Irrelevant Cheetah

Have you ever done something new? You know, broken up your routine a bit, like taking a different route to work? Or try a brand new breakfast cereal?

Have you ever planned on doing something different, and as the time drew near for you to actually act on your plan you started getting stressed? Because, after all, life isn’t much more than a bundle of different routines, wrapped up and presented as day-to-day existence, and actually doing something to break out of the mold can be a little bit stressful.

Ever had a bad case of nerves?

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Ugh.

A few thoughts on public transportation:

No matter how much money the city has funneled into public transportation, they still can’t seem to get rid of the pervasive smell of B.O. Wait a minute – that’s not me, is it?

When you’re in a hurry, every idiot on the bus seems to want to get off (or on) at every single bus stop. Makes you want to scream at them, “What?! You can’t walk two blocks to the next stop?” On the other hand, you don’t see me getting off a stop too early, either.

Buses are okay; trains are better, streetcars are the best. And it makes you feel very cosmopolitan as you race for the train, arms waving, dropping your (overpriced) Starbucks iced mocha as you sprint for the rapidly closing door.

Doesn’t seem to matter what city you’re in: maps/guides to the different bus routes are impossible to decipher. I remain convinced that there is a small contingent of dyslexic, one-eyed, color-blind cartographers that has cornered the market (probably via Teamster-like tactics) on bus-route-guide designing. Seriously. It might as well be written in Sanskrit.

If you miss one bus it has a domino effect. Carefully laid plans can go completely awry in the time it takes to miss the #8 to Broadway and Market Street.

Despite all this, I don’t have to drive, and I’m saving scads of money on gas and parking. And blog posts seem to grow from trees on the bus.

I have a writer’s meeting today at The Vanguard, one of the three newspapers at Portland State University. At that meeting I will meet my fellow reporters, get to know my editors better, and (presumably) be assigned my first news story.

Why is this notable? It’s not, really, except for the fact that my attending this meeting shows that a legitimate news organization is willing to pay me to report news. If you’ve been keeping up with my stuff, you know that this is, quite possibly, one of the most disturbing things that could happen this week. Giving me power to report the news is akin to giving a baby an M-80 and some flint and steel. Nothing bad is going to happen right away, but the potential for some significant chaos is definitely there.

However, everybody needs a little chaos in their life – am I right? And besides, what could possibly go wrong?

I don’t know how in tune you are with American geography and differences in culture between states, but moving from Alaska to Portland is very much like moving to a different country. The language is the same, but that’s about it. And I must admit, there’s some homesickness going on. Of course, I miss the family – that goes without saying. There are other, stranger, things that I miss, too, which I find amusing. Things that you just take for granted, and now you miss them.

I miss tripping over the dogs every morning because they’ve decided, in their little canine brains, that Dad has forgotten the location of the dog food while he slept and therefore must be shown, step by step, exactly how to get to the food storage location and feed them breakfast.

I miss the mountains outside my front door.

I miss the damn parrot saying “Nighty-night!” over and over until you want to strangle her.

I miss having a car. I know, that marks me as a shallow, selfish American, but I can’t help it. It’s nice to be able to jump in the car and drive wherever you want to go whenever you want to.

I miss My Stuff. You know, the stuff you never touch, the stuff you have forgotten is there, but subconsciously you know is there should you ever want it. Sure, I may never read the August ’06 issue of Wired magazine again, but it was nice to know I could.

And I miss the family. That goes without saying, but I have to say it again.

Well, I’m here. I made it, and with the exception of a few brain cells that expired from stress and probably won’t be missed anyway, I made it intact and whole.

Today is spent walking around the campus, becoming acquainted with the area and re-learning what it’s like to be a college student. It’s been a few years, you know. Once again I must see if I can make $10 last two weeks. I think I can do it. Ramen is cheap here in Oregon.

No real observations yet, except that it’s damn hot here. It’s over 80, and I’m dying. Nice to see the sun, though; it’s been raining in Anchorage since about June, and that was getting a bit dreary. Now if it just cools down a bit it’ll be nice.