August 12, 2007
A really good question.
At 10:00 last night Katie and I were sitting sedately on a homeward train when, for reasons I cannot now recall, one of us said the word "donut". We stared at each other wide-eyed for a second, then piled off the train and practically ran back down Third Street to Voodoo Doughnuts. We squeezed our way in through the music and crowds, and watched while another customer gamely tried the "eat this oversized donut as big as your head within 80 seconds while we ring a fire bell and yell out your time" challenge. He failed. We made off with a paper baggie of vegan sprinkle donuts, piled back onto the train, stopped again to pick up fried pickles and hot fwings, and ended the night back at my house playing Quiddler and stuffing junk food into ourselves. It was at this point that Katie posed the following question:
"Are there any grown-ups in this city?"
I have given the matter some thought. I have considered the cultic neighborhood hangouts and the endemic nerdery and the sweet stubborn insistence that fun not only makes right, it makes cool. I have considered the donuts and the spelling bees and the plastic ponies staked out on the sidewalks. I have considered the strip clubs and the alcoholic bubble teas and I have concluded that there are adults here, but no, no grown-ups. Portland is just a kids' table with a half-million seats. That's why I'm so in love with it.
Posted by dianna at August 12, 2007 10:16 AM
I'm greatly enjoying the Portland reports. Though I'm pretty sure I can't support the naming of fwings. The consumption of said fwings is probably all right.
Well, the brilliant alternative name would be hot vings, but I didn't think of that until after I'd posted this.
Hello, I read your blog after your pro-portland comments on Matt's page. I am a friend of friend of Matt and I am actually student in the counseling program at PSU... so I think I walk by your office weekly on the way to the clinic...
Anyway, just thought I would say hi...
and speaking of not being grown ups... did you hear about this?
Wait, the counseling clinic? Really? You do walk by me every day, then; I'm in the acronymically-named department next door. What was someone just saying about Portland being small?
Oh my god... Mondo Croquet. Do they only do it once a year? I don't have a bowling ball or a sledgehammer, but I do have ridiculous croquet attire and the desire to play.
1. I am delighted by the fact that, during my entire visit to Portland, you did not alert me to or cause me to be alerted to the presence of any grown-ups whatsoever. Instead, you caused me to eat donuts and inadvisably hot vings for dinner, and keep you out way too late playing pool and sucking at trivia.
2. Another realization: during the entire aforementioned visit, you did not introduce me to or cause me to be introduced to one unbearded man. (I count the unbearded men at zero despite the claim of one of our trivia partners, that he only appeared bearded because he hadn't shaved. On further reflection, I have concluded that not shaving is usually or always the cause of beardedness.) However, you did cause me to be driven around by a young man from Seattle wearing Birkenstocks and listening, in fact, to '90s grunge music. I felt very Northwestern. Thank you.
3. The obvious t-shirt: Mondo Croqueters Do It Once A Year.
Things that I have learned today:
1. Dianna and Katie enjoy making comments that consist of numbered lists.
2. That's all I've got.
1. I hadn't noticed that before.
2. I am impressed, Dr. Molten-Boron. Normally a person has to be standing in the same room as Dianna and me in order to note that we are functionally identical. This is because our parents, who had long dreamed of a second child, built a robot daughter using me as the model. They fucked up the color palette, but overall the animatronics are impressive. When she gets into that loop where she starts saying "donut...donut...donut" over and over, you can just flick the reset switch, which is located somewhere around the earhole.