Just So Y'all Know I'm Still Here

I've been enjoying Carl Annarummo's blog lately. A new immigrant to Portland, by way of Boston, Carl is perhaps better equipped to make astute observations than those of us who are P-Town regulars. That said, in today's post, he mentions being in a convenience store and watching the guy in front of him buy whiskey. This is Oregon. You can't buy whiskey in convenience stores. You but it in liquor stores and liquor stores only. Liquor stores can't have fancy names either. They're all called "Liquor Store." And prices are set by the Oregon Liquor Control Commission. Everything costs the same everywhere. All the time. Maybe Carl was in Vancouver, WA, across the river.

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I don't really know where to get a good burrito in Portland. Some folks swear by Ole Ole, but the only thing they have going for them is size. $3.50 will buy you a burrito that fills an entire dinner plate. It's ridiculous.

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Reading Dante's Vita Nuova, which I borrowed from Twemlow. I'm cat-sitting. The Schiff-Twemlow feline HATES me. The Dante and the recently-consumed Jalal Toufic has me thinking about love, which is never a good idea. Writing domestic poems lately. I never feel very domestic unless I'm in someone else's home. Poetics of space and all that jazz.