The Whisper Pages

At long, long last I have found a liquor store that hasn’t tried to rape me with no lube.  On this afternoon of July 15th, I am finally able to sit down with a decent bourbon - I tell you it will be a miracle if I don’t empty it in a few hours, that’s how much I have been longing.

Jim Beam Choice only ran me fifteen bucks for the fifth - the closest to prices I’m familiar with… as I said before, the prices here wouldn’t break me, it’s just that I can’t consciously spend the kind of bread the state of Oregon expects their citizens to fork out.

I learned, through a little research, that it is the state itself that owns all alcoholic beverages - they don’t do it like we do in Chicago, or Texas for that matter… there are no distributors.  You can tell that Oregon is gouging the shit out of those who enjoy the sauce.

True, I am enjoying myself, but I can’t wait to get back to where a case of brew runs me a mere thirteen bucks and a bottle of The Gunn (Wild Turkey 101) will only take fifteen bucks out of the ol’ wallet.

That is all… just a quick ranting observational.

A friend of a friend had the audacity to tell us (both Southerners from Texas) that Tacos - yes, Tacos - were a mere phase that people went through in the 1990’s…

Get the fuck outta here…                                                                    

What this woman said was beyond me - I mean, really, Tacos just a fad in the days of Grunge?  Well, I am in Oregon, so this may have something to do with it.

Tacos, as we know them today, were invented by a Mexican woman in Marfa, TX in the latter half of the nineteenth century.  This same woman, Tula Burunda Gutierrez, also gave us tamales, enchiladas and mostly everything that is known as Tex-Mex. 

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Eleven dollars for a twelve pack of some of the shittiest beer in the nation, Pabst.  Things could be shittier, like The Beast or Milwaukee’s Best, but I feel I have hit a new low.

Not wanting to go for a sixer, I was searching the corner market on MLK and NE Beech for a twelve beers of standard variety, and found no such carton available.  Being a man of principle, I can’t spend insanely…

Though it was well within my means to buy two sixers of premium Oregon beer, I grew tired of paying ten bucks a piece for them, so against my own rules, I went for the eleven dollar PBR.

Portland has many great things about it, it’s prices aren’t one of them.  A standard cheeseburger and fries cost me damn near ten bucks, but I was ravenous from work, so I complied.

The folks in town are awesome, however.  So far, everywhere I’ve gone I’ve been met with smiles and friendly greetings of some sort.  The girls, it seems, are almost all very, very attractive - at least the ones I’ve seen - they, unfortunately, still won’t give me the time of day.

Not being one to complain (of course, I am) I think I can get by with another year or so before I turn absolute stark raving mad from lack of carnality.  At this point, I have learned to deal with it in whatever way that I can, be it drugs, drink or pornography. 

It makes me feel creepy to even be around attractive women because my mind has become so lustful that, yes, I am the one undressing you with my eyes…

Again, I digress and go off the random deep end.

I guess it’s time to open another PBR and see what cable the Portland Hampton has to offer.

Bully!

I was scheduled to arrive in Portland on Wednesday - the TSA saw fit to delay my arrival until Friday.

I was at the airport, ticket and boarding pass in hand, when the schmuck at the security checkpoint decided he wanted to go into my pants.  I protested, naturally, and was escorted from Bush Intercontinental by two TSA supervisors and two Harris County Sheriff’s deputies. 

Not being able to fly, I made the worst decision - I bought a ticket on the Greyhound Bus.  A trip that should have lasted a few hours ended up taking nearly three days to complete. 

The bus ride was probably the worst experience of my career.  When the bus would stop, it would stop at McDonalds - there was no way in hell I would eat their poison, so for three days, I barely ate a bite, save one snickers bar and a pack of M&Ms. 

The first leg of the trip was so maddening that I really thought I was going to crack and start killing people.  That kind of behavior is highly unusual for me, given my pacifistic lifestyle, but every man has his breaking point, and for me, that point is Greyhound. 

It seemed like every seat I would get into was broken, mangled or fucked up in some way.  The first one I was in would lean back on its own and disturb the guy sitting behind me.  The second one would not lean back at all and the footrest was broken, forcing me to spend hours upon hours in a full on sitting position.

Sleep is not an option for one that’s not used to riding such a monstrosity.  How anyone managed to get a wink is beyond me.  The ride is so bumpy and so loud that it could be likened to trying to catch a nap in a cage of lions.  

When things were about to seriously head south, the trip looked up.  When I made it to Denver, there was an angel that appeared suddenly the rest of the ride just wasn’t that bad. 

Right before a stop outside of Denver, I heard this voice say, “Why is it the only places they stop is McDonalds?  They’re so gross.”

With this, I knew that there was a little bit of sanity on board the traveling asylum.

When we stopped, a short girl was talking to a small child and I instantly recognized her voice as the one talking about McDonald’s. 

I introduced myself and for the rest of the trip, we became quite friendly.  I was unable to show any interest, since I was so rank and repulsive from the ride already, so it was unfortunate that I could not be caught at my best, which at best, isn’t really my best to begin with.

{Firefox just crashed - I lost some really good paragraphs}

When you look at the picture above, the girl on the right is Tanya, the little guy to her right is her son, Tyler and to the left of me is Tasha.  I will call them my three T’s of refuge.

If it weren’t for these ladies, the trip would have been unbearable - I was about to lose it and start choking people before I was befriended by them.  Tanya, wow… she turned my nightmare into an adventure -a great road trip of feelings and experiences that was often fraught with perils and conflicts.

The perils included starvation, delirium due to sleep deprivation, a shortening temper, near death at the hands of sadistic drivers on mountain roads and an ever shortening temper.  At times, I was ready to begin a slaughter the likes of which I’m sure Greyhound had never seen - they are lucky I wasn’t armed.

With some luck and the right playing of cards, I may get out to Eugene to experience the country fair that Tanya spoke of.  If I can get this gig over with in good time, I may be able to chance an encounter - well, a dude can hope, right?

Tanya and Tasha were nicer than anyone I could have expected to meet in a scag-cart like the Greyhound bus.  They were a nice change from the foul-mouthed, odorous and grimy folk that I found frequent such a ride.

Now I’m jumping all over the place - it’s been too long without a good night’s rest and too long since I’ve been in someone that matters’ arms.  On the upside, Portland is great so far, I just need to finish the job and I can get on experiencing what it has to offer.

I need a drink.