Notes on File

Notations from my somewhat mixed up files as of late … I am bursting with weird and questionable ideas for creative projects.

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• It would be cool to make little stop motion videos spelling out things with stuff like beans and macaroni pieces. I got the idea when I introduced my slightly younger roommates to The California Raisins the other day, and I felt my age for sure. Also, gave myself a mohawk a few weeks ago and noticed some little gray hairs coming in around my temples. I guess I don’t really care because I still get carded for everything from lottery tickets to beer, but …

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• I’ve got this genius idea for a serial blog where I post conversations I’ve overheard in Portland. I think I’ve got nearly enough to make my first post, but I’m always accepting entries, so send your weird, wacky wonderful Portland overheards my way. EG:

Overheard at Anna Banana’s on Alberta, April 23, between a chunky female barista and a sorta femmy middle-aged patron:

“Different is Good”

Guy: My parents were the original hippies from the ‘60s.

Girl: Mine were too. Mine wore flowers in their hair.

Guy: Well I spent four years living in a colony in Southern Oregon.

Girl: Oh.

Guy: My mom told me I was this close to being named Sunshine Freedom.

Girl: That would be kind of fun though!

Guy: Yeah. Two names I always liked were Cassipoea and Orion.

Girl: Different is good.

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• Author Ray Bradbury says he doesn’t mind getting old because he’s “collecting truths” along the way. I really, really dig this.

• What if we have it backwards when we see ourselves as living forwards? What if we’re all of us just reverse engineering everything all the time?

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• I gave in and bought an iPhone the other day. I am the last Portland Creative Type within a 20-mile radius to do so, which makes me tragically uncool, I know. What can I say? I am cheap and poor. However, my terrible, terrible Samsung Galaxy had turned on me in recent months, and I felt I had no choice when it began to actively sabotage my text message conversations. For example:

Changing the word “Lego” to “legislation” repeatedly. As in:

“Eli is wondering if he could possibly play with your legislation today.”

Which sounds weird and pervy although I’m not sure why. And, yes, my text conversations do occasionally involve discussion of Legos.

Also, in an infinitely more disturbing development, every time I tried to type “I went” autocorrect changed it to “I queefed.” So not cool, phone.

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• Finally, from a piece I am working on about love:

“This morning was the first day of May. The sun came up too soon and I couldn’t sleep, so I got up early and I went to the kitchen and I decided to make myself a poached egg.

It doesn’t embarrass me to admit to you that I almost couldn’t believe in myself enough to do it it. At the last minute, I almost backed out of the endeavor and reached for the frying pan. It takes such a leap of faith, every time, to poach an egg. A second of magical thinking before you have the guts to crack the shell and let the messy contents drop into the bubbling water without losing heart. How does the water know to hold the egg together so gently? How can one substance will another into a new form so entirely without the whole thing just dispersing into nothing?

I stared at my poached egg awhile before I ate it: the pure white edges unfolded like messy petals, the middle membrane so thin and delicate you could see right into the yellowy heart of it. And then I gobbled it up, without time for regret or delay.”

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