Welcome to Weirderland

In the past fourteen days I have ridden the world's smallest loop-de-loop in the world's most peculiar semi-permanent amusement park, down by the river where the carnies are not intransigent, housed in barracks and I danced something called the "chicken dance" at a dissipated Octoberfest.

I have oomp-pa-pa'ed at the Polish fest.

I have shambled at the last Last Thursday.

I have sat on my porch during a short, but incredibly hardy torrential downpour, I have given strangers shelter on my porch.

I have lunched idly with my neighbor, who was then laid off.

I have danced for change and bar tended for none for Obama.

I have watched the debates and found them wanting.

I have been blissfully unaware of the massive stock tumble. Fuck me, if I am not ever tired of the jabbering heads and their fear mongering prognostications.

A few days later I cried in my car, listening to Frank de Ford rhapsodizing about Paul Newman taking his wife's hand at the theatre.

I have been surveying the wolf spiders that live in great abundance and have grown to great girth all over my yard and porch. I shooed an enormous one off of the porch this evening as I was suddenly and compulsively taken to hose off the porch. I walk like an elephant about my yard, flapping my arms furiously, surprised by the tensile strength of the webs I inevitably blunder into.

And I have been to see the baby olyphant at the zoo, found a good place to feed the ducks, seen the swifts dive into a chimney and have been generally delighted that Portland smells so good, watching as the leaves switch hues, lament the onset of darkness and the inevitable rain, have been grateful for a hale September.

I am looking forward to carving pumpkins and gainful employment, as always.

In twelve days I will have lived here a year.