Snow, They Never Knew Ye.

I love it when it snows in Portland. The beauty of a snow-covered urban terrain provides a completely different feeling and contrast to that of the woodsy, field ridden countryside of my youth. Not to say that it’s any better or worse, just different.

Aside from that, the rarity of the occurrence here makes it more magical each time it happens. When I lived in Maryland, one could pretty much guarantee a good blanketing at least once or twice a season, requiring a yearly closet scouring for a pair of matching gloves and last years boots, making sure they all still fit. Along with it came a few hours of unpaid labor for my brother and me, shoveling the driveway like indentured servants to provide my mother with unnecessary but imminent escape. Following this winter tradition, we would hunt for the best local sledding spots and create any excuse to continue to wander through the white, icy utopia.

This routine made no school-snow days hard to come by, usually requiring up to a foot of snow for even a few-hour delay. My dad worked for Baltimore county, (and in turn, the enemy) and would leave the house in the middle of the night, driving his company snow plow to work and aiding to clear the roads before the morning rush. This countywide punctual preparation for the crippling winter weather grows exponentially based on each county’s increasingly bleached history. In the same vein, counties without consistent snowfall lack the felicitous accouterments to properly cope. Thus, a smattering of snow causes a city like Portland to cripple amusingly, making every inch a tiny snowy apocalypse.

The most scarily amusing thing about Portland snowstorms is the lack of driver’s education in Multnomah County for them, and the ensuing traffic issues that provide me with hours of entertainment, from the news, the streets, and the hill outside my bedroom window, proving why the city shuts down like a holiday for a single inch. Watching Portlanders drive in the snow is like watching a dog try to stand in the back of a truck. Thank you Portland, for being a ridiculous parody of yourselves and providing me with a jovial laughter seemingly lost due to my complete lack of holiday spirit.

Google, I Am Disappointed in You.

What?
One comments? Seriously Google?

Is it really so hard to program the singular form of "comment" for a single comment?
I can't imagine so.

This makes me want to throw up in my cereal.

I'll Just Leave This Here.

It's back in stock.

My Exciting Life.

It seems that in grabbing hangers for clothes hanging, I may have grabbed just the right amount! Can it be? Stay tuned to find out!

Edit: I was short by one. :/

Bah Humbug or How Adulthood has Ruined Christmas.

I'm ten years old, climbing out of bed violently rubbing by eyeballs trying to abolish the cloudy perception, a testament to my waking up far too soon. The clock shows 7:00 am, and my excitement drains like a recently prodded pipe as I realize that I must wait another hour before I can wake my parents. This year, they set a time, sick of the 6:30 Christmas, seemingly trying to torture me to my last nerve. How can they postpone any longer a moment I anticipated since Halloween?

This is how it used to be. Two months full of ritualistic activities: hunting for the most well lit house in town, circling toys in the weekly flier, drinking hot chocolate and eating deer stew at the tree farm, lighting the tree, decorating the tree, killing the thousands of baby praying mantis' that hatch from a tiny nest dwelling deep within the tree. All of the standard Christmas traditions.

But yesterday, I realized exactly how much things have changed. I realized that I hate Christmas.

I began work at 8:45 with a yawning smile and a cheerfully exhausted disposition, donning my walkie-talkie and perusing the stockrooms for work needing done. Upon stepping out of the shipping office, I heard the most familiar sound, pleasant at first, calling upon my childhood memories of cookie cutting and bad stop animation films. At that moment I snapped out of it, immediately reminded of the ramifications of this sound’s current implementation. It was the jovial sound of Christmas music; the seasonal change causing Pottery Barn to insert their holiday mix cd. For a short time, I thought I could handle it. If I remain in the back, I thought, I don't have to hear it! However, busy Sundays aim to prove me wrong, and 5:00 found me trying to find something small enough to fit through my ear canal and penetrate my eardrums.

Anyone who works a job in retail, or at a restaurant, or anywhere that uses a corporate predetermined soundtrack or radio station can relate to the troublesome plight plaguing me down past the very fabric of my humanity and into the individual threads, a seam remover pulling me apart with a painfully dull, overused spike. While working at Safeway, confined to my small Starbucks kiosk, the overhanging speaker blared with a capacity that aimed to provide auditory stimuli to the whole of the casual shoppers checking out at the front end. Although I made numerous requests for a volume reevaluation, the staff ignored my plea, displaying an inappropriate apathy towards the blood that my ears left in the coffee I served.

Unfortunately, I do most of my working through the holidays, during my breaks from school, and these troubles have done nothing more than filled me with a holiday rage and anger that rivals the Incredible Hulk.

Witnessing the holidays from my current state of mind has awakened in me the revelation that Christmas isn’t for me. My lack of cable television forces me to flip vigorously through the local channels at night searching for programming that pertains not to the holiday spirit, as I have grown out of these once beloved presentations. Watching family movies without the family is torturous in the same way as reading Nancy Drew novels for literary integrity. This brings with it an unavoidable nostalgia for a time when these specials meant something, when they were special, and a resulting loneliness that follows.

I may write this with a small bitter bias, seeing as my family lives on the opposite side of the country and I have shared all of my family interactions since 2005 with friends and significant others, but I think that deep down, this despise holds a special place in the hearts of all middle-class American parents, especially in this time of economic recession. Enjoying this time of year proves difficult for anyone without a firm monetary grasp on his or her lives, as the stress outweighs the capacity to enjoy the broad holiday traditions. Couple that with my complete loss of any religious connection to the time of year, and the result is a complete spiritual death that makes the elated holiday wonders a time for seemingly unavoidable depression.

My greatest hope is in the children, that one day my kids will refill me with a love and joy that exists in their hearts, and that I can reinstate my Christmas spirit through them.

Snow Dreams.

I found this snowmobile concept on Notcot and it made me pine for my snow-filled childhood and the small blizzards we often had back in Maryland.

I've never ridden one of these things, mostly because I could never afford one and partially because I never had need for one. But I always wanted to.

This one has an awesome snowboard rack in the back, which reminds me of another thing I always wanted to try.

Here's to hoping for a snowboarding trip in January or one of those impossibly improbable Portland snowstorms that blanket the city in that cold, wet, white, pure winter happiness... the only beauty that cures that otherwise grey-induced seasonal depression.

[snowmobile concept by Matus Prochaczka]

Don't you want me to have a great Christmas?

Searching for my perfect holiday gift?

Why not give a gift of sonic proportions?

Although sold out now, I will hold out for its return, refreshing the site like speed dialing a radio station.

Maybe you should too.
That is, if you care about me at all...

Here's the link.

La Souris.

I love this, and I want to evoke a delectable background in hopes of keeping this small guy from floating helplessly in a bleached white purgatory, but I cannot think of where to put him.

Maybe a cave? Caves are boring.
Maybe a cave with bats?