Honey

Camping is fun because it is so very unpredictable.

All I knew, really, was that I wanted to go camping somewhere around Mt. Hood. I tried doing all kinds of research on the Internet (that usually knows so much, but sometimes knows so shockingly little) and came up with hardly any information. (Okay, there was information, and thanks to Barney, I finally found that information. The truth is that I could not find usefulness in the website’s arcane architecture. I need more than just the name of a campground to get excited about it. I want to see pictures, read campers’ reviews, and order my search results by user score.)

I gathered everything on the list I had excitedly, but neatly written. Everything fit snugly in the back of my pickup. I popped in my freshly burned compilation of Randy Travis country songs to warm my heart. Me and my doggies headed east.

There were two things on the list I had forgotten about as I rushed to get out of Portland. I headed out into the sticks and had traveled a far distance before I realized that I had forgotten those two last things - gas and a map. It crossed my mind to turn back, especially since I had less than a quarter tank of gas left in my truck and absolutely no idea of when I would reach the next town. I chided myself a bit for the mistake and kept driving. I hate turning back.

Luckily I met up with the main road before I ran out of gas. Fifty bucks and a nasty bathroom later, my truck carried me and my cargo up the mountain. We explored a few campgrounds before I found a site that appealed to my intentions. An hour later, my dogs and I were walking down the dirt road to the lake. (This was the very best part of my entire camping adventure.) We eventually found the lake and the dogs went swimming. I threw the stick for them to race for. We were all tired by the time we got back to the site.

That was it. That was the fun part. Well, finishing my book and drinking a soda was pretty good too, but by then the mosquitoes were attacking us relentlessly. (Finished The Time Traveler’s Wife: OMG I loved this book.) After I made myself a little dinner, I decided to build a fire. Me building a fire is like me making a bed. It’s painful, pathetic, and doesn’t work real well without a lot of help. I had thankfully taken Agent’s advice planning for this very situation, and brought our one remaining Duralog from over the winter.

The fire went out after an hour or so and I was ready to go to sleep anyway. I crawled into the tent with the dogs and got under the blanket with all my clothes still in use, including my baseball cap. Miso curled up to my feet and I went to sleep. I didn’t sleep very long, though. The main problem was that I am no longer able to successfully sleep on the surface of the hard earth. I didn’t know this about me; I thought for some reason that I could always make due.

The earth was hard and my body could not adjust appropriately. Also, I was cold and I don’t sleep very well when I’m cold. Then it started to thunder and rain. I’ve never heard thunder like this. It was really, really close and the sound it made was out of a horror movie. I wasn’t very frightened, but it kept waking me up. I checked the time a lot and stared out the screen window, begging for the sun to rise.

As soon as Miso started gacking like she does sometimes in the morning, I jumped off the hard, unyielding floor of the tent and unzipped the door (that is usually my favorite part of camping, the unzipping part). I set a new record for breaking down camp while the rain poured on my head. We jumped in the truck and got the hell out of there.

I listened to Randy all the way home, unloaded the truck, ate some oatmeal and jumped in bed. I slept the entire day away. It was all worth it.

I can barely admit it, but I must. I hold on to a lot of stereotypes that distort my experience in relationship to other people. As you may have been following in the last while through my blog, I am attempting to dissect and disseminate my own “outsider syndrome” (did I just coin a phrase?) and learn all over again how to connect with people in real and meaningful ways.

I went for a walk yesterday. It was blazing hot outside, but I was in desperate need of an adventure. I packed all the water I could carry without putting too much strain on my aching knee, collared up my trusty puppy, and headed out on one of those excursions that the young folks these days call “urban hiking”. I had a few possible destinations in mind, but mainly followed the instincts inherent to the part of myself who is free and innocent and trusting. I headed south.

Miso and I kept an easy pace through the neighborhoods of Northeast Portland. I know I teased her a little by walking through Irving Park, but it wasn’t too bad, seeing as how there were no other dogs playing on the hill. We stuck to the shade where we could find it. Miso spent most of her attention on the curved base of trees while I wondered at the lush, beautiful gardens embracing old Portland homes.

When we finally reached Broadway, it was like entering a whole other place entirely. The traffic was, as it is typically, commuter centric, cars on a mission. The sidewalks widened, making room for a homeless population that I rarely see from the outside of my car. A closed-up, out of business deli stood empty beside the goodwill and the Chinese buffet. Every corner held at least two of our poorest fellow humans, old folks in older clothing, sometimes yelling but mostly just looking forlorn and drawn.

I couldn’t help it. I gave money to whomever asked. (Side note: Every time I do something like this, I think that I can never, ever tell anyone, because that would mean that my intentions weren’t pure. Maybe it doesn’t matter how “pure” my intentions happen to be at any given moment and I was just brainwashed by the Catholic Church. Hmmm.)

I went to my favorite sushi place, Yuki on Broadway and 14th. My order was a little complicated and I had to sit outside with my dog, in the sweltering heat. I asked for a pitcher of water and the server who brought the water was so confused at my need for an entire pitcher that he almost took it away. Luckily, he granted my wish when I begged him to leave it.

I made a good sized puddle out of the ice water for Miso to lay her hot body in. We sat there together, observing the constant activity. It was then, looking around at the corner and the intersection full of people that I started to see myself making assumptions about the people who walked, rode, or drove by me. I noticed that the negative assumptions were aimed at the kind of people to whom I consider myself an outsider (there’s that “outsider syndrome” I was talking about).

As you may have been gathering in this endless search I’m on to find out what’s beneath the bullshit, I am tired of feeling like an outsider. Gazing at the strange and diverse pedestrians addle by me and my dog, I wondered if perhaps a way to help me stop thinking that I am separate than other people is to seek out the goodness in others rather than seeing what I have taught myself to see.

Unfortunately, this post serves to admit, most humbly, that I am a judgmental person. Did you already know that about me?

I would love more than anything to free myself of all that cynicism and rejection I’ve felt toward other people. I want to really care about everyone, not because I have to, but because I want to. Is it possible to recognize the person in every person, the thing(s) that make us more alike than we are different? Are we doomed to continue to lose touch with helping each other and taking care of each other until we crumble under the weight of our loneliness? Or will our evolution turn us toward the love and respect that will finally heal us? I don’t usually think about this question, since in it lies the greatest sadness that we share as human beings.

Back to how I was sitting outside with my dog in 94 degree weather on Broadway in Northeast Portland. (Have I told you that I love Portland?) Once I had finished my delicious veggie tempura roll (yum) I headed north with my hot dog. I had two interactions with people that were meaningful to me on the way home. They were meaningful because I am (astonishingly) growing out of my shyness and finding ways to genuinely relate to people. I’ve been afraid of people for a very long time.

With all that and a soy dream icecream sandwich under my belt, Miso and I made our way home. I was content and satisfied with my urban adventure.

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Our little teeny, adorable puppy, is gettin’ all grown up. Miso von Chompers turned one whole year old today. I know you’re just dying for an update.

Who is Miso?
That is a really good question, a question that I am just beginning to be able to answer. Miso is very soft, very sweet, and wants to please people and other dogs more than anything in the whole world. She’s a creature of habit, and thrives in a consistent environment with the same rules in every situation. She’s a quick learner, as long as things are done exactly the same way every time. Miso still uses her teeth to communicate, although she doesn’t bite down like she used to, which is nice. Sometimes when she is scolded, she’ll have a mini freak-out, and run around the house in maniacal circles until we get down on the ground with her and coo her until she feels okay again.

Miso’s favorite activities
There are a number of things that Miso enjoys doing, not the least of which is going to the park. She loves to play with other dogs and is also developing a healthy appetite for playing ball. One of her only bad habits we still haven’t trained out of her is also one of her favorite things to do, which is to find a mud puddle somewhere in the park and roll around in it. She has very thick fur and she’s very hot, I say to my very frustrated girlfriend when this happens. That doesn’t seem to help the situation.

Miso and I have been trying a new form of exercising that is working out very well. Miso is still a puppy and has a lot of energy. My goal is to spend the least amount of time and energy making her tired, because she is especially cute when she is tired, and the most cute when she is sleeping. I attach her to her collar and leash and take her out on my bmx bicycle. I ride as fast as I can and Miso runs her heart out, around and around the block, as many times as we can until one of us is just too tired to continue. She’s panting and exhausted by the time we’re finished. She’ll flop down on the cool wood floor and look up at us with those really really adorable puppy eyes she has when she’s pooped. I usually have to take her on a ride a couple of times a day, cause the tired only lasts so long.

Miso really likes to be petted. Her favorite spot to be petted is under her chin and down her neck. She’ll stretch her head up as far as it will go so that you can pet her just the way she likes it. Miso also likes to chew on her hard plastic toys. I’m trying really hard to teach her that it’s bad to chew her toys on people, even though she likes this very much and I hate to take away the things and activities she enjoys the most. She’ll chew her toy on your foot or on your leg but mostly she wants to get the toy between your legs, which embarasses some of our house guests.

Miso will gladly lick your toes or your denim pants, but we’re training her to only do these things on command. She doesn’t particularly enjoy doing tricks, but she does appreciate a cookie.

The sun was blazing yesterday, so I might have been a little irritable on my ride home from work. It also didn’t help anything when the bus overheated and stalled on the freeway, leaving a packed load of folks without air conditioning. I didn’t stay on the bus, because I like to keep moving. Me and a few of the other passengers jumped the median and headed up to Barbur Boulevard. I only had 15 or so miles to go from there.

So I was probably a little cranky when a fellow bicyclist alertly and responsibly changed lanes and a vehicle in the entered lane behind the cyclist decided to lay on the horn. I would like to posit that honking your horn at a bicyclist is almost always a bad idea.

Startled, she swerved dangerously out of the driver’s way. Likely stunned, she pulled off the road to regain her bearings. The horn had shocked the rider and made me very angry. Was this the desired result of the driver’s behavior? I think not.

Honking a horn at a bicyclist (when not actually trying to alert the bicyclist to anything but your total and complete dominance of the road) is a violent act, and should be subject to a fine. When you honk your horn at someone who is not inside a vehicle of their own, the sound causes physical pain and discomfort. Also, it is not really all that fair, seeing as how the bicyclist has no recourse and cannot react appropriately to your rude actions. I have on multiple occasions wished for a portable air horn I can use to counter attacks by enraged drivers with no one else to take it out on but unsuspecting cyclists.

In my opinion, bicyclists should always be treated like pedestrians, since they suffer the same vulnerability. Would your first reaction to being inconvenienced by a pedestrian be to honk in their face? I hope not.

Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to be a performer. I had more than just a typical desire for attention - I longed to attract a certain kind of attention, the kind that inspires admiration and awe. A few short-lived periods dot my life story in which I successfully realized my fantasies, but these times passed, and insecurity and confusion tucked me under to await another opportunity.

My desire to perform has led me to spend a lot of time with the Internet. The Internet provides an opportunity to perform in a million different ways from behind the safety of my own computer. It also allows for complete control over such performances, since barely anything is in real time. I can write and rewrite this post a million times before offering it to the world to be witnessed and criticized appropriately.

Sometimes, I spend too much time with the Internet. Sometimes I start to feel as though I’m expecting too much of my identity to be validated by a complex network of opinion, an unreachable mass of constant change. I feel angry at myself for sinking too much weight into something that is intangible, resulting only in a smattering of memorable images of cute kittens, a vague recollection of the sexual habits of bonobos, and a general idea of how to be more productive in my day to day activities.

For some, the Internet has provided more than just information, but has also served to form and strengthen human relationships. This is a valuable byproduct of the Internet experience that I am yet to know first hand. It takes more effort than I can offer to maintain the amount of interaction necessary to keep up with massive amounts of personal information through endless numbers of social channels. All this social networking is making me dizzy. As someone whose identity is constantly in flux (what’s my name now?), I cannot be expected to maintain so many online identities! It’s a ridiculous expectation, really. I think the only answer is to purge myself from the Internet (as much as is possible) and also to spend a little less time paying attention to my online existence.

Do you ever get sick of the Internet? I can’t ever really get away, since this is where I work. I think maybe I need a vacation.