momebie

The not so unexpected consequence of watching the first episode of Portlandia is that it made me want to move to Portland.

No, that doesn't quite convey what I mean. I've wanted to move to Portland for years. The complication that arose somewhere between Getting To Know Your Free Range Chicken and Locking Steve Buscemi In A Tea Store was that it made me want to ALREADY BE in Portland. Like, yesterday. And the day before. And on and on.

Everyone who commented on the first episode on Hulu mentioned how living in Portland is JUST LIKE THE SHOW. Needless to say I have very high expectations. How do you say that in French? Is it "attente très haute"? No really, I want to know. I'm considering getting a pretentious tattoo to mark the occasion. It's that or a Bright Eyes lyric.

Listen, don't ask me why I want to move there. I can't really tell you. And I'm not just saying that because it's classified information and I'd have to kill you. (I always err on the side of maiming anyway. Blood stains are a bitch to get out, you guys.) I honestly don't know. I've never been to Portland. I've never even driven through Oregon. I have some friends there, but knowing a place doesn't really work via osmosis through the internet yet. I just have this inexplicable tug in my gut and an empty cavity in my chest where home should be. It's right to the left of my heart. If you knock on my ribs you can hear it.

I am fully expecting Portland to fill that hole.

Talk about setting yourself up for disappointment. I am not a proponent of running away from your problems. I know that when I do finally manage to pick my sorry ass up out of my cube and drag it across the country, the main source of my problems will still be there. Namely, me. But sometimes you just need a change of scenery to put everything into perspective, you know?

I'm saying that like my problems are plentiful. They're not really. I have a pretty good life here. I have friends and hipster douchebag farmer's markets and low lit coffee houses and a decent indie record store and a vegetarian tea house. Watching the show this evening actually drove home just how much of what I'm looking forward to having out there I already have right here. A city is just a city. It's a thing. You have to put into it what you want to get out of it. After all, the Orlando I inhabit is not the one you are likely to find if you come here to visit the mouse or the boy wizard.

I expect to put so much into Portland. Right now, getting up in the morning feels like revision. I go to the same places and do the same things. Orlando is my rosary and I click through the beads deftly, without looking. All around me are the vestments of the person I used to be. And as I re-write and edit over the history of that person I can't help but keep an eye on the blank page where I'll start the new chapter. It's so important to me to get this chapter right before I move on, but I've always been enamored with possibility.

Right now I'm head over heels in love with the possibility of what I can make of Portland.

remembering sent me a post card from Portland when she visited the city a while back. On the message part of the card it simply says 'Come home, KL'. I'm working on it.


This [rare non-fiction] entry was written for Topic 11: Haute at therealljidol. All comments and questions are welcome.