For Poetry, Brandon and I took a trip to Oregon. We left San Francisco in a plane like this

Liquids over three (3) ounces mean checking bags which on United means $15 a pop. A shared crush on the flight attendant. She giggled a lot and bit her lower lip some and made fun of a dude for taking facebook photos of himself with his iphone. We did not crash and burn and die. We landed and rented a car in the creepy, empty Medford airport. A Jetta. "German engineering."

We drove 55 mph on the highway like good Oregonians and through the streets of Ashland till we reached Kasey's. We knew we were there because we saw the wheelbarrow. When guiding someone to park, Kasey does a little dance like he's guiding an airplane with those orange cone things. Thanks Kasey. We removed our shoes and looked at the loot, drank Jameson and talked shit.

We woke up committed to delicious breakfast.

Pacwest bacon and gruyere omelet and a walnut waffle. I told the table about my credit card fetish. Ahem. Then we got slushed on on the way to the "campusic" campus where we were treated like Michael Palmer -- a green room with shrimp cocktail and Cristal, a big (much deserved) paycheck, comfy chairs, and an attentive crowd. I learned a lot.

Then we walked around downtown Ashland and Kasey & BB ran for office.

There's a nice park with a duck pond and Shakespeare shit. There's a sign which reads

FOOT DETOX

We visited junk shops and I bought a brooch to try to look like Kim Rosenfield and her beautiful red blossom. It was only two dollars/I failed.

Kasey took us to Omar's where the waitstaff is super friendly and the Pabst Blue Ribbon flows like the Great Willamette. Stuffed six (6) in the Jetta and went wine tasting. I slipped Kasey sips of the good stuff.


Then we gave a poetry reading. Warm rabbit feet. Pizza, frosty mugs. At the mart, I spent our earnings on PBR. I honked the horn at some undergrads. Sorry.

We woke up, drank delicious flarf coffee, listened to Peg Leg Howell, said our goodbyes, drove 55 mph on Interstate 5, had our gas pumped (if you know what I mean), got picked up by a lobotomized Budget rental car worker, and hung out with weird white Oregonians at the Medford airport. They have no food there. I ate some eight dollar almonds. Then we hopped onto another prop plane in which BB slept and I read Details magazine for men and Cosmopolitan magazine for women.

While waiting for Rodney & Auden to kindly pick us up from PDX, we joked about Rodney swinging by in a) a Hummer, b) a BMW, c) creepy Chevy van. With music to match. We gazed at Mt. Hood.

Auden gave us a very thorough tour of the Submarine/Rodney & Lesley's beautiful Portland House with Porches. Then we removed our shoes and looked at the loot, drank wine and talked shit. I noted the stick that holds the love.

Lesley gave us a great tour of Portland. We had some burgers at Bagdad (no "h") theater, BB & I walked around, purchased things, and noted the lack of sales tax in the great state of Oregon.

Rodney prepared us a nice spread and then we gave a poetry reading. Warm Portland poets. Jules Boykoff and Kaia Sand and Geneva Chao and Tom Fisher and Maryrose Larkin and Jared Hayes. Tom Fisher is a total ringer for Jack Black. Thinner, but ringer. Sorry, Portland, for the offhand comment at the beginning of the reading. This is why I don't do banter. I love your fair city, and I'm not an asshole, really.

We woke up and had breakfast where one can drink a martini or two with a kid and not feel like an alchy. We got to meet Jessica and watch kids play. Rodney kindly drove us around downtown Portland and we swooned over Cassavetes and Polanski. Powell's. The Douglas Fir and Mary's but only from afar. Order the carafe at the weird Victorian restaurant -- it's only $14.


Auden serenaded us goodbye with "Colorful Magnet" and "Submarines are Alright" which you kind folks who partied in the Berkeley Hills on NYE will remember. It exceeded my wildest expectations.

Thanks, Oregon.