In Portland

I become fascinated by car accidents.

I realize for the thousandth time that life is hard, and that beer is necessary. 

Music is essential, the darker the better, and the potential of trombones has yet to be exploited.

There are more old people in the world then young people, but the world belongs to the young and the young can't be any way other than young. 

When a wool hat gets wet it loses its shape and smells like a runny nose.

Crows are larger and louder in Portland than they are in San Francisco, having had to fight much harder for freedom of expression.

Sunshine here has twice the market value of California sunshine.

Portland's the only place I know where I can have a cheeseburger, french fries, and a beer for lunch guilt-free. Holman's on NE 28th near Burnside is a good spot for lunch; the bar is dark, there are booths, and when the weather's nice you can eat outside on the patio.

In fact, alfresco dining is possible in the rain in Portland. I've seen people doing it, but passed on the opportunity myself. 

The classic Portland soundtrack: Joe Cocker singing, "With a Little Help from My Friends" rather than The Beatles.

One scene that I've seen nowhere else is the young kid throwing the lacrosse ball against the side of a 12-story apartment building and catching it with his stick. It's such an urban scene, a most creative use of public and private space.

Not only is the food and drink good in Portland, far fewer waiters will approach approach your table asking, "how's everything tasting to you so far?" than in San Francisco or Ashland.