while some dude who more than likely had a mental disability was yelling things and biting into an empty Mountain Dew bottle. We got some drinks and I noticed that tittie bars in Oregon are different than California. For starters, they don't do that whole "dance with my clothes on for one song" routine. They just get right to the main event. Secondly, the main event is really THE MAIN EVENT. Booze and full nude. Now, I love women, but I don't need to see the bottom unless it's me and her and a bedroom. Or the backseat. Or a bathroom. You get the point. The other crazy thing was these women were their own DJs and had to change songs in their birthday suits. Kinda embarrassing for them and kinda hilarious for us.

Then we hit a spot called the Olympian. Cool biker bar with the Pro Bowl on. The joint was about 50 yards from my hotel and the next thing I knew, I was wayyyyy-sted on a Sunday afternoon. My cousin walked me back to my room. I walked in through the front entrance and stumbled to the desk, where I asked the very Portland-esque girl (ie wrist tattoo, plug earrings, short dyed hair) where the jacuzzi was. She looked at me strange and said, "we don't have a jacuzzi." Not knowing what to say and feeling super bummed about not taking a dip, I just walked away with my tail between my legs.

The next thing I knew, it was 10 p.m. I passed out with my shoes on and when I woke up, I thought it was morning. I was wrong. Somewhere between drunk and hungover, there was no way I was leaving my room. So, for the first time in my life, I ordered room service. The veggie burger was $16. The $3.50 tip was added. So was the $2.50 delivery fee. Grand total for two slices of bun, a veggie patty, tomato and lettuce with a side of fries and ketchup: $22. The burger was good, but not $22 good. The next morning, when the hangover had pretty much gone away, I wondered how in the world a hotel could charge a delivery fee. I'm new to the whole room service thing, but isn't that what room service is? A delivery?

Thanks to Blogger losing my shit, I'm going to stop here. I need to take a nap. But don't worry. You don't want to miss my re-telling of the time I went by myself to the vegan strip club and how I think a certain employee was hitting on me.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME

Eleven years ago today (ok, maybe not on this date, but you get the point) I gave up eating meat. It was supposed to be a one-day thing, but here I am more than a decade later with no regrets.

I had turned 18 years old a few weeks prior and was the furthest thing any living (or dead) person could have been from a vegetarian. I absolutely despised vegetables and fruit. I ate hot dogs, hamburgers and chicken taquitos all the time and was so far removed from any semblance of healthy eating that I didn't put lettuce or tomatoes on my burgers -- just bun, ketchup and meat.

I don't remember how or why I decided to give up turkey, but I vividly recall the word "protest" being a major force behind my decision. This was very similar to why I never drank or did drugs in high school; if everyone else was doing it, I wanted to be as far away as humanly possible. This motif continues today.

As long as I can remember, animals have always had a soft spot in my heart and the thought of thousands -- if not millions -- of turkeys being slaughtered just for selfish reasons was enough to turn me to the dark side. In fact, one of my earliest memories is going to the LA County Fair in kindergarten. My parents took me out of school (which turned out to be the ONLY time they ever did that) and I had what I remember was a bonding experience with a horse. Before you get your mind in the gutter, I'll explain...My memory of this day is nill except for how much I loved petting the horse's head and talking to it. My parents probably thought I was strange, but you know what? They still do. Anyway, leaving the horse made me very sad. I don't know why, but I felt some sort of connection with the beast, all cramped up with no movement for anything other than his or her head. Somewhere there's a shrink analyzing that thought, but I don't care to do such a thing.


I got to my aunt's cramped Torrance apartment (I have a large family) and shoved everything on my plate except turkey. This meant taking more potatoes and stuffing than normal, but I was fine by that. As far as I could tell, no one noticed and my turkey-free Thanksgiving went off without a hitch.

I woke up the next morning and had challenged myself to see how long I could keep up the no-meat diet. Trust me, it wasn't easy. My family is not veggie-friendly and I had no idea what I was doing. The first month or two was filled with more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and grilled cheese than I'd ever consumed before. When mom microwaved a can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup, I did my best not to eat the chicken, but I enjoyed the noodles and broth. Like I said, I was lost.

I don't have an exact date, but roughly two weeks into my vegetarianism was the last time I purposely ate meat (there have been a few times when someone swore there wasn't meat in something and there was, but I don't count those as I unknowingly ate flesh and threw away the food once I realized that). Mom threw some chicken taquitos in the oven and I put a few on my plate. As I was doing so, I told myself it was ok because the vegetarian experiment was over. "I'm not a vegetarian," I said to no one but me. I thought of my friends giving me shit for it and how, until then, I never told anyone I was a vegetarian because a few days of something is not long enough to start labeling yourself.

Like always, dinner was served in my bedroom. I took one bite and the taste was fine. Then the food hit my stomach and I knew something was wrong. I didn't vomit or have crazy poop, but the best I can describe this moment would be like this: Imagine a balloon expanding in your gut and not stopping. I felt like my belly was about to explode and there was nothing I could do about it. I writhed in pain, tossing and turning on my bedroom floor. This lasted a couple of minutes. Once the pain subsided, I put the extra taquitos back on the tray for someone else to eat.

It's been a pretty fucking awesome ride ever since.

Instantly I dropped 10 pounds. My diet was not what anyone would call healthy, but I was trying. I started buying veggie burgers and they tasted like shit. Just a big onion, which was definitely not what I wanted. But I kept at it. Veggie dogs? Yuck. More shit taste. But I kept at it.

I hate to be a sappy boyfriend, but it wasn't until a year later, when I met my girlfriend, when I was exposed to proper vegetarianism. She was a veggie too, which was a huge reason why we hit it off. I've heard of lots of couples in which one person converts for the other. That's noble, but ours was different. She knew way more about the subject than I did and started cooking me food that I'd never heard of and taking me to the now defunt Papa Jon's on Second Street in Long Beach. Oh how I miss you and your mush and tofu balls, Papa Jon's...

Our first visit, she ordered stir fry broccoli tofu. I looked at the menu and the dreadlocked hippy waiters and wondered where the hell I was. On paper, the food looked very unflattering and I went with an old standard -- a plate of black beans. Her dish came out and I was glad I didn't order it. Too much green for the young me. My beans were bland and dry and I pushed them around the plate more than I ate them. A while later, she cooked me falafel, something I'd never heard of. She promised I'd love it -- and hummus -- but she was wrong. I couldn't finish it and she made no bones about how this upset her. But she had the last laugh as I would inject falafel and hummus into my veins if I could. Her, on the other hand, she's over both of them. More for me!

I won't bore anyone with the details, but once I discovered fruits and veggies, there was no turning back. Tofu was and still is an awesome thing and my palette and awareness began cutting out more animal-based foods. Unfortunately, I don't have a vegan anniversary date, but my best estimate is about five years.

Like I said earlier, I gave myself a one-day challenge and upped the ante to see how long I could keep this up. Once I had a few months distance between me and meat, I was still telling people how one of these days I'd eat flesh again. Eleven years later, I say the same thing about dairy. But you know something? I can honestly say I'll never be a carnivore again, and if history tells me anything, I probably won't go back to milk, cheese and milk chocolate either. Not only is it the right thing to do on a compassion level, my body is much happier without all that shit in it. And if they could talk, I'd bet the animals are in favor of my decision as well.

Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm not the type to preach my beliefs. No one forced vegetarianism or veganism on me and I don't wish to do the same. Now, when people ask, I give them honest, blunt answers. But it's not for me to tell others what to do. I came to this on my own and I believe people who make choices for themselves have a greater shot of sticking with things for the long haul. Veganism is right for me. On so many levels, I'd say it's right for you, the Jim Hall Sleeps All Day reader, but that's just my opinion. It's up to you to decide what you put in your body and why you do so.

Just yesterday a college student told me the thought of eating Tofurkey disgusted her. I told her she could think whatever she wanted, but I explained how there is no way she was more grossed out by fake turkey than I am when I think of the blood, guts and flesh of a formerly living creature entering my mouth. No thanks.

I still get crazy looks for non-believers and I don't care. Diets are not pissing matches, but I can always walk away knowing I'm doing what's right for me and for the greater good of humanity. I'm amazed at how many so-called religious people condemn me for my hedonistic ways (and trust me, there are plenty of them), but they still can't comprehend how they are contributing to torture and murder by eating meat. Again, I get the last laugh because religious nuts are destined to live a miserable life anyway.

And now it comes full circle. I am in the (incredibly slow) process of moving to Portland, Oregon, where veganism has taken over. As a vegan, I never thought I'd move somewhere because of food. That just wasn't possible until I went north. I'm not saying that's the only reason I want to live in the PDX, but it's a pretty big part of it. Even greater is knowing that I'm surrounding myself with like-minded people who don't think I'm weird for caring about fuzzy little creatures who can't speak up for themselves. Well don't worry my animal friends -- I'm here for you and I'm not the only one. I don't think we'll win this battle (or the war) but we can't go down without a fight.

Geez...this is one of my longest posts ever and I didn't even get into the raping and pillaging of Native Americans. I'll save that for next year.

PORTLAND PICTURE ROUND UP

I've been swamped with more work than I know what to do with, hence the lack of updates. Well, some of that business (that's busy-ness, not business) is over and you are the winners! Yeah!

Here are some pics from my recent trip to Portland. I'd write more, but photos are what people want, not words.


Powell's on Hawthorne. Much easier to navigate than the downtown one. Notice the overcast sky. I can't wait to make that a daily occurrence.


















Hawthorne...I love you.


















Mt. Tabor Park is the most amazing thing in a city full of amazing things.



































































































































People ask if I really want to move to Portland. This picture says it all. I mean, come on, I'm already parking my car on the wrong side. What's more Portland than that?






























































Karaoke at Chopsticks Express II was GOING OFF! I've retired from taking the mic at home, but I had to show Portland how Long Beach do it...what? what? Also, the guy with his back to my camera in the striped shirt was sitting next to me all night. We made very small talk for about an hour. Then, out of nowhere, he leans over, and above the killer rendition of "Sweet Home Alabama", he asks, "do you smoke weed?" I said I did and he said, "you look like you do. Wanna go outside and get high?" How did he know?





























This girl was WAY-STED. She was talking to me outside the karaoke bar about something. I don't remember what it was, but she was definitely into whatever she was saying. Her arms her flailing and she kept pointing her fingers in my face. I totally coulda practiced making babies with her, but I have a girlfriend and an unreasonable fear of a girl vomiting on me while we're sharing a moment.

AND PORTLAND HERE I GO

Final night in Portland. I leave sometime tomorrow. Bummer. Big, big bummer.

I knew the weekend would go quickly. It did. I saw a lot, did a lot, drove a lot and am not even close to being ready to go home. Why? Because this is starting to feel a lot like home. I've got some great friends here who treat me well and I know these streets like I know Long Beach.

I told people about wanting to move in December/January. Most think it's a bad idea due to the weather. While I agree, I can't wait until next summer to do this. The time is now.

You know how I know I'm getting old? Tonight I ate dinner at friends' house. Killer vegan soup and cornbread with banana instead of eggs. Both were amazing. We caught the season finale of I Love Money (sorry Whiteboy -- booyah!) and I decided to split to where I was staying. Mind you, this was 10:30 p.m. (about 45 minutes ago) and I leave tomorrow. This is the old me:

"Damn, I gotta leave tomorrow, so I'd better get all kinds of party tonight."

This is the new me.

"Damn, I gotta leave tomorrow, so I'd better get some rest for the long drive." Please kill me.

I did a real stupid thing this morning. OK, two stupid things. First, I went to bed at 5 a.m. and woke up at 10. Fuck, three stupid things. I thought the couple I was staying with was still asleep and I needed to use the phone, so I tip-toed through the house and made my calls from the backyard (the same one that neighborhood cats use as a litter box). Make my calls and I open the back door. Except it didn't open. The motherfucker was locked. I went to the front of the house to knock on the door so they'd let me in. That's when I noticed a vehicle missing from the driveway. I knock. No answer. I'm in pajamas, it's starting to drizzle and I'm locked out. I check for potential windows to climb through. None. Then I remember that last night the guy I'm staying with told me that window opened. It might have been a pretty meaningless comment at the time, but boy did that tidbit come in handy. I took a desk that just happened to be outside and pushed it against the wall. With my left hand I pushed open and held the window because it wouldn't stay up. I wiggled the right side of my body through the tiny opening. The dog was watching the entire thing and although we've known each other for years, I thought she might attack. Hey, a guy breaking in -- isn't that what most dogs would do? Anyway, I got my torso in, but my legs were another story. I curled them and slid them through the window and the faucet while not knocking over the wine glasses in the sink. Where there's a will, there's a way. And when it's raining and you're in pajamas with shit to do, you find a way.

I gotta split. Like I said, early to bed. Massively major big ups to everyone who let me crash and showed me a good time and the wig-wearing tranny who started smashing shit from her purse in the parking lot of a karaoke bar last night. What's that? I didn't tell you that story? Maybe when I get home.

PORTLAND HERE I COME

I am leaving for Portland tomorrow night. Work all day, then drive as far as I can. I am very excited about hitting my second favorite American city (you're still No. 1 New Orleans!), but very nervous about my trip.

You see, some publication is paying me an ungodly amount of money to write 3,000 words about the city. I know most of the things they want me to cover, but there are a few I don't know, so it's up the 5 I go. Luckily I have my Sirus Satellite radio, so I'll have Howard Stern, Bubba the Love Sponge and Ferrall to keep me company.

This is my first big travel writing story and I don't want to blow it. Pray for me Argentina.

If you know me, I'll be back next week. If you don't, then you don't care. I'm bringing a camera and hopefully will be blogging in my free time, assuming I have any. I'm sure my devoted readers in Internetland can't wait to hear all about the yummy vegan food and smog-free skies. I know I can't.

Please God/Jesus/Moses/Noah/Virgin Mary/Guadalupe/Buddha/Jah/... don't let me fuck this up.

MY FUTURE HOME

Sooner than later I will call Portland home. Until then, here are some pics from my recent trip to the great Pacific Northwest.

Before hitting Portland, I stopped in Sacramento for all of twenty minutes. I've lived in California my entire life and had never visited, so I figured what the hell. I got there around 7 p.m. on a Wednesday and the city was dead. Later I found out the city is always dead after 5.

This is a portion of a seal in the ground at the capitol building. Silly if you ask me.


Another seal. This one had all sorts of California stuff, like waves and 49ers and the like.


The capitol building.



Some sort of courthouse thingy.



More capitol.












Seriously, this is the best drink of all time. It's a Thai basil mojito sold at a place on Alberta Street called Thai Noon. I went there last year and it was the first place I went this year.


There are many vegan-friendly resturants in Portland, but the Vita Cafe is atop my list.






I was walking down Alberta after the mojito and dinner when I noticed a large amount of artists hanging out on the street. Then my friend said we lucked out and caught the last Thursday art walk. Long Beach, your art walk ain't got shit compared to this. There were people everywhere for about a mile. The street was not officially blocked off, but it could have been. People walking, bikes, dogs. It was crazy. Even the cops were looking at the goods for sale. This sort of thing could happen only in Portland.






In Long Beach, we feel special when there are neighborhoods full of cool old homes. In Portland, it's the norm.




I thought the Rose Garden was where the Trailblazers played. Turns out there's an actual rose garden with an amazing park attached to it. Who knew?










I was pretty freaked out when I found out we had to cross a bridge to get downtown. Something to do with the bus route being closed forced us to hoof it. Imagine my fear when a distorted voice came over the intercom to announce the bridge was opening up to let a sailboat pass. I kept my composure thanks to the knowledge that I wasn't high up enough to die. I said that to my friends and then realized you are never supposed to talk about suicide. So I had to qualify my statement by explaining how I was afraid of heights and just needed to calm myself down. They understood.










Seriously, you can say whatever you want about Portland. All I know is Voodoo Donuts makes vegan donuts. Any city cool enough to do that is alright by me. We chowed these down so quickly I had to go back and buy a dozen to take home. Those didn't last long either. I dare any non-vegan to eat these and tell me you can taste the difference. You can't.