Another Day in Portland

One hot afternoon when Brent was admiring the view of the Portland skyline (as he often did when there was so little to do with his time) he caught sight of an odd looking airplane. “that’s odd” Brent said to himself, “for a plane to be flying so low”, but as it got nearer he noticed that the wings of the airplane were moving up and down and that the front end of it had smoke coming out of it. “Oh golly! It must be on fire!” he said in a panicked fright. As it came ever nearer he realized that it wasn’t a plane at all, but was just another stupid dragon menacing the good citizens of Portland. For you see, Portland dragons are a not the typical fierce dragons you read about in story books, no, Portland dragons are much more likely to accidentally fly into a sky scraper or trip over a road sign then they are to do any real damage. Brent watched on while animal control teams tried to entice the dragon away with a giant cardboard cutout of a female dragon hanging from a black government helicopter—the plan seemed to be going well until the dragon lit the female dragon on fire with its flaming breath. The flames of course went straight up beneath the helicopter making a kind of heli-oven from which the inhabitants soon began bailing out of. The poor dragon who thought he had lit his lover (that is the cardboard cutout) on fire began crying giant drops of steaming water into the city streets and making some sort of sound that was so low that it seemed to be causing an earth quake (Brent who was quite well read in dragons knew this sound to be the mourning cry, or distressed dragon sound. The other city folk just thought it was an earth quake).

By this time the firefighters had arrived on scene with their equipment and tried to hose down the beast. Unfortunately for them, this seemed to cheer the dragon up quite a bit for he stopped his horrible earth quake sound (which by now had brought half of Portland down to rubble) and began dancing and playing in the fireman’s stream of water like a child plays in a sprinkler. I say this is unfortunate for the firemen because a happy dragon is more dangerous than a fierce one. When dragons get happy they start to dance, and as dragons are extraordinarily large creatures with odd proportions and little sensitivity to pain they are not much good at staying out of the way of buildings. So as the well intended firemen hosed the dragon, it began doing some rendition of “I don’t wanna be a chicken, I don’t wanna be a duck so I shake my butt, do do do do” and by the time it came to the twirl dance part he was knocking over whole sky scrapers with the left tail movements and as he did multiple “jump tuck and twirls” (rather gracefully as Brent noted) he decimated the whole Lloyd Center shopping mall. It was a funny sight to see crowds of city people and even firemen running away from the dragon like it was some kind of world war one retreat to the trenches.
Another day in Portland.

Covert Wedded Opperatory Intelligence--Moscow

Hanging out with a newly wed couple, an observer cannot but feel a spy infiltrating the ranks of matrimony. But no matter how much enemy information is recorded he cannot but feel as though they will always know more than he. What I am referring to is the international conspiracy of marriage--that which all young bachelors and bachelorets have heard rumors about, but which few, in fact none have experienced. Especially in recent history a matrimonial epidemic has hit our culture and on the front lines of this barrage stands the Christen sub-culture. After reaching the age of eligibility the once sedated flame that kept the hormones tame now run like a wildfires in the streets of Christianville. Indeed the hormones of these young individuals attempt to overthrow the sermon-based cerebral propaganda of abstinence. For this very reason they are the weakest and therefore the first to fall. My friends, do not become another statistic, stand firm all of you. And for the fortunate few who manage to survive this time of trial, a word of invitation (assuming minimum 40 years of age, singleness, meaninglessness, and lack of immediate family) I invite you to consider the following activities that will enhance a meaningful existence and ensure a swift, premature death: 1. Mine sweeping in Cambodia. 2. Standing in front of tanks to protest government things 3. Stage a demonstration for Catholicism in Northern Ireland.

But really, married couples have a secret, I'm sure of it--it is for this reason I have decided to declare cold war on the Marriage Club of Secrecy (M.C.S.), the Underground Society of Matrimony (U.S.M.), and the Covert Wedded Opperatory Intelligence, commonly known as the C.W.O.I. (Headquarters for all global capitalist propaganda and ministers unsurprisingly located in Moscow itself).
It has begun.

summer!

This time when I crossed the boarder into Canada, I got a strange sensation, kind of like that feeling one gets when arriving home after a long time away. I've crossed the boarder many times from the US to Canada and never have I felt more at home on this side than on the other. This sensation was even more surprising given the fact that this past year has been one not necessarily filled with awesome memories-its been hard. And although living in a trailer has been good, I am excited to get out of that stinky hell hole. The warmer it gets the stinkier that trailer is. But alas, school is out campus is empty and I am on my way to camp out in front of MEC (the REI of Canada) tonight to score some super cheap used gear they're selling tomorrow morning. It should be a good time.
For the first month of this summer it looks like I'll be living in downtown Portland with my bro Cami for the month of May until I head off to Japan in June. So for all you's Portland sluggards be on guard, I may show up at your door with a water gun and shoot you in the face until you fall over backwards.
In other news, I am pleased to announce that I have passed all my classes with then exception of none. Why is this a big deal you may ask? Because they were freaken hard man. Freaken hard. And for all you studious young university go-ers who are not yet done with finals, a word of advice-HAHA! SUCKERS!...I'M OUT OF HERE! WOOHOOO!
Summer here I come.

work:

the act of mindlessly prostituting ones body to carry out menial tasks for the sake of acquiring material possessions or paying off debt.

One takes precious time off his life sacrificing eight hours per day to the wanton demands of a power hungry overlord commonly referred to as a “boss”. At the end of his life I wonder if he would look back and say “if only I could have worked more”—no, no my friends, such words would be foolishness. However, this is the great conflict; to participate in the government’s evil capitalistic scheme by yielding our God-given freedom annexed by this “work”? Or to run free, poor as animals but rich as the fields in spring? ‘Tis a great evil that modern man is faced with this cruel cruel decision. For the first perspective ensures security and financial prosperity—but at the cost of ones freedom. Many times he is forced to work at a desk in a drab city appeasing superiors in constant fear of loosing the job. The ladder choice ensures nothing at all, but it taunts freedom and independence, adventure and unknown—but for who’s benefit? We call this choice the hermit choice. For what good is a person who, with potential for good and ability for changing the world, runs off into the mountains to seek selfish sanctuary? He is a hermit and does nothing with the time he is given. There is a quote that says “I am only one tree in a forest, but still I am one tree”. So the worlds a horrible place—but to run and hide cannot be the answer.

Recently I’ve been talking to one of my friends about exploring South America. Apparently there’s a bunch of unsummited mountains and unexplored mountain ranges down there waiting for some overconfident white boys to discover. Naturally, my buddies and I were the first to nominate ourselves for this mission. But many times I ponder the idea of spending so much of ones life pursuing a personal mission that neither benefits nor inhibits others. Not that inhibiting others is good, it’s all just a bit apathetic sounding. This was the inspiration for the above rant.

sock sleeping

In one comment posted by an author that at this time shall remain nameless, the question "are you alive?" was posed. This term "alive" particularly stuck out to me as at this moment such a term seems somewhat subjective in light of the whole semester ending. I suppose I am proud to announce that death has not yet grasped me by the jugular and sucked my proverbial "blood" from my still warm body. No, Brent shall live to die another day. God save the Queen.
The other day I went into Starbucks and asked for a free coffee. And I got one-a grande extra hot chai tea latte to be exact. And then they offered me a job. For a moment I was tempted to take them up on the offer but how would the cafeteria floors manage without me? Could I prostitute my floors to just any random minimum wage student worker? I think not! It goes without saying that I gracefully declined the job offer. Thanks anyways suckers.
Winter camping is a biohazard. Never have I been so repulsed at my own stench and that of my fellow tent mates as when the snow gear comes off. Although it is common practice to sleep with ones socks in his sleeping bag (so as to prevent ice from forming on them and to dry them out) after one night of said “sock sleeping” I opened my sleeping bag to the smell of gangrene, trench foot, and limb-rot. Instinctively I tried running away from the smell but the socks had already taken me as their deadly hostage—there was no escape. The only benefit to winter camping is that one can actually physically see smells coming off people in the form of deadly gaseous steam that would have put chlorine gas in WW1 to shame—now you know when to run away from your friends.
The sun-its like natures congratulations for making it through 6 months of sucky weather without dying from any combination of vitamin D deficiency, boredom, ugliness, suicide, or cold. Thank you mother nature for 6 months of death and 2 months of sun. I am not bitter.

how the tables have turned...

It seems my string of incredibly mind numbing, frustrating, minimum wage paying, anal boss pleasing, low end society jobs has finally come to an end. As of this summer I will have responsibility, "specialization", and the most coveted of all--a title. That's right, I have officially received the news that I have been hired as an "Outdoor Program Consultant" at Northstar Outdoor Adventures in Japan. Pretty soon I'll be hanging plaques on my wall, firing people, and putting a title on my office door which will probably be my bunk bed. Actually my work will be developing, standardizing, and leading backpacking trips--which is hard because to have a good backpacking trip you have to do more than just walk. Walking is boring...because it's walking lets be honest. It's a really amazing opportunity to utilize my studies/experience because Northstar has nothing that would be considered in N. America as, "industry standard" so there's definitely areas that I can help improve. The situation is a bit tougher/sketchier due to the fact that there is no organized search and rescue and no helicopters in the area. But at the same time there's little/no liability so I guess it balances out...unless someone dies. Working at Northstar will combine my three dreams: Japan/Japanese people, ministry, and the outdoors. It is for these reasons I submit that no summer job could surpass this one.
All visitors are welcome.

This may be the most normal post I've ever posted-there's no ranting, words in capital letters, or exclamations...I feel so average

Banzai! for the matrimonial conjugal betrothal of a dear wedded one

I would like to take this opportunity to announce the glorious betrothal of my brother, friend, and mentor; Cami Potter AKA "The muffin man". It was the 18th day of the 3rd month of the 6th year of the 4th lunar circumnavigation of the 1st day after St. Patricks commemoration of the 5th stage of the 8 fold path to enlightenment when we sent him off to the sound of a shattering bottle of champagne over his head (you know, like what they do for ships…only metaphorically). The ceremonies were fun, the bachelor party was superbly executed, and the grooms dudes were…well there’s no beating around the bush, we were hunks. Huge hunks of monkeys; Extraordinarily large, perhaps superfluously enormous, copiously corpulent HUNKS. Though of course in the shadow of Muffin man we were all but a dirty worm to be run over by steal studded winter travel tires. But after all the fun was over I was left with a feeling similar to that experienced after a funeral. I suppose that’s because in some ways it was an end. It was also the beginning of a super awesome new thing, but it’s always good to recognize and celebrate an end. Banzai for Mr. and Mrs. Muffin—may they dance and frolic where the women flow like salmon and the wine flock to beer like Capistrano. We salute you.

The coffee bean: crutch or crux?
My latest theory has been that in the Northwest coffee is popular because living in the Northwest freaken bites. Lets be honest, during the peak season a typical Northwesterner may not see the sun for weeks or even months. This is not humanly normal. The body says to itself “hey, I need some artificial stimulants to put an artificial sun back into my dismal, sad, glum life”. And if the patron prefers legalized stimulants then he/she would naturally go to the nearest dealer for a fix of that sweatshop supporting black, miry, teeth staining liquid diarrheic we have come to “love” (aka be addicted to) called coffee. Granted there is s certain coffee culture in the northwest that is educed by a lack of any other social day time activity by way of the drizzly depressing weather outside, and for that reason many of us have gone astray. But not you!! Boycott!! Picket!! Pillage!! Vikings!! Amsterdam!! Freedom fries!! GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!! LONG LIVE THE SHERRIFF OF NOTTINGHAM!!
At this point I will just assume that I have lost all my friends. But I don’t care!!...Heck, lets just go talk about it over coffee.