Camping in Mt Hood National Forest. That’s right, bitches, Chapter Eight! I get around!

This time, we packed up the car, left work early Friday and did our best to escape rush hour traffic. It still took an hour to get out of Portland city limits. Traffic in Portland is no picnic. Especially when you are among the throngs of city dwellers headed into the mountains for the weekend. And extra especially when you don’t have a campsite reserved. And extra, EXTRA especially when you see other cars passing you, loaded with camping gear. Trying to steal our first-come, first-serve campsite, you bastards!

Our target was Green Canyon Campground in the Mt Hood National Forest. I’d send you off on a link to the campground, but there’s not a lot of info out there. Which was part of the reason why it was appealing to us. We were hoping that perhaps it was largely unknown and we would have no trouble getting a site. Also, the fire danger went from “low” to “moderate” through the course of the week. If they outlawed campfires, we would have a hard time grilling our dinner. Because as you know, wood isn’t really very hot until you light it on fire.

It wasn’t a long drive once we broke free from the oozy city traffic. We headed east on 26 towards the mountain. And since it’s July and there was not a cloud in the sky, we actually had some views from the road this time.

Mt. Hood. It’s a volcano! There’s lava in there and stuff! Maybe! It’s the highest mountain in Oregon. It has twelve glaciers. Six ski areas. It could blow up! It was pretty spectacular.

We got to Zigzag and headed south on fire road 2618, following the Salmon River. And we got to the campground and saw that every campsite was full. Fifteen sites. Except for one! We got the last campsite in the whole place! And people were burning campfires! And it wasn’t fricken raining! We felt lucky.

We unpacked, set up camp, and I felt bad for other cars that sadly trolled the campground looking for a site. If it had been us, we would have tried the other campgrounds in the vicinity. And if all else failed, we would have just driven back to Portland and pitched the tent in my apartment. And not let the cat in.

Each time we camp, we learn a few things. My tent is too big. Sleeping on the ground sucks. We should get a dish pan. Also, falling into the “Somewhat Charming For Now” Category: Camper Dave has a cute habit of telling ME to be careful after HE does something clutsy or potentially dangerous. For example: Dave nearly trips, or nearly cuts his finger off, or nearly falls in a river, and and says to me, “Ooh, be careful.” Huh. Thankfully, he’s not particularly accident prone. Because I don’t know how much more careful I can be.

The campground was tucked deep inside a canyon carved by the Salmon River. My goal was to camp among giant Douglas Fir trees and on a carpet of pine needles. And some places were like that. Our campground was filled with more bright green deciduous trees, dense new saplings, and ferns. Ferns creep me out a little. Especially fiddleheads, which I guess people eat. Which creeps me out even more.

Our site was not right on the river, but we could hear it.

Looks like Oregon, doesn’t it? The river was glacier cold. There didn’t seem to be any crawdads in the water. Neither one of us fell in.

After a morning stroll through our campground, we hopped in the car to check out other campgrounds in the area and maybe go take a peek at a volcano.

This is Trillium Lake. A little ridiculous, don’t you think? Doesn’t it make you want to gasp for air? Like your lungs may have forgotten what it was like to really breathe? Isn’t it nice to be reminded that such places exist? You’re welcome.

There were a number of large campgrounds around this lake, and they all seemed packed, sun-baked and full of kids. It was pretty, and the terrain was nice, but we were happy with the quiet hush in Green Canyon.

The next thing for us to do, naturally, was see how far up the mountain we could drive.

About 6000 feet. This was from Timberline Lodge. I was not able to get a good shot of the lodge, but you might remember it from here. This movie used Timberline Lodge for its external shots. As I understand, they have to dig tunnels in the snow for people to get inside.

We had lunch at the lodge. We used restrooms with running water! And actually washed our hands with hot water! And soap! Awesome! There were only “vault” toilets at our campground, and no running water. There are the things you deny yourself while camping. So that when you come home, and use your own private restroom, and sleep in your own soft bed, you feel like Queen Princess of the World.

We got back to our campsite, made a fire and cooked up some dinner. There is nothing, NOTHING you can’t cook with butter or oil, wrapped in tinfoil and thrown on a grill. We had roasted corn on the cob, potatoes and onions, edamame and grilled salmon. It was glorious.

We sat in front of a blazing hot fire until my knees were toasted. Went to bed late, got up early, ate kiddie cereal, (awesome), struck camp and was home by noon on Sunday.

I took a long, hot shower, climbed into bed and slept like Queen Princess of the Fricken Universe.

Other “Full Tank of Gas” Chapters:

Chapter Seven, Spruce Run Campground, Coast Range, Oregon
Chapter Six, Bend, Oregon
Chapter Five, Seattle, Washington
Chapter Four, Mt Saint Helens, Washington
Chapter Three, The Gorge and Hood River, Oregon
Chapter Two, The North Coast and Astoria, Oregon
Chapter One, Waipi’o Valley, Big Island, Hawaii

We’re off to the deep wilds of Oregon this weekend.  The car is packed to the roof with firewood, snacks and booze.  We don’t have a reservation at the campground, so maybe we will end up camping in a traffic island in Beaverton.

Wish us luck!

Except I don’t have a TV.

This is by Simon Tofield. This is the third cute cartoon you should watch about his annoying cat.

This, hopefully, will be the last post I write involving cats for at least 24 hours.

Here’s a list of things that sometimes keeps me up at night.

1. I have not yet been made Employee of the Month at work. I’ve been there for 6 months. Don’t they see how awesome I am yet? If not, am I slacking off too much? Do I need to work harder at hiding when I slack off? I clearly should have been Employee of the Month by now.

2. The City of Los Angeles keeps sending me letters that I owe them taxes because I sold some homemade scarves within city limits in 2005.

3. My car desperately needs to be detailed. The white leather is getting an ass-shaped patina in the front seats. Also, it needs a new coat of wax. I saw no “beading up and rolling off” on the finish during the last rain shower. Very bad. This keeps me up at night.

4. My cat will still not STFU at night. He’s got happy food that he likes. He is still asking for a lot of attention. He is still maybe sleeping a lot during the day because it’s been so hot. The lack of sleep (mine) makes me think the world is falling apart.

5. The cat is also shedding like a little bitch. So there are swirls of gray cat fur extending into the hallway from my apartment. The cat is like Hansel and Gretel with the fur leading back to my place. I’m worried my property management company will issue a citation for too many dust bunnies. Or they will think I am a shut-in with 14 cats. Which I am not. Yet.

6. I need to get a vacuum cleaner.

7. Random subscription to Vogue Magazine showing up in my mail. Who is watching me? Couldn’t they have sent me the Economist instead?

8. My parents say I will soon be arrested because I have not gotten an Oregon license, and I still have my Hawaii plates on my car. Whomever said anxiety is sheerly from chemicals in the brain has not met my family.

9. California is still sending me past-due car registration renewal notices, to my permanent address in Portland, even though California was my state of residence TWO STATES ago and I haven’t lived there since September of 2007.

10. I’m pretty certain I am spending an at least $5 more a month on my cell phone bill because I still have a Hawaii phone number. And the Hawaii phone number might seem like a cool thing to keep, except that I only lived there for less than 4 months and so somehow it feels inauthentic and dirty. So I should get an Oregon number and an iPhone because it will save me $5 a month.

11. I want some plants for my apartment, but I know my bastard cat will eat them. So maybe I should get really pointy cactus and see what happens.

12. Sometimes caffeine gives me headaches. Not BEFORE my coffee from lack of caffeine, but AFTER when I’ve had a coffee with three or four shots of espresso. I get a headache after. This is troubling. I’d rather not bow to the whims of Satan and drink decaf. Because, as you know, only Satan worshipers drink decaf.

13. I like to think of myself as a reader. I have half a dozen books on my nightstand. But I’m only a fraction of the way through any of them. How can I call myself a reader if I never finish any books? I’m such a poser!

14. I need to do my goddamn Hawaii income taxes! Gah! It’s freaking me out. But I stop being freaked out as soon as I forget about doing them. Which seems to happen frequently.

15. I’m paying my internet provider (Qwest) $10 extra a month of “up to 7 mbps.” I frequently get less than 10% of that speed. This less makes me anxious, than irritated with myself for not calling them sooner. In fact, I haven’t called them yet. I love to hate myself.

16. I need to either take some graphic design classes or I need to put myself on a regimented structure to “learn” something. If I don’t feel like I’m progressing with some alternative, creative, money-making career path, I get vaguely dissatisfied, then completely unhappy, then I move at least 1000 miles from where ever I was. Rinse, repeat.

None of these items would be a big deal if each were taken in turn. But they are not. And it seems to get worse as I get older. I’d like to think of myself as a responsible adult. But somehow as I got older, I lost the ability to do certain things. I used to be able to wrap pretty presents, make omelets and balance my check book. Now I can’t do any of those things.

If I continue to follow this trajectory, I estimate that I have about 7 years before I end up in a nursing home. If they allow me to bring my 17 cats.

It’s Sunday afternoon and it’s 137 degrees in northwest Portland. Know what I’m doing right now? Sitting in my apartment sweating. It’s supposed to be all green and cool and rainy up here. This hot weather is total bullcrap. Can we get on this global warming thing please?

Okay? So I’m lamenting the slow, painful decay of my little iBook G4 that I’ve had since early 2005. I’ve been super-dippy-happy with it throughout the three and a half years I’ve had it. It has worked great.

I’ve been learning Photoshop and web stuff on this little 12 inch screen. Through the various renditions of Adobe programs, the performance has lagged further and further. So I wait 5 seconds or so every time I choose a different brush. It’s cute. I upgraded the RAM as high as it will go, and I had my IT Department conduct experimental surgery to install a bigger hard drive. As far as upgrades, I’ve squeezed it as hard as I can.

Now the problem I’m noticing is that it won’t play flash videos correctly online. I’ve tried all the settings and drivers. I’ve used different browsers. But flash won’t play correctly unless I scroll the screen so the top of the video is hidden. It’s a difficult thing for me to explain. You’ll just have to trust me. And now also, videos on my hard drive that worked fine before, now are not playing properly.

It’s been months like this, so now I can’t remember if something changed, or if I downloaded something, or if my laptop was out whoring it up with some other skanky laptop and “caught” something.

So, fine. I’ve lived with all the little video bull crap, and I’ve gotten used to it, and all the little quirks. Besides all that, it works fine.

Besides the battery! The battery is crapping out too! But it’s a three year old battery, (the original was recalled because they caused fires or some such) so it only holds a charge for an little over an hour. Bummer.

But. I got used to it. And I’m living with it. Okay?

But NOW! Because the battery is crappy, I spend a lot of time with it plugged in. And I started getting little shocks from the metal screws of the casing! WTF! The housing is the white plastic, of course, but on the bottom are little metal screws holding it together. And did I mention it’s 167 degrees in Portland right now? Naturally, I’m wearing shorts, or sometimes, nothing at all. And every once in a while, I get a little bee-sting where the metal screws touch my skin. Ow! It’s like tattoo pain! And unless I’m getting another a tattoo of Al Gore and polar bears on my thigh, I don’t want to feel tattoo pain! OW!

Okay? So doesn’t this mean I should get a new laptop? With a bigger screen? And more video RAM (because right now, I only have 32 MB)? And I spend, like ALL my free time on my laptop? And it is sort of like a gateway to a different profession (graphic design and web stuff)? So I don’t have to be a ghoulish accountant anymore?

Is there anyone on the planet who deserves a new laptop as much as me? Or in the very least, is there anyone sweltering in her apartment, in unseasonably hot weather, getting electrical shocks, whining loudly on the internet, who deserves a new laptop as much as me?

I didn’t say I had the money for this. In fact, I absolutely DO NOT have the two grand or more needed to buy a new laptop. But COME ON! Tattoo pain! I suffer!

No? I should not get a new laptop? Because I don’t have the money and it would be unwise financially?

Gah. But that TOTALLY means I should get a new iPhone.

…I did get paid to do this today.

Team building. We kayaked up the Willamette River, around Ross Island and back. It didn’t take long to paddle south and feel like we were no longer in a metropolis.

We did this in spite of news reports of flesh eating bacteria in the river. I’m sure the river is better now. It’s Portland, the Greenest City Evar.

It gave a different perspective on the city. My arms are tired. But it was way better than accounting.

And yes, I wore motherfucking sunscreen. Okay?

As it has been mentioned in the past, I’m sort of an accountant. I’m not really sure how it happened. I got a useful two year degree in Liberal Arts, then an equally useful bachelors degree in Humanities. I took classes like “European Culture in the Latin Middle Ages,” and “Comparative Religious Ethics.” And somehow, when I got my degree, the money didn’t roll in. This, despite the fact that where I went to school, my degree was known not as a Bachelors, but as an “ALB,” or artium liberalim baccalaureus. It SOUNDS smart, doesn’t it? WTF? Pay me some damned money! I will TOTALLY go all Abelard and Heloise on your ass!

So accounting is a ghoulish and spirit-crushing profession. This may be insulting to others who are accountants and enjoy it. But secretly, at night, people who are accountants and enjoy it totally eat brains. Always, ALWAYS be suspicious of a roving band of accountants. Trust me, they are just waiting for the sun to go down.

As a related aside, my dad is an engineer, and it delights him to no end that his two creative, artistic daughters, both of whom he made cry during math homework in elementary school, are now both accountants. It makes him fall asleep with a smile on his face.

So accounting has become my own personal ill-fitted career path, and I imagine it’s probably not uncommon for practically everyone to wish they where doing something else. So, to that end, without haste, let us divert ourselves from our actual work and dream of our fantasy work instead:

Fantasy Career Numero Tres: Art Store Owner

Now. This may actually be something that I COULD actually do, and I have been considering trying to do for a while. I’m not thinking “fine art,” but local art, jewelry and craft work. Probably on a consignment structure and perhaps as a cooperative. I have sold my own crafty items in a number of stores through the years. (You can seriously email me if you need a scarf or a sweater for your poodle. Seriously.) I’ve seen a few different business models for stores that sell art.

On the whole, a lot of artists shy away from the Business aspect of their art. A lot of people don’t realize that making art is only half the process. The other half is the BUSINESS of art. The prospecting, the marketing, the pricing, the inventory control, the selling of product, the overall management of Being Creative. I think I can be helpful in these aspects. Even the accounting parts.

I like the idea of having four walls and a cash register, and giving local artists an outlet to sell their items. I’ve thought about having studio space for people to work on projects. I’ve thought about an espresso bar in the corner. I’ve though about after-hours How-To’s and workshops for people who want to learn new stuff. And silly projects for parents to do with their kids. Can you hear it? This is totally possible.

The bummer is that the economy is sucko. Cute stores in trendy areas are closing under the strain. It’s harder to appreciate Art when you need to buy tooth paste.

And some people have a passionate, burning desire to own their own business. I’m inspired to see what other people are doing. I dream about how the store would look, where it would be located, and what kinds of fabulous items I’d sell. Portland is a good town to try something like this. I like the whole idea of owning a business.

But I don’t know if owning a store is burning in my loins. It sounds super risky. And it sort of sounds like a lot of work. And I’ll never really be rich owning an art and craft store. And really, the whole point of owning a business is to get a Porche. So you can drive it by your lowly employees. You can even make them wash it.

So owning an art store may actually be in my future someday. If I got an influx of cash, trying out this idea is the first thing I would do (after buying the Porche.) So if I win the lottery, or someone else wins the lottery and wants to share (didn’t your mother tell you to share? You should share, you greedy bastard) I will totally open a beautiful little store and sell art.

Fantasy Careers Part I

Fantasy Careers Part II

I went “home” to Los Angeles for the long holiday weekend. How Los Angeles came to be known as “home” for our family is a funny story. It’s a story that my parents’ haven’t really forgiven me for. I’ve moved a few times, and they won’t quit following me around. So I’ve moved to Oregon, where it can get chilly. And my parents would turn into pumpkins in the cold. So now they are stuck in Los Angeles. My sister still lives in LA, and likes it there. So she is, for now, classified as “the good daughter.”

My birthday is always over 4th of July weekend. I get an extra day off and fireworks. So my birthday is pretty awesome. However, I share a birthday with George W. Bush. I think that means I can read my horoscope to see if we are going to invade Iran.

We saw some fireworks, ate some Pinkberry, drove around, got some Hawaiian breakfast, said hi to my sister’s three-legged cat, got sunburned in the convertible, had beers by the beach, ate some Paco’s Tacos, did the crazy drive up Angel’s Crest with the Saab Nuts, had a fabulous BBQ with friends, drank beer, ate cake, hung out with my parent’s multitude of pets, had homemade german pancakes, drove around more, went to Rubio’s for some fish tacos, more Pinkberry, and slept on the plane ride home.

It was the first time I had been back since moving to Portland. It was really nice to see everyone. I need maybe another 17 hours of sleep to work off all the food and driving.

Also, I discovered that my parents have 4 vacuum cleaners. I have zero.

It’s Friday Furry Bastard Blogging, now on Thursday!  It’s how we roll here, bitches!

Tomorrow is a travel day for me, and you won’t be at work wasting time and reading blogs tomorrow anyway.  So TODAY is a good day to pound another nail into my eventual spinster-crazy-cat-lady coffin.

This is an email discussion I had with Dave, who is unabashedly afraid of cute, furry kitties:

“I think it’s weird to *not* be afraid of cats; they have no conscience. They’re the sociopaths of pets. They all have Antisocial Personality Disorder. Seriously:

Three or more of the following are required:

1. Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest;

2. Deceitfulness, as indicated by repeatedly lying, use of aliases, or conning others for personal profit or pleasure;

3. Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead;

4. Irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated physical fights or assaults;

5. Reckless disregard for safety of self or others;

6. Consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain consistent work behavior or honor financial obligations;

7. Lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another.

I think cats hit all seven points.”

Me: “Dinger may claw furniture and puke on my bed, but I’ll have you know, he’s NEVER been arrested.”

I can be somewhat passionate about topical “issues,” but don’t really like to argue about politics. I’m opinionated, but I’m non-confrontational. And a little bit lazy. It’s a great combo.

I can’t remember when (if ever) I’ve had a constructive discussion about politics with someone who had a vastly different political persuasion. In many cases, political discourse is now just about rooting for your team and demonizing the other side. What’s the point of having an intelligent discussion when you can spit venom! And hurl insults! And be outraged! I hate the Yankees! Complete! Utter! Bastards!

So part of the appeal of moving to Portland was the forward-thinking mentality. So while I won’t get in anyone’s face about politics, I absolutely take gleeful delight in other people who will.

“Finish Your Beer, There’s Sober Kids in India.” Obviously pro-United Nations. Also, “Be Green.” They sent away for that bumper sticker from a package of cheese and macaroni. Don’t EVEN question why I might know that. I KNOW my mac and cheese.

This person is obviously a Tree Hugging Dirt Worshipper.

“Keep Your Rosaries Out of My Ovaries,” and also, blatantly advocating a pro-sex agenda: “Wanna Snuggle?” Shameful.

Portland is infested with Subarus. Further, this person obviously has anger issues and needs to focus.

“Proud to be Everything the Right Wing Hates,” and “Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both,” by some guy named Ben Franklin. Whatever! Heard he was a cad and a letch! Also, “Future Canadian” and “American by Birth, Tattooed by Choice.” Hippie.

This isn’t to say we don’t also have right-wing nutjobs here in the pacific northwest.

“I Prefer God, Gold and Guns to Big Government.” Huh! We all know that God hates big government! And He sure does like guns! And didn’t Jesus say whomever collects the most gold wins? It’s in the bible. Look it up.

This person just dispensed with the whole bumper sticker idea and mounted a sandwich board to their Chrysler.

Wha…? After all that trouble of building the sign, and adding it to your car, and suffering decreased fuel efficiency due to wind resistance, you’re not going to even be coherent?

I must add that the last two photos were both from Washington, not Oregon. (It’s full of yahoos up there.)