The weekend was a good one. (They always are, suffice to say.) Lots of little projects completed. Tons of organizing going on…refining the presentation, storage and cataloging of my vast archive or irreplaceable belongings. Melissa’s whole life can fit into a glove compartment (except for those shedding beasts) so she takes it upon herself to ridicule me for my various collections of treasures, reference materials and “items that I just plain won’t fuckin’ throw away.”

“That dad of yers instilled something in you that won’t let you get rid of things.” Is what she had to say.

Girl, you are hitting the nail on the head. Honey, this gene goes wayyyyyy back, farther than you’ll ever comprehend. My Gramma Josie had orange juice in her storage cellar from the ‘40s, and this anomaly was discovered in the late ‘80s!

So yeah, the apartment is tight, and the items in it plentiful, but, I’m not gonna throw shit away that will come in handy later on. “Later on” is when I, have a home of my own, or, a larger apartment. My little dream is to have a full on studio, complete with a mean reference library, work station, projects desk, sound system, etc. a space separate from the living room and the sleeping quarters. A space with a door.

Right now the living room doubles are an entertainment nook and the DDC Factory Floor.

Hey, rent is cheap and I’m close to work. Plus, the joint stays nice and cool when the Portland summer temps soar. I like the place. My only gripe is the opportunity for mold here and there. Portland is a wet place, and the shit just sort of gets to breeding/sporring. You gotta watch the dark, dank spaces. My “only” other gripe, the big one, is those goddamn cats. They have free reign over EVERYTHING, leaving a trail of dander and hair that never ends. I love them and their mother real hard, but fuck, enough already.

Melissa’s little sister Angela is moving out here in a month. Hobo Kris is ‘riding the rails’ out here from Minneapolis with a hobo friend. (The girl has balls, goddamn.) They plan on getting a place together. Perfect. The girls can have their joint and I can have my own castle. No scurrying rodents, no muff balls wafting to and fro, no explosions of falling gear over frisky window sill expeditions.

- - - -

Other highlights of the weekend include seeing Rod, Katie and TC native Missie Holmes (of Trica Holmes lineage) downtown at the Rose Festival. Gigantic rides, festival food and scantily clad Portlanders.Good times. We walked the stretch a couple times, taking in the night air, chowing junk grub and reliving fond memories of pizza cart follies from way back in the summer of ’94.

We capped the night off with a brisk four mile hike back home. (Melissa read the bus transfer wrong and we were stranded downtown…cashless, hot and worn out.) We made it home some time later.

- - - -

“She’s got a voice like the last day of catholic school.” –Paul Westerberg