A Message of Peace from Bill and Ted

I want to put this on a card and carry it in my wallet.

it's from from Bill and Ted's Excellent Comic #10 by Evan Dorkin, in which our heros find themselves on a totally lame planet populated entierly by superheros, but their words contain universal truth. (if you feel like bagging on "unprecedented metal music," just replace it with something YOU feel is rad!)

Return to the North Coast

The last few weeks have been something of an American Traveling Sandwich for me, with the Oregon Coast as the hearty bread and Wisconsin as the tasty filling (as well as bits of California spread in-between). This, then is the final slice.



Once again I headed to one of Oregon’s beautiful beaches for a family reunion, this time for my dad’s side of the family. While my mom’s side meets semi-annually to reunionize, my paternal relatives haven’t gathered together on a regular basis since those gradeschool Christmases when the tree towered over us and my little brother was still deathy afraid of wrapping paper. Erin and I have been fortunate enough to get in visits with most of them over the past year, but I hadn’t seen everyone together in a long, long time. My Uncle Mike and cousin Brandon live basically right here Orange County and it had been nearly ten years since I saw either one of them.
The three of us got reacquainted over an unnecessarily long jaunt through airports together on the way up to the Willamette Valley. Here are things I did not know: Brandon is a regular cast member at a Rocky Horror Picture Show theatre and Uncle Mike travels the country selling high-tech dental equipment. Crazy.
The cause for this whole shindig was my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary, and they were setting us all up in the same motel/cottage place where they had their honeymoon in 1955 to celebrate. It was a good time, and the weather could not have been better. Unusual for a trip to the Oregon beach, I wore shorts and even splashed around in the water for a couple of hours learning to skim board with my brother and cousins.
We also went to Mo’s, which is perhaps the most famous local restaurant in all or Oregon, maybe the whole Northwest, one of two places (the other being the outlet mall) that must be visited when visiting the Lincoln City section of the coast. Mo’s is known mostly for their clam chowder, but for my money that they also serve the best cheeseburgers in any sit-down restaurant in the world (a title bestowed upon them sometime around fourth grade, after years of extensive research on my part). Also, there is ALWAYS a line. Even in the winter, there is ALWAYS a line. And no reservations.
Due to some fortunate miscommunication, however we didn’t have to wait.
Which is good, because my Great Great Great Great (not sure on the last one) Aunt Rosana hadn’t actually eaten anything all day, and as soon as the waitress came to take the orders for our drinks, she was clamoring for some clam chowder, “and make sure it’s hot!”
She got it before the rest of us had even ordered, as hot as they could make it. Until that point I had been unwrapping little packets of saltine crackers for her, since she couldn’t see well enough to open them herself.

She’s 97 and I think she ate two bowls of chowder.

A balloon guy was making the rounds at the restaurant, twisting together colorful hats and animals, and he fashioned these lips for my grandpa. Notice everyone taking pictures. There were a lot of pictures taken that weekend!


It was actually a rather photo-filled reunion in genera, since Grandma had brought tons of old scrapbooks and photo albums, which I poured over, and for their big anniversary present my aunts put together a huge album of their own filled with pictures, letters and remembrances from family and friends for my grandparents. It was a pretty cool gift, and they both actually cried. Of course there are plenty of pictures of THAT, too. The resounding sentiment seemed to be that Grandma and Grandpa are more in love now than ever, which I guess is the best anniversary gift of them all.

Mush mush mush.
(note my Aunt Monica snapping a simultaneous picture in the center of the frame)

To balance out the old people pictures, here’s Nathan, my fourteen year old brother and my twelve and fourteen year old cousins Sarah and Rachel. Obviously, they are cooler than me.

I don’t often hang out with kids that age and I had forgotten how fun they are.

Most inexplicably we also had something of a Humphrey family sing-along, opening the universe to Unprecedented Horror of Unimagined Proportions. Also scoped out tidepools, walked barefoot on the sand and fielded all sorts of questions about my future, which were only a small part of many good conversations I had with many rad people. Nate and I strolled the beach around midnight and got caught up a bit.
Now I’m catching you up.


As ever, here are my feet, pointed toward the tide.
(and some anemonies!)

xxoo

Night Wedding

I had a dream about our wedding last night. Which is strange because I don’t usually even think about weddings. But you were there, and we were going to get married I guess. It was in another country, somewhere I’ve never been, in a hotel with wide empty hallways.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never dreamed of weddings before, but things weren’t going as I expected. There were no fancy parties, no gatherings of friends or people getting excited, just these hallways where people in church clothes milled about sparsely, sipping drinks with ice in them from clear plastic cups.
And you went off to do your hair and get ready for the wedding and I wasn’t sure what to do. I rather like wandering around with a drink in my hand; it lets me feel like I’m doing something important without actually having to do anything but slowly finish the drink, and then maybe get another one and just keep on exploring, talking small talk, critiquing the wallpaper, but this apparently was my wedding?
And without you there, I don’t know what I’m doing. I couldn’t call up your face or your shape, and I didn’t remember anymore what sort of jokes you would laugh at. When I was younger, whenever I met someone new my sister would always ask me, “are they nice?” and I knew that you were nice, if nothing else; I was marrying you, afterall. But I hardly knew you, and I didn’t know why or when or where or even how we were getting married, just these hallways and some short amount of time, a deadline, before we would be married.
And I figured that I should at least make sure that I would look good for the ceremony. I looked at myself in a mirror, deep eyes, dark sports coat, lost with a drink cup for a compass. I guess somehow I hadn’t shaved in a week and I looked nothing like a man about to be married. In jeans and red sneakers I dashed down the hallway.
I found my parents wandering around and told them that I looked like a hooligan. My dad pointed me to a concierge’s desk where they’d have extra razors. In the end I wound up borrowing one form a little kid who was practicing shaving for when he got older.
I went into the dressing room to shave and you were there, just finishing with your makeup, still in street clothes. We crossed paths only briefly, as it’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony, but when I saw you I knew who you were again, small, soft and gentle. You looked beautiful, although I don’t remember if you smiled at me or not – we shouldn’t have seen each other yet.