The Ink-Pot and the Palette

To get to serenity_valley and str8ontilmornin's perfect Craftsman bungalow for dinner last night, I drove from my admittedly very-cool inner-city neighborhood, up onto the bluff looking out over the river and the shipyards and the vastness of Forest Park on the other side, to their very-cool neighborhood near the St Johns Bridge.

It was a perfect Portland day: sunny and warm with a light breeze, and it was Saturday. The river was glassy, the hills were that almost-black forest green, and traffic in the bike lane that runs all the way along Rosa Parks and Willamette Boulevards was pretty lively.

( How To Do Saturday Night in Portland )

That's is how to do Saturday night in Portland. I wish everyone could experience it because seriously, life just doesn't get much better than this.

First, I'd like to welcome ilconditoreador back to LJ in the guise of his new sockpuppet, big_buggah. He's a friend of mine, a very funny guy, a commiserating coworker, and the poor sucker who had to take on my old job in addition to his own when I Went Up To The Project.

Second, The Project set aside its more stressful and annoying traits today and turned in a top-notch performance as a pretty good place to work.

For instance, the haiku-inspiring boss ended a one-hour meeting at 40 minutes today. I've mentioned that he's Canadian, right? Well, he started doing his over-explainy thing with the big words, and somebody on the team ribbed him about it a litte. Then, utterly deadpan, he repeated the most outrageous part of it, totally busting his own chops, and just looked around mildly till the coin dropped and somebody laughed. Pretty soon we all did.

It was so Benton Fraser. My attitude toward him softened considerably.

Third, my sister avventura1234 made dinner for me tonight. Delicious home cooked food and some nice company, with no effort on my part. Usually she's the super-busy one, but she's not quite as slammed as I am this week, so she offered and I accepted and it was nice.

Fourth, I wandered home down the block in the last of the daylight, and the air felt like autumn. There were angel-wing clouds in the sky, and my house smelled like Mop N Glo and was all shiny because, after all, I do have a paid wife in the form of Angela, who comes every two weeks and rescues me from my sloth.

Fifth, now the gibbous moon is rising behind the angel-wings and it feels good to be home.