Reading my future...

I'm channeling energy through my mexican loteria cards. Wait! They're telling me something. Hold on. What is it they're saying?


That's right. I'm out of here and I'm off to explore Guadalajara, Day of the Dead, Talaquepaque, Tonola, Puebla, Mexico City and the wonders of everything there and in between. And yes, I'm bringing my camera. Be nice, and if you happened across this blog because you googled You Loot We Shoot, George Bush Hates Black People, Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, or Dorcus Flowers, you can find those posts in the archives. And yes, those are my top search engine hits. Go figure.

Instructions, clarifications and other bathroom guidelines

This is for real people. Posted in the women's restroom. I really don't want to know how serious the issues were that caused the need for signs and the accompanying toilet brushes. Egads. If you can't read the sign, click on the photo for up close and personal.

7:30am-7:50am today: what I saw

Just in the mood to take pictures....the light this morning was so beautiful. This is my commute to work, and what I saw once I arrived. Just 20 minutes in my morning today...

Go here to see the set of photos

Piano and music: at the core of LeLo

You are Schroeder!

That's funny. I grew up playing piano. Lots, and lots of piano. If you ever asked me when I was a child, which Peanuts character I would identify with, it was Schroeder.


No, really. Lots of piano. Here's a picture from the elementary school production of either Peter Pan, Annie or Wizard of Oz. That's Mr. Guthrie in the background. He was an awesome and amazing teacher at Camarillo Heights Elementary School. He played his guitar and sang in class, and he had a parrot named Roots. I never had him as a teacher, but he directed all of the school plays. He had a beautiful voice, and was such a great teacher. I never acted in those elementary school plays (that came later in high school). I was the pianist. I know all of the words to every song. But I never sang them. Damn, I wish I could sing. I've thought about taking singing lessons. But I could play them on the piano as an accompanist. I could play them in the third grade. And not the simplified versions.


(Note the shag carpet in the background. This same piano is currently in my living room.)

Piano was "my thing" growing up. It defined me. Music was an integral part of me and my self identification.

I competed. I won competitions. Or at least placed in the Bach competitions (my least favorite). I hated technique. I didn't practice. I practiced like a fiend. But I won and kept playing in lots of contests.

"It" came naturally. Not by ear. From somewhere else. I could read anything. (I **almost** still can.) It was concentrated time with myself. With my inner self. It gave me something. Some sort of peace. Something personal. Something I was creating and feeling and in tune with, just me and the music. It was my art.

I could feel it.

Chopin? It moves me beyond words to this day.

My job in high school? I taught piano, and accompanied for a church. Yes, church, people. Covenant Evangelical. And I was baptised in that church at age 18. But that's another story....

I don't play much these days......I ventured beyond my comfort zone last month and played keyboard in a "jam session" with musicians who play by ear. It was really, really hard. And painful. Fortunately I had had a few drinks and they were all good people, and just went with it. I'm not sure where music is in my future. But I know it's a strong, emotive element for me, and I love me some iTunes. (Currently it's Ry Cooder, and Tegan and Sara.)

Thanks to Blu for the heads up on that fine quiz that sparked my trip down memory lane.

What does your car say about you?

What if you want your car to say more about you?
Speak, car! Speak!
“My car is a divine instrument of the lord’s voice.”

Saw this thing and couldn’t grab the camera fast enough. Actually had to claw through the back seat into the trunk to get the camera.
But let’s look at it closer.

WTF is this thing saying? Someone? Anyone? Help me out here.

Dear IKEA: Welcome! Love, Portland

Portland is finally getting an IKEA! Yeah! Rumor and talks and issues and talks and flight regulations and rumor and blurbs have finally come to fruition.

IKEA is finally coming to P-town, and thus, the state of Oregon.

In our early days of co-habitating, we planned trips to the closest IKEA from Portland, in Renton, and back to buy low-cost yet stylish modern Danish home items and furniture. AdRi HATED going: too much over stimulation. Too much of everything. Too much shopping. I was always just totally in my element. Displays of how to use the items, and then area after area of places to pick up and select the your uber cool items. No windows in the whole place made the passing of time invisible: just like the trick used in casinos. But I loved those trips. No longer will I have to beg AdRi to go with me or to stop by when we're in Seattle next!

I may have to wait until 2007, but I'll wait. Yeah IKEA!

Thugs seeking jobs? Greek Cusina will hire you!

That downtown icon is a nasty mean place. This is the conclusion I’ve come to. Yeah yeah yeah, they break plates and do all that stuff. They’ve got that funny purple octopus on top of the building. They even sell hats of the funny purple octopus. But they’re also a magnet for massive fights, drunks, and just bad scene. I’ve seen the typical male aggression there and it’s not pretty.

But in todays’ Oregonian’s Crime Stoppers column is the story of the fine Greek Cusina employee who is accused of beating the crap out of a customer, after they left the restaurant. Evidently Shawn McCorkle, 32, is wanted on a $500,000 warrant for first degree kidnap and second-degree assault. Whoa! It sounds like he and a couple of his thug buddies were working security (Powered by Ozo!) and after a customer was booted, they “followed the man, grabbed him around the neck, dragged him across the street, down the sidewalk and back into the Greek Cusina” where they proceeded to beat him brutally with a frickin’ fire extinguisher.

Nice! That’s a fine, fine establishment. And I’m sorry, but it’s not just this one guy. If you’ve ever encountered the owner during lunch time and how he speaks to his employees, it’s embarrassing and sad. I used to be a fan of their new salad-to-go deli thing they opened, but after seeing the owner berate an employee in front of customers, and now this story, no more Greek Cusina for me.

P.S. Evidently the “greek mafia jerk” at the door scene is pretty well known.

When the other half drives

I sing loud when I drive in my car. Really loud. Lately it's been loud to the soundtrack of Rent (by the way, 37 days people until the movie comes out). But on the weekend, often the other half drives. And yesterday as we approached the car she muttered "AM here we come." You may think that means Air America, and sometimes it does. But most likely it means 1280, 1520 or 940, or one named La Grande (must be said with a loud, booming voice at least twice). AdRi loves mexican music like the music she grew up with, Los Tigres del Norte, Los Bukis and Luis Migel.

Today she still loves them, as well as modern musicians like Mana. Don't suggest Marc Anthony: that just got the eyebrows and a loud "hell no!" (I myself love Shakira: for the obvious amazing hip action she's capable of.) And yes, AdRi breaks out in tears every time she hears Selena.

Back to singing in the car yesterday. AdRi's current favorite song came on and the volume went straight up. Here's a little snippet...


P.S. I never claimed that we sing on tune.

Goodbye, Summer

It's been nice knowing you. See you next year!

Stop. Read. Weep: A first hand account of rescuing animals in New Orleans.

How was it for the dog that barked for weeks hoping someone would come? How was it to eat anything he could find and drink the most nauseating water only to die by the window in the morning sun?

I don't have the ability to explain what it looks like to see a car in a swimming pool.

Can I explain how hard it is to walk by a kennel that contains a dog sitting in his own feces. It's hard because you can't get to him right now because there are 30 others that are in a similar state that you have to do first.

I can't explain the transformation you see in a dog's attitude when you take the time to wash the crusted filth from him. Did you know that he can transform from an animal that is totally down and dejected and locked in a box to one that is happy and excited and full of energy?

Paul Meehan writes and shares photos from an incredible story of dedication in helping others. As he says, “Over the last few weeks I took some vacation time and have been volunteering for the Humane Society down in New Orleans to help out with animal rescues. I was on the front lines by which I mean I was breaking into houses and buildings etc. at the behest of the Humane Society and the owners to look for trapped animals.”

Read his story here.
See his pictures here.
Give here.

Update: There's a touching story on NPR this morning. Listen to it here.

Movies movies movies…

…and they’re gay gay gay! Ah, it’s time for the Portland Lesbian & Gay Film Festival. AdRi and I have been poring over the fancy full color guide that came in the recent Just Out, circling, starring, and putting in our calendars all of the movies we want to see. So many movies, only so much time. Here are some of my top picks:

Adam & Steve

Combining irreverent humor and heartfelt romance, Adam & Steve co-opts American cinematic 'formulas', namely the romantic comedy and movie musical, and turns them inside out while paying homage to them at the same time.

Life in a Box
Jay and Steven, a singing duo called Y'all, struggled for nearly a decade to make a living with their music in New York and Nashville. They were determined to be the Sonny and Cher, the George and Gracie of their generation.

The Aggressives

The Aggressives is a dynamic film shot in vibrant NYC on digital video, featuring intimate interviews with six lesbians who define themselves as "Aggressives".

Girls Shorts
We’ll definitely be at this one. A collection of short films of lesbian interest. Ooh la la. Especially since they’re showing Guinevere Turner’s latest short, “Hung.”

That Man: Peter Berlin

With his trademark Dutchboy haircut, Tom of Finland physique, and oh-so-tight trousers, Peter Berlin was the poster boy for the hedonistic and sexually-liberated 1970s.
Uh, the picture above really says it all. Ooh la la!


The full schedule is over here. Check it peeps for a lot more movies and full schedule.

Why the gay movies? We rent and see a lot of GLBTQ flicks here at the LeLo household. There’s something to be said about watching people you can relate to. Whose side comments you recognize, relationship specifics that are familiar, stereotypes that ring true or ridiculous…seeing people like you makes you feel not so far away from them all. And, the film festival is a great time to see a whole lotta queer folks and queer lovin’ folk out and about. You know the chicks are gonna pack the house for Girls Shorts. Hell yeahs I’m gonna be there!

Who am I?

I’m an accordian playing fiend.


I’m a vibrator.


I’m vacationing at the coast with my husband.


Oh silly people. I’m none of the above. It’s the joys of the google image search. That’s GIS (also known as Google Image Search*) for my blogging name, LeLo. Meaning, I went to Google, performed an image search for LeLo, and the above selection represents but a few of the glorious wonders that appear for that word. That’s some gosh darned fun.

So what happens when I GIS (remember, it’s Google Image Search) my friendly blogging friends? Chaos ensues for sure.

Note: If I know your real name, I’ve googled that. If not, it’s your blogging name.

Rozanne


Ja’AmLo


StevieB


Recovering Straight Girl


Rigo


Blu


Brett


Superinky


Mikey


Greenie


So go google yourself. It won't make your palms grow hair. Or the stars fall from the sky. But in case it does, make sure you get pictures up, okay?

*I learn technical terms like this from Ja’AmLo. Thanks Ja’AmLo!

Props to Rozanne, who spawned the wonders of this post.

He shoots he scores he saves!

Meet Paul Bunyan

Hello blog visitor. Meet Paul. Paul Bunyan. He lives in my part of town in North Portland. He's a big boy. Originally created as temporary art in 1959 for the Oregon Centennial Exposition, he has continued to live and thrive out here in NoPo, and was even moved and relocated a few feet to make way for the new light rail. He wore a hard hat and safety vest during that move. I particularly like his axe. And though you can't see it, he does have a red hankee in his back pocket. (Actually, you can see it here.) He's such a bear. Gggggrrrrrrrrr.



There are lots of Paul Bunyan statues statues out there. I'm particularly fond of those that include his friend, Babe the Blue Ox. Here's one I've been to, and have a nice picture somewhere of AdRi standing under Babe's blue balls.

Disco queen dog

Who knew this pup could dance? And who knew I finally figured out how to post movies?