I was walking down Blair Boulevard, amazed at how much the strip has changed in the last ten years—primarily from pretentious urban commodities like whiskey-fusion bars, coffee-fusion kiosks, designer beer, farm-to-table restaurants, Mexic-Ital-Yemeni fusion cuisine, Califor-Nigeri-Armenian fusion cuisine, electric tricycle showrooms, designer tacos, sushi restaurants that seat six and have no windows...
Saturday morning, early at the Birchwood, I’m startled out of sleep by the window-muted shouting outside my apartment of a female voice: “Ron! Where you at, Ron! I know you in there! If somebody don’t go and get Ron for me, I am gonna fuh-reeeak!” ...
My friend Vicki and I walked out to the mall on Friday, each got a little bit of food to eat, and then headed back home. And we’re walking by the river, and I was like, “Oh, hey, this looks like The River House. Vicki, I wanna go in here. Come on. I’ve never been in here, I’ve lived in this town for 34 years, I wanna see what’s in here.” ...
**Note: This has to do exclusively with the visual art that is inherently found in and can be created around the viewing of an abandoned vehicle, not with the actual process of abandoning a vehicle. That's not the message being spread here...
I’d taken the bus downtown that morning, and had a couple errands to run before heading back to another episode of The-Jerry-Springer-Show-waiting-to-be-booked that was my life at home these days...
Honestly, it is baffling sometimes to see the abandon with which so many humans cross roads and jockey street gutters in and around Eugene, Oregon...
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