[Author’s note: read on, Marion finally called. Here is a picture of the lovely Jill, who is also mentioned later. FYI, Jill is a redhead (Amy Adams red) and she was almost the one. This picture was taken in 1996.]This gave me time to re-read “Bridge Over the River Kwai”, this time from the perspective of Reeves, the bridge-builder. The book likes to dwell on the way “Asiatics” stand in awe of Western engineering. I can identify with his task. I regularly meet people whose understanding of computers is baboon-like. The type of people who think hot water originates from the faucet and will steal that. The comparison is so obvious that I won’t even mention my brother.
I had intended to bike over to the book store. Instead, it was peace and quiet here. I wonder how people who have kids while they are young ever find any time for themselves. Give ‘em money to go to the movies? I got enough phone calls to keep me from a nap and the high point of the afternoon was checking to see how fast the carpet is drying. Quite rapidly, for it is 75% polyester.
This was a rare weekend without much music. Even I needed the break. Jackie from Jimbo’s reports he ran into Big Jim, who is now famous for his $95 gig at Arty’s. That was the time back in February the band made $95 each in tips, a situation not easily duplicated in that part of town. Wallace will remember Arty’s as the place we dropped in from the airport at three in the morning. It closes for one hour per day.
Moments later I got a call from Marion. Among other duties, she had relatives visiting. I had all but forgotten the three times we took a winter holiday in Oregon, always in February. We went in ’91, ’94 and ’96. The missing years I went with other women, usually one of the Elizabeths. Those were wonderful times even though the secret is out and you can’t get the lowest prices any more. There were times Marion and I were the only “tourists” in some little town on the Pacific coast.
I remember Depoe Bay, Lincoln City and Newport. The small town charm was already fast disappearing. Get out an atlas and look up these places, it is worth it. The last trip was in ’96, when I lamented that the “Old Oregon Tavern” had been taken over by some Californians who renovated what was an historical landmark. The last gal I dated long term, Jill, was one of Marion’s neighbors. Marion still feels if I had “lowered my standards” after Jill, I could have found a good wife. (My retort was that there were no good women left even at those lower standards.)
A background search shows that I did not keep a journal in the years mentioned above. Let me tell you another Oregon bar. I can’t recall the name, but there is a picture in my blog of September 30, 2007. It was tradition to go there at least once on every winter trip. I’ve often said I would have moved to Oregon if there was such a thing as a full-time job in that state. Let me tell you about the tavern. I’ve got pictures somewhere. Remember, coordinated publishing like this blog was a future dream in 1996.
These towns on the west coast are older than most, in some cases hundreds of years older. It is a lumber economy and a landmark of the bar was natural pieces of wood found that resembled female body parts. Over the decades, lumberjacks donated particularly realistic specimens until the walls were spiced up by these sculptures. It became the most original bar in existence.
By 1996, two transvestites from San Francisco bought out the place. During the 1990s, there was a surge of people up out of the south, usually not the best examples either, but they did have money. It totally wrecked the character of Oregon and Washington states. Gone are the slumbering little towns. The trannies promptly held a bonfire with the artwork and turned the place into just another LA style drag bar, with plastic furniture and satellite gambling. Now you can’t see the forest for the nuts.
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