Veering Off Course

A few thoughts after reading Friday's article in the New York Times about visiting Portland by bicycle:

- Why does the old gray lady always focus on North/east Portland? They did mention Hopworks on Powell, but visually, the photos are from the St. Johns and Broadway bridges and the intersection by Beaterville. I like it up there, too, but when did that neighborhood become the representation of the whole city? Then again, maybe I shouldn't complain, since the newbie transplants will all move there and leave Southeast alone. Wait, I'm moving to NE soon...nah, below Broadway doesn't count.

- Love the mapping program at byCycle.org, the bicycle version of the subway lifesaver HopStop.

- I wish I had known about Portland-based documentary Veer (which follows five local cyclists) when it was still hanging around Portland theaters. Instead, I'll have to wait until it comes home from screening at Lincoln Center on May 5.

- Maybe tell people where to rent bikes in town! For my New Yorkers, when you come to visit, we'll start here. And we'll rock and roll around town!

PAUSE 2.0

Maybe I'm a flake who can never manage to start something she starts. Maybe I'm lazy. Whatever (big "W" gesture with my thumbs and index fingers). I don't feel like writing about Portland anymore. I still love Portland. I still love New York. And who knows...maybe I'll be inspired again to blog about it/them. But for now, I'm just going to enjoy spring in Portland, the most beautiful time to be here, and not spend time in front of my computer trying to record it. I still love ponies. And I'm still "blogging," maybe on a smaller scale, at Percolating (random thoughts and camera phone photos) and Subway Reading (coming soon!).

Sushi Shocker

Photo of Sushi Takahashi from EverywhereMag.com


I was amazed to find out the other day that Kristen never knew about conveyor belt sushi joints until she stumbled across one in San Francisco. There are NONE in New York -- how can the epicenter of international cuisine and food gimmicks not be home to at least one of these?? Not being a huge fan of sushi, I only went to my first one last summer with a former co-worker, where I got a kick out of picking only the cheapest color-coded plates, which also happened to me my favorite Japanese restaurant staples: edamame and gyoza. There are so many of these places in Portland I can't even begin to name them all (what's your favorite?). Jeez, there's even one in our newly remodeled Hawthorne Fred Meyer! Which I admit made me laugh out loud since it's looks so randomly out-of-place in the middle of a grocery store deli. (Side note: Entertaining to read the Twitters about the remodel, and it appears I'm not the only one who was surprised by the sushi boats.)

Anyway, this whole shocking turn of events got me thinking about the unique little features of Portland and New York that the two cities don't share. This blog is loosely about trying to figure out how exactly to define the common energies of the two places. But since I'm trying to choose between them, maybe I should examine what each offers that the other can't. Starting with conveyor belt sushi. Stay tuned for an ongoing old-school Excel spreadsheet to examine this further.

PAUSE

When I started this blog, I wasn't a fan of diary-style blogs, full of mundane day-to-day activities that, really, only the person writing cares about. And I'm still not. But I softened my stance to write about my trip to New York, since I felt the experience would be, well, PONY-centric. And it was! But since I seem to be changing my mind about everything every single day, especially where to live and what to do with my life, I think it's time to put my personal revelations on the shelf for a bit until I get them sorted out for my self. So back to the posts about Portland and New York, not necessarily about me. There's plenty to talk about, you'll see! And if you're curious about what else I'm reading/seeing/thinking about, check out my random new Tumblr blog, Percolating. Thanks for reading!

Split Personality

Here I am, the last day of February, back in Portland. It feels good to be surrounded by my stuff (even though I desperately need to purge) and cuddle with my cat. I am dying to see my friends and catch-up. There are three concerts I would love to go to in the next week, new restaurants that opened in the past two weeks, and no sales tax. It's good!

I wanted to go to Bunk Sandwiches for lunch today. Maybe because the last time I went, I was reminded of New York thanks to the Woody Allen shrine by the cash register and the stray copies of the Times to read while waiting for hoagies with hot peppers:





Too bad it was closed by the time I got my act together to head outside. My last couple days in New York were all about finding delicious and cheap lunch. Porchetta was my first stop on Wednesday. With just a tiny counter and a few bar seats in the window, the East Village spot reminded me of Bunk or Pine State, tiny and relatively new Portland outposts of one kind of food (sandwiches and biscuits, respectively) done really well. Porchetta, if you don't speak Italian, does pork. And nothing but pork.



You can get the delicious stuff in a sandwich (just bread and meat) or on a plate with beans and greens. Simple, tasty, and wow, filling – I think I could only now eat more pork after wolfing down that sandwich three days ago.



I think the bacon/ham/pork trend is reaching its saturation point in the foodie world (though it probably has at least six more months to hit backlash in Portland), but I will always be a fan. It is just soooo good!

The rest of Wednesday: My first time in Queens to visit my friend Emily's place. I only saw two blocks, seemed like any other borough at night. I made Emily try an Oregon Pinot noir even though she hates red – I didn't convert her, but she didn't gag either! – and we ate pizza and watched American Idol. He's kind of a hack, but I love the holographic-shirt-and-sweatband-wearing "Norman Gentle," aka Nick Mitchell, for not taking the ridiculous show so seriously – he's wacky and campy and spazzy, oh my! Last stop: Stanton Public to meet Kristen at her co-worker Matt's going away party. He's moving to Boston to take a "creative breather," he told me. Another one of his friends lit up when I said I was from Portland: "I want to move there!" Kristen is planning to move to San Francisco. Am I nuts for wanting to move to New York?

I love how in the largest city in the country, you still find yourself orbiting the same small worlds. I was in SoHo nearly every day of my trip, always for completely different, random reasons. I must have walked by the corner of Prince and Elizabeth Streets close to ten times, always curious about the diner-looking Cafe Habana. A fan of Cuban food ever since I discovered the sorely-missed (in my opinion) Canita (sister of Pambiche), I knew I must have been drawn there for a reason and went back with a purpose on Thursday. Yum! The mole burrito was good enough, but the roasted corn on the cob – ahhhh-mazing! Probably because it was coated in butter and queso fresco. I could eat it every day – and I just might if I keep ending up in SoHo.

Another afternoon of working in my "office" (aka, the library), and then happy hour with Kristen and her work friends at Valhalla. I love that word; vikings or whatever nonsense, I just love the way it sounds. Tons of craft beers, kind of reminded me of all the taps at Bailey's Taproom. I chose hard cider. Such a girl. Kim and Robin and I later headed to the College Humor Live show at the Upright Citizens Brigade. So many barely 21-ers there! I felt old. The guys were funny, the guest comedians – including SNL writer John Mulaney – wunderkinds with so much talent. I'm no stand-up, but it made me want to put more creativity out there.

My last day consisted of lots of wandering, maybe just trying to soak it all up and bring some back to Portland with me. Lunch was a classic street vendor hot dog – my favorite NYC hangover cure from years past. I'll probably never outgrow that. I had come to feel like I really was living there, had settled in to a bit of a routine. My friends kept forgetting I was leaving. I didn't feel like I was really leaving until the plane finally took off. With a non-stop flight, I was back in Portland so quickly, plopped back into my life. But it feels different, I feel different.

I miss New York. I don't want to sound like an inconsistent ninny who doesn't know what she wants, when I was just rambling two weeks ago about how much I missed Portland... but maybe I am. Or maybe it's impossible to ever definitively choose between the two. On my last day in New York, walking through a brown and gray Central Park, my mom left a voicemail and told me to have a good flight back to Portland, which she said she wouldn't call my "home" anymore since I should start thinking of New York as home. And that's partly true – reinvigorated to make the move despite any fear, I'm beginning the process of mentally "moving" as well. But Portland will always feel like home. New York is part of a journey that I know will lead me back here, a quest to find myself in new and challenging surroundings, to prove I can make my life whatever I dream it to be. (Thanks, Thoreau: "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you you have imagined.") But considering how proud I felt every time I told someone, "I'm from Portland," I'm pretty sure I'll be leaving my heart right here in the west.

They Always Go There on Cash Cab

That would be McSorley's, which I finally made it to tonight. Supposedly New York's oldest Irish tavern, dating to 1854 – and a prime spot to mingle with suits, Euro tourists, and packs of dudes. Many cabs pulled up while Mari and I sat by the window, proving that it's quite the destination, but none with Ben Bailey or passengers waving newly-won cash. I swear, I have to move to New York just to satisfy by burning desire to get on Cash Cab.

Mari and I first got dinner at MAX, a spot chosen to satisfy my pasta craving and to put us in the McSorley's vicinity (I've been getting daily texts from my friend Tyler telling me to go or I'd be disowned). Turns out the tiny space, oil-cloth tablecloths, and two-seater bar reminded me of my favorite Portland spot, The Italian Joint. Sad, because that restaurant – where you could get bread, salad (with the BEST raspberry vinaigrette) and a pasta fit for two for under $10, plus a giant carafe of house red for $11 – is closed, so yesterday's rumors go. Fucking economy. This was, of course, not so cheap, but the smoked mozzarella and asparagus ravioli was delicious. I'll eat anything smoked or pickled – those carcinogens are just too tasty to resist!

I arrived at 7:40 for dinner, and we were the only ones in the place; by the time we left an hour later, it was packed. I noticed the same timeline at Union Hall last week – at 7:15, I had my pick of most every seat, but by 8:30, I was crowded around by big groups – and told Kristen about how those big "happy hour" groups start convening as early as 5 and reach their peak around 6 in Portland. She was shocked. No one leaves work that early in New York. The later schedule works with my nocturnal tendencies, but still, I want happy hour at the usual time! Now that I think about it, I haven't noticed a single happy hour menu this entire time – uh oh.

Beers are cheap at McSorley's, though – $4.50 for two, albeit half pints. Saunter up the bar and choose between light and dark ales, that's all they got. We double-fisted it and found a prime table in the window, surrounded by old photos and memorabilia, none of which has been removed since 1910. I'm a sucker for history like that. One beer in, we noticed this mug on the table:



Root beer float? That was my first thought, but no. We decided it was the discarded foam from all the beers – not poured with the greatest care, at least a third of the mug was foam, so people must dump it off to get the goods stuff faster, we figured. Silly girls. Turns out it was spicy-ass mustard, to be used on the famous McSorley's Cheese Plate: saltines, white American cheese, and raw onions.



A generous pair of gentlemen not only informed us what exactly what is in that mug, but shared the gourmet treat with us. We each tried one. That was enough. Then we pondered why Mari thinks people in New York are nicer than people in San Francisco – maybe the more traditional East coast manners? And I wondered if the fact that Mari and I are both not the girliest girls has something to do with us growing up in California – not wanting to be considered ditzy valley girls, we avoided overly feminine stuff the older we got. These seemed like very poignant observations at the time, but maybe that ale was just really strong. All I know is that I want to go out on a limb and wear a skirt tomorrow.

File Under: Why Didn't I Think of That?

I think I may have just finally defrosted from my icy travels last night – and it took a whole night under warm and cozy blankets. If I could walk around New York in a Snuggie, I'd be all set! Instead, I forgot mittens yesterday and don't think my fingers have ever been so painfully frozen.

And still, I was happy the whole way, up to Columbia and back to Park Slope, even when I realized that taking the B train to 125th left me on the wrong side of Morningside Park, which may look skinny and easy to cross on the map, but is really a near-sheer climb up from the east to the west. Wind whipping, cumbersome bag on my bony shoulder, I stomped up hundreds of stairs in heels. I'm not necessarily well-prepared for this urban boot camp, but I'm getting used to it. And I like it.

At Columbia, I met with Ann Cami, an adjunct in the Developmental Psychology department who teaches about children and media – good fit. I'm endlessly fascinated with the way children see the world, how they learn and think, and how that shapes them as adults, and the program focuses on just that. What may or may not be a detriment: it doesn't prepare you for a specific career. I could combine it with my editorial background to go into children's entertainment or media literacy; of if I want to go into private practice, continue on with a doctorate in psychology.

It's a big investment that deserves more consideration. I'm feeling a renewed interest in new media and web development, and damn, I just want to work again. Do I want to, am I ready to switch over to a new path? I've said it before, but this is the first time in my life that I'm not sure of my next step – is it this first real decision that makes me an adult, finally? I keep wondering how I'll look back on this cross-roads in my life ten or twenty years from now, how each of the choices could play out: Portland or New York, editor or psychologist or teacher or writer.... When I was little, I used to tell people I was going to be a doctor and a lawyer and a writer and a veterinarian and an actress. I wish it still felt possible to do it all.

Back in Brooklyn, I went to Alchemy again (close to the subway, and hey, I like it) for some wine and food. The bartender had on a University of Puget Sound shirt, turned out to be from Washington. I told him I was from Portland, and I thought maybe we'd have a friendly fellow Northwesterners rapport. Nuh uh, he was not having it. Whatever, that's why it's PONY and WANY or some crap like that!

And proving that Portland is indeed much cooler, I came home to a link to the portland to new york Facebook group (thanks, Mike Hughes!), full of eighty-four members who "lived in Portland now living or visiting new york city and want to link with people they know." I'm going to suggest they rename it PONY. Or maybe I should start my own PONY group? This one doesn't seem very active....hmmmm. Why didn't I think of that? Perhaps it's not too late. Nope, never too late.