On my Summer Vacation, I.... The longest vacation tale you've probably ever chosen not to read....

Warning: This is a really long post, so if you'd rather have an explanation by picture, scroll down to the end of this.

So, I have added a ridiculous amount of photos from our little summer trip, so enjoy. Though, somehow, through the publishing process they decided to go crazy and get all out of order, so they don't make a lot of sense it you are somewhat attempting a chronological view.

We took Matt's carriage (or civic, whatever), down along the coast, along the last of the sunshine. Our first stop was in old Astoria--home to the 'Fighting Fishermen'. Not to mention, the goonies house, kindergarten cop school, and of course who could forget, teenage mutant ninja turtles movies. The houses are old and haunted, that's why they film so many movies there. I once went there when I was 14 to take a tour of a haunted house--in which I found 2 things; a coffee table made from a coffin topped with glass containing a skeleton asleep inside it, and a fainting couch. A fainting couch was something set in the middle landing of a stairway for women to pass out on during their journey to the top of the steps due to the tightness of their suffocating corsets (they required a 16 inch waist--something close to the size of a mans shirt collar). From these two things I made two assessments; the skeleton in the glass coffin must belong to that of a corsetted woman found dead on the fainting couch. And secondly, I wanted that table--or one just like it.

But this time we only went to the top of the Astoria Tower, which is unfortunately not haunted, but does contain 168 steps to the top (which is evil enough). We also discovered one can legally toss little wooden planes from the top without any concern for possibly hitting pedestrians below right in the eye. Thank goodness for privitization of government property--or wait, something like that. Anyhow, we indeed practiced our rights with a fleet of decorated fighter jets.

We then continued on to white trash Seaside, where, as I mentioned below in the photos, the only true values celebrated are drinking, video game arcades, and Lewis and Clark. Though, we did enjoy playing 4$ worth of skee ball in the arcade, and then greedily spending all our tickets won on 4 reeses pieces, a twizzler, and 1 army man--instead of donating them to some poor child. We also spent a fair amount of time seeking out (to Matt's secret chagrin) Sea Foam. Sea Foam is a pure sugar substance that looks like expandable foam from Home Depot, dipped in milk chocolate. It's truly disgusting, but I must indulge my every whim of childhood summer vacation sentimentality ("oh oh, Matt, when I was here as a kid, my Dad ALWAYS got me SEA FOAM! Pleeeeaaase?").

Of course we also spent plenty of time soaking up what's left of the fading summer sun and barely warm weather--until the Northwest clouds decided they'd had enough of the Sun parading about and quickly resumed their usual duties of reigning supreme. But at least we got a day.

In the evening we attempted to find real food, but no matter what we ate, it always tasted like badly cooked fish (which is a very bad thing when it is supposed to be beef).

The next day we awoke to find out that one of the thousands of car owners that had taken over the entire town with their jet-plane-engined 50's cars (they were having a car show) seemed to have siphened the coolant out of our car, or something. Maybe they don't like rice rockets (sorry Matt). Whatever the case, we spent the morning trying to fix it. As we were waiting for the over-heated thing to cool, we found a fantastic bagel city, with high ceilings and thickly stacked bagel sandwiches, which calmed our souls and soothed our spirits, as bagels tend to do. When we came back to the car, somehow, miraculously, it had fixed itself (and ran another 275 straight miles for our trip home on just water). strange. I think really it was a sly trick of the bagel people to get us to spend money in their shop--they do it to all the tourists.

Later we made it to Cannon beach. We first went to Ecola State Park and marveled at the beauty of The Northwest Coast line, particularly Oregon's. Everything is sharp and jagged, tall rocks jutting out of the sea floor. Then it is soft and graceful, light colored sand and soft leaves.

We also went into town, to be greeted only with gallery after gallery filled with bad overpriced art. Though we did find a fantastic pub with a nice waiter. The light was soft inside, and it was slightly smoky--just enough to make you want to smoke, but not enough to make you squint your eyes. It was all made of wood, and I love things made of wood. I like the way you can squeeze wood and feel its soft surface give slightly. I liked sitting there looking at Matt, watching his face framed by the dusky beach light, watching him talk with his hands, and then tucking them under his legs and scrunching up his shoulders as he listens to me. I liked trying to make him laugh, but letting him do a much better job of it. And I certainly liked stealing his yummy halibut when he was gazing out the window, sipping his beer.

Later we watched A.I., and then Donnie Brasco, which made us want to cry for the sake of Al Pacino. So cute in his ruffley plaid jacket and mobster glasses.

Then we left to visit the largest Sitka Spruce in the entire country. It was pretty big. We celebrated by running around through the surrounding forest, and wondering what the other trees thought of the King Spruce's size. Are they jealous? Or do they just think he's fat and old?

Finally, we left for Portland, where we actually researched things ahead of time enough to have an agenda. We went first up to the Hawthorne district to people watch and have some mildly tasty, uh, Pan-Asian cuisine in a restaurant with a soothing atmosphere. We also did a bit of exploring around other districts. But mostly we marveled at the old theater that shows old movies while you eat pizza and drink beer.

We've decided Portland is just like Seattle--every district and city having an equivalent, but with the major distinction being that Portland is the softer, gentler, more relaxed version. My roommate says people are not as hip and pretentious, and everyone is friendlier. She says they don't seem to care about how cool their band is, and they don't care to brag about what show they saw that was cooler than the show you saw, like they do in Seattle. Matt thinks that Portland is the older, wisened Seattle. He says Seattle is the young,crazy punk kid who thinks he's hard, and that Portland has already been there, and is now much more mature and just sits, gently shaking her head. I think it's because they are all a bunch of hippies. I think Seattle is the old dirty punk guy that still thinks he's cool, and Portland is the quiet, onlooking younger brother aspiring to to the same thing, but is never quite as cool. Matt and I marveled about how anything must get done in that city where the only inhabitants are a bunch of dirty hippies. Maybe the rich capitalists live under the steel bridge, and only come out to make Portland's strict laws that are inscribed on every sign, window, park bench, and sidewalk. In any case, it is a much more relaxing city than Seattle.

We then visited Powells City of Books. When they say City, they didn't mean "really big bookstore", they really meant CITY. It's the largest bookstore I've ever been in, complete with a cafe full of middle-aged techie hippies writing books about trees and manifestos against Bush on their laptops. The wooden bookshelves in Powells reach up to the tall ceilings and stretch across a city block, it seems. We had a great time perusing the shelves and catching tails of conversations of young hippy kids wooing the likes of other young hippy kids with phrases like "OMG, don't you just loooove Frida? Man, she's just so, so...man,...OMG, Friiida. Amazing." I also enjoyed watching Matt lust over a 2 foot by 4 foot dictionary for 500$ that he wants to keep on a pedestal. I told him i'll never buy him a giant dictionary to keep opened to the word "deciduous" in the middle of his living room. How the hell will I see the TV?

We meant to go out and do that necessary 20 something bar thing, but decided to watch the Disney movie 'Holes' instead. Good choice, I say.

The next day we went to visit Imago Dei community church. We've been wanting to go there for a long time, and it was wonderful. The building is a beautiful, old, Spanish style church set amid an old neighborhood, hugged by fragrant rose gardens. It was young, hip, and for social justice and all that, but I think our music is better. Our author of the month (Don Miller, Blue like Jazz) goes there, and talks it up quite a bit. So we thought we'd visit. Mostly just because were obsessed with this guy and we wanted to stalk him, and get an autograph, and a picture, and a fan club pin, and, and, and, a warrant for our arrests for stalking this guy, and... But we never did find him, how unlucky.

We then made trek out to a strange 60's strip mall suburb to visit Xenos cafe, to stock up on ideas for our own place. The town seemed a million miles away from a city, and was full of crazy homeless people milling about outside. Though everything was strangely peaceful. The leaves on the trees were just about to turn yellow and orange, and it seemed strangely warm and cool outside, the way an Indian summer might feel. We sat outside under the late sun and light green leaves, and drank mango jet tea. I watched the group of homeless people sit around. They talked, and yelled and cursed, and listened to each others thoughts. They smoked, and rode bikes. Women tugged at their worn dresses like provocative children. They reminded me of adolescent kids, laughing and flirting, learning their bodies and their fears--but with worn faces and haggard hands, and the experience of sex and violence, drink, and the mental anguish of suffered years. They were dirty, they needed to shave. So was I. I wondered, really, what made them so different. I wanted to go over to hang out with them. I wondered if I could really do it, I wondered if I could treat them like regular people. I wondered how they would treat me. I was sad that I couldn't do it, because if you're a woman, you just can't.

We left, sad and happy, and satisfied and longing. Full of each other, and blessed.